'Silence,' Aline said.

The command had been delivered with such force that it took me a moment to realise it wasn't Valiana speaking. Aline stood there, unflinching while the Tailor gave her a stare that I was absolutely convinced would stop a raging bear in its tracks, and I realised that Aline had probably been readying herself for this fight from the moment we'd entered the throne room.

'The laws don't exist for your convenience, Tailor. They weren't written to give you the means to exact your revenge on the world for all your grievances.' Aline looked at each of us in turn. 'You all think I'm a little girl, barely able to keep from falling apart at the seams.' She stepped down from the dais and walked over to one of the tall windows that looked out to the courtyard. 'Yesterday yesterday that was true. Yesterday, I could afford to be a weak child who couldn't hold a sword properly and lived or died only by the whims of others. But today, when we know . . . we know the enemy seeks to use my weakness against us all? I can't afford to be that silly little girl any more. So today I am Aline, daughter of Paelis, heir to the throne of Tristia, and until Valiana is free from that mask, I am also the Realm's Protector, and anyone who tries to dispute or ignore that fact will answer to me.'

In tone, in style, in raw determination, it was like watching Valiana in action. Valiana's been training her for this, for this moment, in case something happened. Sometimes it took me a while to catch up.

Valiana squeezed my hand again, not seeking explanation of what was happening but more tenderly, and it suddenly occurred to me that she was trying to reassure me. I squeezed back, wishing I could say to her what was in my heart: you are the woman fathers dream of bringing into the world.

The Tailor and I looked at each other, two angry, broken creatures seeking only to protect Aline as we had failed to protect her father. Neither of us knew what to do next.

But at least we knew who was in charge.

For the next several minutes Aline proceeded to give us our orders in a whirl of words. This was her country now, for as many hours or days as she could hold it. She called for the rest of the palace staff, told them what was to come and instructed them on what they needed to do during the transition. I was amazed at how much she had learned in such a short time.

When she took Brasti aside and gave him his instructions, his eyes widened, and then he gave a smile. 'For once someone gives me orders I like.'

Shortly before dawn she ordered Kest to get Ethalia out of the palace; we'd all meet up later, a few miles outside the city. Mateo was sent through the servants' passage to the back of the palace with the bag of nightmist. The Tailor and Pastien went to pack up any vital documents that might be needed.

I was wondering what my last job in Luth might be when Aline announced, 'I need you with me when I meet with the clerics.'

'What for?'

'I might need you to intimidate them a little.'

This is how it falls apart, I thought. She believes I'm some grand hero who will chase away all her enemies with a stern glance.

Seeing my hesitation, Aline said, 'Of course I have doubts, Falcio, but I'm going to need you to have faith in me now.'

Faith. The one thing I had never had much of. Even so, there was only one answer. 'Whatever comes, I'll stand with you,' I said.

She smiled faintly and returned to the endless preparations. There wasn't much I could contribute so I just waited until all her orders had been issued, then Aline joined me where I was sitting with my back against the wall at the far end of the dais.

'So what now?' I asked.

'Now we wait until the clerics arrive, and then we go out there to deal with them.' She sat next to me and stretched out her legs. 'It's all right, Falcio. It's just like Rijou during the Blood Week all we have to do is fight our way out.' She spoke with the perfect confidence of a duellist who has no idea what they're about to face.

Is she still Aline? I wondered. Is she still the child broken by too much tragedy? If the rest is an act, a performance, how long will it hold? In Rijou we'd faced Ganath Kalila and a city full of killers and thieves, men and women who would've traded Aline's life for a single black penny. That felt so long ago now. We'd accomplished so much, come so close here we sat, in the middle of a Ducal Palace, on friendly ground.

'We were supposed to be safe here,' I said.

Aline reached over and took my hand in hers. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against my shoulder. 'Nowhere's safe, Falcio,' she said sadly. 'Haven't you figured that out yet?'

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX.

The Delegation

The hours slipped by unnoticed. Aline and I dozed off, leaning against each other like two vagrants snoozing against a tavern wall. At some point I heard shouting from outside and the door opened some errant nobleman, probably demanding an audience with Pastien, had jostled his way past the guards. Whatever he'd expected to see probably wasn't Aline and me looking preposterous slumped together, having a nap on the floor. I wondered briefly if he'd been embarrassed, then went back to sleep.

I awoke some time later to a hand shaking me. 'The clerics are here,' Captain Ciradoc said. He really didn't look very happy. 'Lady Aline, are you sure you won't let me-?'

'You have your orders, Captain: just you, and the men at the gate.'

I rubbed at my eyes and then saw Aline holding a silver platter at arm's length, using it as a mirror. 'This isn't quite the correct attire for welcoming dignitaries,' she said, smoothing her dress, 'but it's formal enough not to ruffle too many feathers.'

'Ha!' I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring my aching joints. 'Since most of the clerics I've met wore grubby robes so worn I was lucky not to find myself greeting their private parts, I don't imagine we need worry too much about whether we're sporting rabbit instead of ermine.'

It turned out that I was quite wrong: the three clerics who awaited us outside the palace gates looked as regal as Kings, their richly coloured silk and brocade robes flapping in the breeze like the proud flags of a conquering nation. They were made even more magnificent set against the field of spotless white tabards on the hundred Knights standing behind them. The two hundred-odd pilgrims in the courtyard looked upon them in awe. Even Quentis and his Inquisitors had given their grey leather coats a bit of a polish. Enjoy your pretty clothes while you can, friend.

Aline had cautioned me to remain calm and dignified and I put every effort to that endeavour, though the white tabards were filling me with fury. I am so sick of Knights, I thought. They're at the centre of every fucking problem this country ever has.

'Open the gate, Captain,' Aline commanded Ciradoc.

The man looked askance at the force assembled outside and tried again to dissuade her, but she stopped him, saying, 'Shush, Captain. I won't be rude to our guests.'

He gave the order unhappily and the guards worked the winch and raised the middle gate. The clerics were about to walk in when Aline stepped out in front of them. 'Welcome to the Ducal Palace of Luth, Venerati,' she said, respectfully. 'I am-'

Before she could finish her sentence, a servant in trim coat and matching trousers standing next to the clerics handed Aline a rolled-up piece of parchment.

As she unfurled the document I was almost overwhelmed by the grandeur of the thing: the thick, deeply textured material of the sort used by Kings, not clerics. I had some difficulty reading the calligraphy, Old Tristian inscribed with a rich black ink outlined in gold. A wax seal at the bottom displayed an emblem I had never seen before: nine tiny circles arranged in three lines, above which shone six stars.

Nine Duchies under six Gods? The new religion looks a lot like the old one.

'Do you require help reading the document?' the first cleric asked, and it took me a moment to recognise him as Obladias, the priest from the martyrium. He'd been wearing heavily patched grey robes the last time we'd met; he'd apparently decided that silk robes in the rich crimson of the God Purgeize suited him better. Are you the enemy? I wondered. Are you the man who set this in motion? I felt a powerful urge to draw my rapier and end him then and there. Just in case. Instead I said, 'This document is very pretty, but I note it lacks a signature.'

The second of the three clerics, a heavyset man with Northern features sporting the more familiar greens of the God Argentus, or Coin, stepped forward, head bowed a little and eyes down. 'It's . . . If you look at the first line, you'll see it says, "Voce omnius cericis en tatem", which in the archaic form of Old Tristian means-'

'We aren't here to teach oafs and children how to read, Buther,' Obladias said.

He seemed like such a humble fellow, the first time I met him. Not that I bought it . . .

'Forgive me, Obladias, I only meant-'

'The line reads, "In the united voice of all clerics",' Aline said clearly, and I couldn't quite stop myself from looking at her in wonder. Other than Kest I didn't know many people who could read even the simplified form of Old Tristian, never mind the archaic.

She smiled at me. 'What was it you thought I did in my lessons, Falcio?' She turned back to the document and glanced through the rest of it before unceremoniously rolling it back up and handing it off to Captain Ciradoc. 'Your scribe would benefit from lessons in verb conjugation. The way he's written the section on "providing unto the faithful a just and Godly rule" is in the past perfect tense, suggesting such service has already been rendered.' She looked up at Obladias. 'Unless that was your intent, Venerati? If so, I thank you for the souvenir and wish you a pleasant journey on your return home.'

Obladias looked neither impressed nor amused, but before he could speak, the third cleric, in the orange robes of the disciples of the God of Craft, gave a laugh and stepped forward. 'Hello, my Lady. My name is Galbea. Please forgive our poor choice of scribe events have moved rather quickly and I'm afraid we chose a skilful hand over accurate grammar.' He gave Aline a flicker of a smile that made the wrinkles on his forehead crinkle together. 'The lettering is pretty, though, don't you think?' He was of the same age as the other two men, but the harder life of a village cleric was written all over his face.

'I wonder, Venerati,' Aline said innocently, 'have you come to declare war on Tristia's Crown?'

Both Galbea and Buther looked slightly aghast, but Obladias fully embraced the arrogance of a man who'd dedicated his soul to the God of War. 'Child, I ask again: are you having difficulty reading the words on the page? It is a message of peace we are here to lend our support to this troubled Duchy in its hour of need.'

Aline didn't return his condescending smile. The first phase of the game was apparently over. 'I understood every word on the page, Venerati, just as I recognise the full meaning and intent of your choice of escort. By what right do three clerics and a band of thugs in mail seek to overthrow one of our Duchies?'

Obladias bridled at that. 'It is hardly your Duchy, little miss, now is it? I have a great deal of trouble imagining that the Kings of old intended this palace to be a girl's plaything.'

'Obladias . . .' Buther said, horrified. He was looking at me.

I tried to calm myself and match Aline's expression; her face betrayed nothing, and yet I could sense a subtle gleam of satisfaction in her: she had made the cleric in red reveal something of himself something she could use.

Damn it, why is even a fourteen-year-old girl better at politics than I am? I wondered, but this wasn't the time to ponder that further, for Coin's cleric was saying apologetically, 'The Knights are for the protection of the faithful, my Lady.' He motioned very slightly to the crowds assembled outside the palace. 'There have been tales of clerics being murdered, and we have seen with our own eyes some of Tristia's oldest churches destroyed.'

'None of which,' interrupted Obladias, 'is as despicable as the murder of Saints.' He clenched his fist and I could see he was badly wishing for something to bang it against. 'The Saints! How much more desecration will the Trattari commit before they are brought to heel?'

'Now, Obladias-' the priest in orange began.

'That man,' the cleric in red shouted, jabbing a finger at me as if lightning might spark out of it, 'that man has been responsible for the deaths of two Saints that we know of, and we now strongly suspect he was also responsible for the deaths of Birgid-who-weeps-rivers and who knows how many more!'

I knew this was all going to be my fault somehow. 'Is that how you're going to sell this?' I asked. 'You accuse the Greatcoats of murdering Saints? Because, in my defence, Venerati, it was my friend Kest who killed Caveil-whose-blade-cuts-water. I just did away with Shuran-whose-Sainthood-didn't-last-very-long.'

'Of course you bring up Kest, the apostate,' Obladias scoffed. 'He who spat in the face of the Gods' gift while you' again, he pointed at me, and this time I imagined a ball of flame 'this one murdered a chosen vessel, the new Saint of Swords-'

'He wasn't exactly your best Saint,' I pointed out, but Aline took control of the conversation once again.

'The man Shuran, Venerati, was preparing to take Tristia for himself, with a thousand Knights in black tabards at his back. Speak softly, Venerati, for you have brought only a hundred with you.' She smiled then. 'Though I will admit that their tabards are prettier.'

The Knights rumbled as if they wanted to kill her, but I could have kissed her. And there's the reason why no one ever asks you to handle diplomacy, idiot.

Aline stepped forward and pushed past the three clerics to face the assembled Knights. 'Which one of you commands?' she asked.

Obladias spoke up from behind her. 'They are the Fideri, girl. They are Church Knights, commanded by the Gods themselves.'

'Really?' I asked, my voice light but my hand ready in case someone made a move on Aline. 'Do the Gods speak to them very often? If not, I expect they get a bit confused when it's time to fight.'

One of the Knights stepped forward, a little too close to Aline for my liking, and towering over her, snarled, 'Should we choose to do battle, you will see how smoothly we function.'

I could see Aline's hands shaking, but she betrayed none of her fear when she spoke. 'Excellent,' she said. 'Since you appear to speak for them, I will give you my instructions, and you can relay them to the others.'

'Don't presume to give me orders, girl' he turned to his men and laughed 'unless it is in your bedroom tonight!'

Okay, time for a different diplomacy. My rapier was drawn and I had the tip at the man's neck. 'I'm going to consecrate that fucking tabard of yours in bright red if you don't take a step back right now.'

The Knights all reached for their weapons as I heard Quentis say, 'Falcio, don't.' I didn't bother to look at him; I was fairly sure his pistol was aimed at me.

'Please, gentlemen,' Galbea, the monk in orange, said. 'Let this not descend into violence.' He motioned to the Knights. 'Do as the Greatcoat says. We came here in peace.'

Without looking back at me, Aline raised her hand, commanding us all to stand down. If I didn't obey her, I would be undermining her in front of the clerics.

I sheathed my weapon. The Knights didn't.

Obladias decided he'd won. To Aline he said, 'This has been a pleasant diversion but there is work to be done now. You and the Trattari will be taken into custody pending a trial.' He looked past us to Captain Ciradoc. 'Your men will lay down their arms now.'

The captain, looking very much as if he had a number of preferred uses for his weapon at that moment, unsheathed his sword and laid it on the ground before kneeling. 'The palace is yours.'

'You see, Venerati,' Aline said, 'there is no need for conflict between us. You came for the Duchy and now you may have it.' She made a show of beginning to walk towards the road leading away from the palace.

'Stop!' Obladias called out, and two Knights stepped in front of Aline. My fingers were twitching and I had to fight to keep from drawing my blade again. Wait, I told myself. Follow the plan.

Aline's hands were shaking so badly now that she held them behind her back, fingers interlinked. She looked up at the Knights. 'I wonder, Sir Knights, have you ever made a study of archery?'

'What is this foolishness?' Obladias asked.

Aline went on, 'Would you like to see my bow?' She stepped back and then held out her left fist as if it held a bow. 'I haven't been practising lately, but it's still quite accurate.'

The leader of the Knights snorted. 'What's this, then? Has someone given you an imaginary bow to go with your imaginary crown, little girl?'

Aline laughed at the joke, then she said. 'Sometimes imagination can be a powerful weapon, Sir Knight.'

'Enough,' Obladias said. 'Take the mad creature inside.'

One of the Knights reached for her but she stepped back and drew back her right arm, pulling at empty air. 'Ah, ah, ah. I'm afraid I must warn you-'

The Knight stepped forward again, Aline's right hand opened and suddenly the shaft of a two-foot long ironwood arrow was piercing the armour on the Knight's thigh. He fell, screaming, to the ground. The Knight next to him raised his weapon; Aline turned to him and again drew back her string, and once again an arrow appeared, this one in the man's shoulder.

'That's odd,' she said. 'Those don't look like imaginary arrows, do they?'

Everyone's eyes went up to the ramparts. There sat Brasti, swinging his legs and playing with the arrows dozens and dozens of them that were lying next to him.

'Don't mind him,' Aline said. 'That's just my archery instructor, Brasti. He gave me this bow. I know it doesn't look like much, but he promised me it would never miss.' She turned and faced the other Knights. 'You know, there are so many of you all packed close together I don't think it's a very big challenge.'

Several of them started backing up, until their leader shouted to them to close ranks. Some had shields, some didn't. I counted enough crossbows among them that even with the problem of height, one of them would be able to kill Brasti soon enough. Obladias knew it, too. 'Play that little trick again and you'll be dead,' he warned.

'Oh, very well but I have plenty of other tricks, Venerati. For example, I do believe I can make fog.'

At the signal Mateo Tiller, dressed as a pilgrim, stepped from the crowd and dropped a bucket of water on a black and grey patch of dirt where Quentis and his Inquisitors stood. The nightmist sizzled and an instant later the thick grey smoke filled the air. 'Damn it all,' Quentis said, holstering his pistol. 'Draw your maces,' he told his men. 'Pistols won't fire in the nightmist.'

Obladias coughed, but got himself under control. 'There are more than enough of us to deal with you and your archer, girl. You won't escape this way.' Already his words sounded distant, distorted by the effects of the nightmist.

'Perhaps,' Aline conceded. She looked thoughtfully up at him. 'But I suspect my aim is so good that even if I die, you'll lose an awful lot of your Knights.' She looked out at the pilgrims staring at us. 'Which is odd, don't you think? If the Gods truly supported your cause, surely they would make it harder for me to hit you with my imaginary arrows.'