"... still say that we cannot possibly justify military action against Idris!" a priest yelled. The man wore blue and gold. It was Stillmark's high priest-Lightsong couldn't quite remember the man's name. Nanrovah?

The argument was not unexpected. Still, Lightsong leaned forward, interested. Nanrovah and his master, Stillmark, were both stanch traditionalists. They tended to argue against pretty much every topic, but were well-respected. Stillmark was nearly as old as Blushweaver, and was spoken of as wise. Lightsong rubbed his chin.

Arguing with Nanrovah was Blushweaver's own high priestess, Inhanna. "Oh, come now," the woman said from the sands down below. "Do we really need to have this argument again? Idris is nothing more than a rebel enclave set up inside the borders of our own kingdom!"

"They keep to themselves," Nanrovah said. "Holding lands we don't really want anyway."

"Lands we don't want?" Blushweaver's priestess said, sputtering. "They hold every single pa.s.s to the northern kingdoms! Every workable copper mine in the area! They have military garrisons within striking distance of T'Telir! And they still claim to be the rightful kings of Hallandren!"

Nanrovah fell silent, and there was a surprisingly large rumble of a.s.sent from the watching priests. Lightsong eyed them. "You've seeded the group with people sympathetic to your cause?"

"Of course," Blushweaver said. "But so did the others. I just did a better job."

The debate continued, other priests stepping up to argue for and against an a.s.sault on Idris. It was not a new topic. However, Lightsong never seen the discussion become so explicit. Sanctions had been discussed. Blockades. Even some military pressure. But war? n.o.body had said the word yet, but they all knew what the priests were discussing.

Arguments in the court were meant to bring information to the G.o.ds. The priests listened to the people and studied issues of national import, then discussed them in the arena. That way, the G.o.ds-who didn't have the opportunity to go out among the people-could be informed. If an issue came to head, the G.o.ds would make their judgments. They were divided into sub-groups, each one having responsibility in a certain area. Some G.o.ds were in charge of civic problems; others were over trade agreements and treaties.

Some, like Lightsong, held votes regarding the use of Hallandren's Lifeless armies. "You're behind this, then," he said.

"Behind it?" Blushweaver said sweetly. "Dear Lightsong, the priests decide the issues to be discussed. G.o.ds don't bother with such mundanity."

"I'm sure," Lightsong said, resting back. "You need my Lifeless Commands."

"I wouldn't say that," Blushweaver said, "I just want you to be informed should you..."

She trailed off as Lightsong gave her a flat look.

"Aw, Colors," she swore. "Of course I need your commands, Lightsong. Why else would I go to all the trouble to get you up here? You're a very difficult person to manipulate, you know."

"Nonsense," he said. "You just have to promise me that I won't have to do a thing, and then I'll do anything you want-provided that anything is nothing, of course. Nothing bothers me more than doing things."

Blushweaver rolled her eyes.

Lightsong was more troubled than he let on. The arguments for attack had never been so strong. There was proof of a military buildup in Idris and the highlanders had been particularly stingy with the northern pa.s.ses lately. Beyond that, there was a growing belief that the Returned were weaker than they'd been in previous generations. Not less powerful in BioChroma, just less... divine. Less benevolent, less wise. Lightsong happened to agree.

It had been three years since a Returned had given up his or her life to heal someone. The people were growing impatient with their G.o.ds. "There's more, isn't there?" he said, glancing at Blushweaver, who was still lounging back, eating cherries with delicate fingers. "What aren't they saying?"

"Lightsong, dear," she said. "You were right. Bring you to court, and it absolutely corrupts you."

"I just don't like secrets," he said. "They itch at the brain, keep you awake at nights. Engaging in politics is like pulling off a bandage-best to get the pain over with quickly."

Blushweaver pursed her lips. "Forced metaphor, dear."

"Best I can do at the moment, I'm afraid. Nothing dulls the wit quicker than politics. Now, you were saying..."

She snorted. "I've told you already. The focus of this all is that woman."

"The queen," he said, glancing at the G.o.d King's pavilion.

"They sent the wrong one," Blushweaver said. "Changed plans at the last moment. They picked the youngest daughter, wrapped her up, and shipped her off instead of the eldest, who had been going through training to become queen."

Lightsong paused. "Clever," he admitted.

"Clever?" Blushweaver said. "It's downright brilliant. Do you know what a fortune most of us all paid these last twenty years to spy upon, study, and learn about the eldest daughter? Those of us who thought to make a backup studied the second daughter, the one they've made a monk. But the youngest? n.o.body gave her half a thought."

And so the Idrians send a random element into court, Lightsong thought. One that upsets plans and conniving that our politicians have been working on for decades.

It was brilliant.

"n.o.body knows anything about her," Blushweaver said, frowning deeply. She obviously did not like being taken by surprise. "My spies in Idris say the girl is of little consequence-which makes me worry that she is even more dangerous than I'd feared."

Lightsong raised an eyebrow. "And you don't think, maybe, that you might be over-reacting a tad?"

"Oh?" Blushweaver asked. "And tell me, what would you do if you wanted to inject an agent into the court? Would you do what everyone expected you to? Or, would you set up a dummy that you could show off, drawing attention away from the real agent, who you can train secretly? Someone you can send off to achieve an agenda that n.o.body thought to investigate?"

Lightsong rubbed his chin. She has a point. Maybe. Living among so many scheming people tended to make one see plots everywhere. Real or imagined, however, the plot that Blushweaver suggested had a very serious chance of being dangerous. What better way to get an a.s.sa.s.sin close to the G.o.d King than to send someone to marry him?

No, that wouldn't be it. Killing the G.o.d King would just cause Hallandren to go on the rampage. But if they'd sent a woman trained in the art of skilled manipulation-a woman who could secretly poison the mind of the G.o.d King...

"We need to be ready to act," Blushweaver said. "I won't sit and let my kingdom be pulled away from me-I won't idly be cast out as the Royals once were. You command a fourth of our Lifeless. That's ten thousand soldiers who don't need to eat, and who can march tirelessly. If we convince the other three Returned with Commands to join us..."

Lightsong thought for a moment, then nodded and stood.

"What are you doing?" Blushweaver asked, sitting up.

"I think I'll go for a stroll," Lightsong said.

"Where?"

Lightsong glanced over at the queen.

"Oh, blessed colors," Blushweaver said with a sigh. "Lightsong, do not ruin this. We walk a very delicate line, here."

"I'll do my best."

"I don't suppose I can talk you out of interacting with her?"

"My dear," Lightsong said, glancing backward. "That queen just became a thousand times more fascinating to me. I at least have to chat with her. Nothing would be more intolerable than being overthrown by a person with whom I'd never had a nice conversation."

Bluefingers wandered off sometime during the court proceedings. Siri didn't notice-she was too busy watching the priests argue.

She had to be misinterpreting. Surely they couldn't be thinking about attacking Idris. She knew that some of her people feared it would happen, but she'd never believed it herself. What would be the point? What would Hallandren gain? As the priests finished their discussion, moving to another topic, Siri turned to one of her serving women. "What was that about?"

The woman glanced down, not answering.

"They sounded like they were discussing war," Siri said. "They wouldn't really invade, would they?"

The woman shuffled uncomfortably, then glanced at one of her companions. That woman rushed away. A few moments later, the servant returned with Tridees. Siri frowned slightly. She did not like speaking with the man.

"Yes, Vessel?" the tall man said, eyeing her with his usual air of distain.

She swallowed, refusing to be intimidated. "The priests," she said. "What were they just discussing?"

"Your homeland of Idris, Vessel."

"I know that much," Siri said. "What do they want with Idris?"

"It seemed to me, Vessel, that they were arguing about whether or not to attack the rebel province and bring it back under governmental control."

"Rebel province?"

"Yes, Vessel. Your people are in a state of rebellion from the rest of the kingdom."

"But you rebelled against us!"

Tridees raised an eyebrow.

Different viewpoints on history indeed, Siri thought. In the eyes of this man, apparently, the Idris people were simply an unruly faction waiting to be quelled. "I can see how somebody might think like you do," she said. "But... you wouldn't really attack us, would you? We sent you a queen, just like you demanded. The next G.o.d King will have Royal blood."

a.s.suming the current G.o.d King ever decides to consummate our wedding...

Tridees simply shrugged. "It is likely nothing, Vessel. The priests debate matters that are being discussed by the people of the city. I doubt anything will come of it. The G.o.ds simply needed to be appraised of the current political climate of T'Telir."

His words didn't offer Siri much comfort. She shivered. Should she be doing something? Trying to politic in Idris's defense?

"Vessel," Tridees said.

She glanced at him. His tall peaked hat was so large it brushed the top of the canopy. In a city full of colors and beauty, for some reason Tridees's long face seemed even bleaker for the contrast. "Yes?" she asked.

"There is a matter of some delicacy I fear that I must discuss with you."

"What is that?"

"You are familiar with monarchies," he said. "Indeed, you are the daughter of a king. I a.s.sume that you know how important it is to a government that there be a secure, stable plan for succession."

"I guess."

"Therefore," Tridees said, "you realize that it is of no small importance that an heir be provided as quickly as possible."

Siri blushed. "We're working on that."

"With all due respect, Vessel," Tridees said. "There is some measure of disagreement upon whether or not you actually are."

Siri blushed further, hair reddening as she glanced away from those callous eyes.

"Such arguments, of course, are limited to those inside the palace," Tridees said. "You can trust in the discretion of our staff and priests."

"How do you know?" Siri said, looking up. "I mean, about us. Maybe we are... working on it. Maybe you'll have your heir before you know it."

Tridees blinked once, slowly, regarding her like she were a ledger to be added up and accounted. "Vessel," he said. "Do you honestly think that we would take an unfamiliar, foreign woman and place her in close proximity to our most holy of G.o.ds without keeping watch?"

Siri felt her breath catch, and she had a moment of horror. Of course! she thought. Of course they were watching. To make sure I didn't hurt the G.o.d King, to make certain things went according to plan.

Being naked before her husband was bad enough. To be so exposed before men like Tridees-men who saw her not as a woman, but as an annoyance-felt even worse, somehow. She found herself slouching, arms wrapping around her chest and its overly-exposed neckline.

"Now," Tridees said, leaning in. "We understand that the G.o.d King may not be what you expected. He may even be... difficult to work with. You are a woman, however, and should know how to use your charms to motivate."

"How can I 'motivate' if I can't talk to him or look at him?" she snapped.

"I'm sure you'll find a way," Tridees said. "You only have one task in this palace. You want to make certain Idris is protected? Well, give the G.o.d King's priesthood what we desire, and your rebels will earn our appreciation. My colleagues and I have no small influence in the court, and we can do much to safeguard your homeland. All we ask is that you perform this single duty. Give us an heir. Give the kingdom stability. Not everything in Hallandren is as... cohesive as it may appear to you at first."

Siri remained slouched down, not looking at Tridees.

"I see that you understand," he said. "I feel that..." he trailed off, turning to the side. A procession was approaching Siri's pavilion. Its members wore gold and red, and a figure at the front caused them to shine with vibrant color.

Tridees frowned, then glanced at her. "We will speak further, if it becomes necessary. Do your duty, Vessel. Or there will be consequences."

With that, the priest withdrew.

She didn't look dangerous. That, more than anything else, made Lightsong inclined to believe Blushweaver's concerns. I've been in the court for far too long, he thought to himself as he smiled pleasantly to the queen. All my life, actually.

She was a small thing, much younger than he had expected. Barely a woman. She looked rather intimidated as he nodded his head to her, waiting while his priests arranged furniture for him. Then, he sat, accepting some grapes from the queen's serving women, even though he wasn't hungry.

"Your majesty," he said. "It is a pleasure to meet with you, I'm sure."

The girl hesitated. "You're sure?"

"Figure of speech my dear," Lightsong said. "A rather redundant one-which is quite appropriate, since I am a rather redundant person."

The girl c.o.c.ked her head slightly. Colors, Lightsong thought, remembering that she'd just finished with her period of isolation. I'm probably the only Returned that she's met besides the G.o.d King. Talk about a bad first impression. Still, there was nothing to be done about it. Lightsong was who he was. Whoever that was.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, your Grace," the queen said slowly. She turned as a serving woman whispered his name to her. "Lightsong the Brave, Lord of Heroes," she said, smiling at him.

There was a hesitance about her. Either she had not been trained for formal situations-witch Lightsong found difficult to believe, since she'd been raised in a palace-or she was a rather good actress. He frowned inwardly.

On the outside, he simply gave her his third most charming smile and popped a grape into his mouth. "No need to be so formal, your majesty. You will soon realize that among Returned, I am by far the least. If cows could Return, they'd undoubtedly be higher ranked than I."

She wavered again, obviously uncertain how to deal with him. It was a common reaction. "Might I inquire as to the nature of your visitation?" she finally asked.

Too formal. Not at ease. Uncomfortable around those high ranked. Could it be possible that she was genuine? No. It was likely an act to put him at ease. To make him underestimate her.

Or was he just thinking about things too hard?