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Major Aric Laner is recalled from service on the frontier to a new job as the bodyguard of the unconventional Queen Ansha.

I wound up getting a little impatient, and then I realized the worst that can happen is you just don't read this, so here's the first chapter of a novel that is kind of I, Claudius but instead of that it's steampunk and the main character is a wolf. As you do! I hope you enjoy it. The novel is written, so I will be posting updates regularly, I hope, but it's not so written that if you don't want to see different things I can't make that happen :P Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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Summary: Aernia--"the Iron Kingdom"--is the leading industrial power centuries after the catastrophic destruction of the World Before. It's theoretically an absolute monarchy, but the king is weak and subject to the whims of minor lords and, increasingly, the robber-barons who run its steam engines, factories, and telegraphs.

This story opens thirteen years after the Southern Civil War depicted in The Road to Mandalay, in which the privately owned Carregan Transcontinental Railroad staged an uprising in Dhamishaya, an overseas province. The rebellion was suppressed, but only with the help of disenfranchised native tribes and a detachment of a feudal militia loyal to the margraves of the eastern Aernian marches, and not the sovereign himself.

The following decade has exposed deep fissures in Aernian society, between the old guard of royalists, the autonomous March, and increasingly powerful corporations and their allies. A careful balance is fraying, exacerbated by the aging and ineffectual king.

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The Valiant and the Bold, by Rob Baird. Ch. 1, "Thrones and Powers"

A smokey haze smeared the horizon, hiding from view great stone towers and softening green hills into something contemplative and muddy. I could imagine it, anyway, even before my driver raised his paw to point. "There she is."

Tabisthalia, the greatest city in the world. Two million people, crowded in the gentle valley at the mouth of the River Tabis. Home to the Iron Throne, to the headquarters of the Royal Guard; to nearly a thousand years of unbroken, glorious history. It was a far cry from my own home, a farming town near the border of Marrahurstshire and Overkiath.

An even further cry from the barracks at Surowa, down south in the imperial colony of Dhamishaya. As the carriage rolled on, and the bridges and roads slowly became more and more stately, I reviewed my notes again. Everything I knew about the city was second-hand.

"Do you spend much time here?" I asked the driver.

The gap-toothed bear shook his head. "Nay. Awful place."

"Awful? The home of the Lodestone Sovereign is awful?"

He laughed. "No-one goes there but doesn't wish he hadn't, lad. Something in the air, I think. Makes people sick. You're a good one, aye? By your accent, from the Midlands?"

"Stolvan," I confirmed to him. "In Overkiath, between Spal and Æsheral."

"Miners?"

Somehow that was all anyone knew the Midlands for. "Farmers. My family had an orchard."

The bear grunted. "Honest work, at least."

I smelled the city before the haze cleared enough to see it. We wolves have been accused of having sensitive noses, yes, but there was no way to crowd so many people together without smelling_something_, at least. I couldn't imagine what it had been like before they put in proper sewers, two centuries ago.

The Iron Hall commanded Kenley Hill, at Tabisthalia's center, directly above the Tabis, and I supposed I'd be there soon enough. My first stop, however, was some miles distant: a proper fortress at the city's outskirts: stone walls and cannon ports, separated from the buildings by a trim green field.

Despite its stern appearance, the stoat who met us at the gate had an immaculate uniform. The iron trim on his rust-red breastplate had been polished to a commanding gleam. "Your business, traveler?" he asked. "Cassalmure is restricted territory."

"I'm reporting here," I told him, and handed the stoat the sealed letter I'd carried all the way from Surowa.

He broke the seal, scanned the letter, and then nodded. "Very well. Driver, you'll leave his baggage here. Sir, if you'll follow me..."

I dropped from the carriage to the ground, happy enough to have the road behind me, and let the stoat lead the way. "You've been at Cassalmure long?"

"A year now, sir."

"What should I expect?"

"It's not a bad post, sir," he told me diplomatically. I should perhaps have taken this as a sign.

Instead, though, I focused on taking in Cassalmure itself. Once, it had been the site of the King of Tabis-Kitta's castle. After the First Concord, when the government moved into Tabisthalia, they left it behind.

But not for long. Fortresses can never be long-neglected. The current structure was still five hundred years old; up close, moss softened and shrouded its great stone walls. It was both stately and commanding, exactly as I imagined the Iron Throne to be.

I was led to a tower at the castle's eastern wall; its sturdy iron door, strong enough to best catapult and cannon, had been left invitingly open. The two guards immediately within parted for my entry; one of them nodded to a steep, spiral staircase that wound along the inside of the edifice.

At the top, behind another open door, I found a room whose windows presented the best view I'd had yet of Tabisthalia, rippling like a soft mirage through the smoke of her chimneys and factories. A slim, straight figure had its back to me. I coughed to signal my entry. "Sir."

They turned, and I saw that she was a Border Collie; her black and white fur was just as immaculate as her uniform. When I raised my paw to salute, she answered in kind immediately, then dropped it swiftly. "Yes?"

"Major Laner, reporting as ordered."

The Border Collie wasn't wearing a ceremonial breastplate; her dress was more functional. Her epaulettes and the piping of her jacket were the same burnt-red color, though: the mark of the Royal Guard. Ivra K'nSullach was its commander. "Colonel K'nSullach," she introduced herself--as if I had not known already. "You're Aric Laner--latterly of the Cahied Fusiliers, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Colonel K'nSullach's desk was every bit as crisp and orderly as everything else about her. She took her place behind it, without sitting, and neatly unrolled a map across its surface. "Surowa is a long way from Tabisthalia, major." The map covered the northwestern portion of the Continent; I had traveled nearly its entire vertical length on my journey. "It explains the delay, I suppose."

"I came as soon as I was ordered, ma'am. There was some weather off the coast of Tammervest. We were obliged to put in."

"Well," she allowed. "The less time on boats, the better, if you ask me. They explained your orders to you?"

I shook my head. "Not as such. But when His Majesty summons you to the capital, you return at once." That was all the letter said.By orders of HM the King Chatherral IV. Relieved. Maj. Laner to report immediately to Col. K'nSullach, Cassalmure, Tabisthalia. Present accompanying sealed document on arrival.

"You must have questions."

I did, and if I'd been able to make heads or tails of the colonel's clipped, cool demeanor I might've been more direct in asking them. I was still trying to figure the collie out. "About my orders, ma'am?"

And then, finally, she permitted the hint of a smile. "The Fusiliers are one of the most distinguished units on that godsforsaken frontier, major. You fought at Marskirk, at the Charhit granary. You were decorated for the action at Bulash. Senior major of the 2nd Battalion--we even heard of you up here. You were next to command."

That had, at least, been the rumor. "The directness of the order was a bit... confusing. Yes."

Colonel K'nSullach's eyes lingered on the script that labeled Surowa, the Dhamishi capital city, countless leagues away in the corner of her map. "I ordered you. We need good men. I'm about to disappoint you, Major Laner, but I want you to know that it_is_, actually, an honor. You'll believe me, won't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're to join the Royal Guard. As an escort."

I blinked, and coughed to regain my composure. "An escort?"

"To Queen Ansha."

Suddenly, I understood what she had meant. Both parts of it. In the Fusiliers I had been responsible for hundreds of men--good, fierce soldiers, just like me. How could I not be disappointed to have that taken away? To be made a bodyguard, no less, in the safe and warm walls of the Iron Hall. It didn't help matters that K'nSullach's next order was that I should bathe.

Waiting for my fur to dry, later in my temporary quarters, I considered the honor instead.You caught the attention of King Chatherral, Aric. Or His Majesty's most trusted guard--that ought to be good for something. It would have to sustain me.

Honor, I told myself again, when a civilian orderly arrived, saw my fur, and retreated immediately only to return with a brush. Honor. She gestured for me to take my clothes off, and went to work at once, fluffing out my peppery grey fur to dry and dabbing a bit of perfume in when she smoothed it back down. This is an honor.

"New to Tabisthalia, Mr. Laner?" My tail had jerked when the orderly ran her brush over it.

"Yes," I told the orderly. "Will this happen regularly?"

"Until you learn to do it yourself, yes."

Honor. She dressed me, too. The uniform seemed, at first, to be a reasonable facsimile of my old one. Cream trousers; a trim olive jacket. The facsimile disappeared when she fastened the breastplate. The orange-red surface was made of stiffened fabric, useless to stop a bullet or a sword. The iron that stiffened it had a ceremonial gleam that said it had never seen a battlefield. My new boots gleamed, too.

"Handsome," was the orderly's comment.

I didn't relish looking in the mirror, but she left me no choice. A toy soldier stared back at me: a wolf, stuffed into the polished paintwork of a statue. If the breastplate hadn't kept my back straight, my shoulders might've slumped in defeat.

Colonel K'nSullach clearly understood, for her first words to me were: "You'll get used to it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Can you ride? I should hope so."

By her name and breed, K'nSullach was obviously a native of the Marches, the wild frontiers to our country's east. Marchers were all cavalrymen; they claimed to have been born on horseback. Not quite so common, in the Midlands, and when I told her I could indeed ride a horse she smiled for the second time since I'd met her.

"That helps."

"Ma'am?"

She didn't answer until the two of us were both in the saddle, trotting through the gate of Cassalmure onto the road that led into Tabisthalia city. "It helps because... well... major, you'll permit me some indiscretion, I hope. We'll have to be quite close, anyway."

"Of course, ma'am."

"If you can ride a horse, they'll let you go by yourself. Otherwise we travel by carriage or palanquin. This is how you'll summon some dignity. You'll need it."

Past the barracks green, we were at once in the dense streets and houses of the city. I wondered how many of Tabisthalia's millions were on the road then and there, pressing in around us as they hurried to and fro. Surowa, capital of the Dhamishi Bhiranate, was larger--but I'd stayed well on its outskirts, away from the crowds.

Dignity, K'nSullach went on, was important. "You have to keep it up. I know you think you look ridiculous; I know the din of the crowd is very different than the roar of a cannon. Major, this is every bit as important. You must carry it with the same dedication, the same bearing as you'd carry a cavalry charge."

I tried to mean it when I said "yes, ma'am."

Though the Iron Hall was only a few decades younger than Cassalmure, it might have been brand new for all the wear it showed. Its alabaster walls, scrubbed clean of the city's soot, remained fresh. The ribs that framed them had been covered in lacquer that shielded the weathered iron and kept it from rusting. Legend said that the ribs were formed from swords, melted down after the First Concord.

Yet the Iron Hall was obviously a stranger to swords. We walked on a floor of marble and ornate tile; the clacking of our boots muffled by thick tapestries from the best artisans in the empire. None of the nobility wandering the halls gave us so much as a second glance; we fit right in.

"Ivra," a friendly voice called out. "My dearest Ivra."

The Border Collie consented to having her cheek kissed by the man, an older-looking deer with a solid paunch and warm eyes. "Your Grace. Major Laner, this is Duke Ideff, Minister of Crown Affairs for Arkenprince Salda, of Hutwick."

K'nSullach hadn't curtseyed, or otherwise indicated her station, but I deferred to caution and bowed. "Your Grace."

"Major Laner is the newest member of the Royal Guard. He's to be attached to Queen Ansha."

Duke Ideff looked me over, and then turned back to the colonel. "As so many are. I heard you were coming, both of you. The tapestries are very talkative about this appointment. From Spal, are you not, my boy? His Majesty is waiting. I do hope he can understand your accent."

My accent? It wasn't incomprehensible. I wasn't from Ailaragh, after all--it wasn't even as strong as K'nSullach's scrupulously suppressed eastern dialect. I bowed again, and permitted K'nSullach to lead me off, to the tall doors of the throne room.

Mysterious as the whole affair was, I had to admit my heart began to beat faster as we approached. I was about to catch my first glimpse of the Iron Throne--my first real glimpse of the Lodestone Sovereign himself. Not everyone could claim such a privilege. Such an...honor.

King Chatherral IV raised his head to look at us, and a smile crossed his white muzzle. The king's heavy robes obscured the throne itself, and called attention to the old stag directly. The dark metal of his crown had been precisely worked to nestle right between his great antlers; it didn't move when his head did.

This time, at least, K'nSullach dropped to her knees, and I did the same. "Your Majesty."

"Oh, little pup," he sighed wistfully. "You don't need to do that. Come... come, please. Who is your guest?"

The colonel rose, and nodded her muzzle to indicate that I should approach with her. "Major Aric Laner, of the Cahied Fusiliers. He is to be Her Majesty Queen Ansha's bodyguard."

The king's eyes had a slightly gauzy focus, and I thought he probably did not see me particularly well. Even still, my heart skipped beneath the appraisal of His Majesty's sovereign gaze. "Ah," the stag said. "Yes. The Fusiliers. A man of the Fusiliers. You are a soldier, Aric Laner?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He smiled again; his nose wandered a little, moving from my face to my breastplate and back. "Yes... yes, so I see. The Fusiliers make their home in... in New Jarankyld, I believe. Very big trees."

"Fort Marskirk, at Surowa, sire," Colonel K'nSullach corrected. "He served in the Southern Rebellion, and has remained in the south ever since. Major Laner was one of the most acclaimed soldiers in the regiment. He'll keep good watch."

"Little pup," the stag said, with a warm sigh. "I trust you. I trust you as I trust no one. Welcome to Tabisthalia, Major Laner--may you and Ansha become fast friends. She's in the library, I think, colonel... you should take him to meet her."

Despite his suggestion, Queen Ansha was not in the library; one of her assistants directed us to the queen's private room in the Iron Hall's eastern wing. After King Chatherral, I wasn't certain what to expect. Colonel K'nSullach didn't give me any clues. I was left on my own, to conclude my first impression when the door opened.

She could not have been fewer than three decades the king's junior--she might even have been younger than I was. The doe's curved ears were animated, and her eyes warm. "You are to be my new escort, I'm told. Major Aric Laner, correct?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Colonel K'nSullach picks well. Colonel--I'll have a word in private with the major, thank you." The Border Collie nodded, bowed again, and stepped from the room. Queen Ansha closed the door herself, then turned about to face me. "You've met my husband as well, I presume?"

"Yes, Your Highness," I said again.

"In private, you don't have to be so formal. I'll call you Aric. You may call me Ansha. I know that you won't forget your station, in spite of this allowance to be made for ease of conversation. Where do you come from, Aric? What brings you here?"

"I was born in Stolvan, in Overkiath. My parents were farmers, but the farm life didn't agree with me and it was going to my older brother anyway. So I enlisted. I've lived fifteen years now in Dhamishaya."

"You fought in the Southern Rebellion," she guessed. "In the King's Own Army."

"Yes."

The doe nodded slowly. "That must have been difficult for you. Was it?"

I chose every word carefully. "We saw little action against others of the Iron Kingdom. For the most part, it was against natives. No less fierce, but perhaps less_difficult_."

"The insurrectionists were from the Railroad. The Railroad is from the Midlands. Like you, Aric."

Maintaining my complete impassiveness took concentration, but I managed. "My oath is to His Majesty the King, your husband. That was, and is, my sole concern."

Ansha watched me, waiting to see if I would speak further. She gave a slight smile. "I notice you didn't really answer my question. Nor its implications. That's good. In public, you have no opinions, Aric. You know that, right?"

"I imagine so, yes."

"'Public' is a curious concept here, Aric. Your barracks are public, and the bars are public, and the quiet alleys where you might mutter to yourself are public. Everything in Tabisthalia echoes. Most of them find their way back here."

As a soldier, my opinions had been irrelevant, too. I figured it was more or less all the same. "I understand that, Your Highness. I have no thoughts on any such matters."

"Not in public."

"No."

Satisfied, the doe nodded. "In private, of course, I must be frank with my inner circle--as I am with everyone close to me. I told Ivra that I didn't need a bodyguard; everything's quite safe here. She insisted. So I'll have you for my own ends."

"Very well, Your Highness."

"You'd be wasted on posing with a sword in front of my door. I have better uses. You'll be my eyes and ears in the city--you'll watch with that soldier's eye of yours, to see if everything is in good order. If I have confidential matters to be handled, you'll handle them. Without question."

"Without question, Your Highness."

"Occasionally, I'll need you for entertainment. Distracting my ladies-in-waiting with your no-doubt copious tales of martial gallantry while I manage some affairs of state that need to be kept private. That sort of thing--but for your sake, I'll keep it to a minimum. Is this acceptable, Aric?"

Facing the queen herself, though, I rather figured there wasn't much choice in the matter. "Yes."

"Good. I know that you're to live with me, here in the Iron Hall. I'll let you get settled in, and summon you when you're needed."

"Very well--thank you."

And then she smiled. "Welcome to Tabisthalia, Aric."

I made my way back outside, where Colonel K'nSullach was seated on an ornate bench further down the hall. She rose smoothly, waiting for me to approach. "Well, major? Was it everything you expected from royalty?"

By Queen Ansha's definition, we were clearly still in public. "Yes, ma'am."

"Shall I help you?"

I tilted my head. "Ma'am?"

"Queen Ansha is from the Aultlands. Politically, this is all complex; His Majesty is widely seen as too distant from the Aultlands--this marriage was an attempt to shore that up, at the expense of raising tensions with the Midlands and the border counties. The Southern Rebellion didn't help matters any. This is why the Royal Guard is commanded by me, a Borderlander. And why Queen Ansha is guarded by you, a neutral Midlander from a family with an impeccable record of service to the Crown."

When she said King Chatherral was seen as "too distant" from the Aultlands, the historical home of our kingdom, I knew what she meant. He was too friendly with the industrialists of the Midlands, like the powerful Carregan Railroad who answered to no authority but their balance books. They had sparked the rebellion in Dhamishaya. "And a veteran of said conflict," I suggested.

"The closest we've come to open civil war in a century. Worse than the Harvest Rising, even. Gods, at least that was only the King's Own Army against the eastern militias. I'll not ask how things went in the south, major, not without a good bit of whiskey--but up here, it nearly saw the Midlands join in."

"This is a lot of politics, ma'am. If you don't mind my saying."

The Border Collie shot me an admonishing look. "I do. Major, this is your battlefield now. You'll need to understand this as clearly as you understand your drills. The weapons are different, but the consequences are far more dire."

This, as with so many things, I gathered I would need to learn on my own.

***

Over the next week I became accustomed to my life as the queen's guard. As Ansha promised, little of it was spent formally accompanying her. She sent me on a few errands to nearby shops: errands which, I surmised, were intended to acquaint me with the lay of the land as much as anything.

There had not been much excitement, nor much of anything conspicuous, and I was surprised when someone knocked at my door. It was one of her handmaidens. "Major, your presence is requested immediately."

I sat up, and straightened my tunic. "Can I get dressed?"

"Immediately," she said. I pulled on my trousers and the soft slippers I had been given to wear in Queen Ansha's presence. Even this brief delay clearly upset the woman, for as soon as I was shod she strode off purposefully, and I had to jog to catch up. Through the window, I caught a glimpse of dark skies; it was well past midnight.

Ansha was in a drawing room, lounging in a sumptuous chair with what seemed to be a book of poetry open before her. She turned her head at our arrival, watching us kneel, then nodded to dismiss the woman who had summoned me. She waited until after the door was closed to nod again. "You may rise."

"I was told you needed me, Your Highness?"

"I do." Ansha turned back to the poetry, speaking easily as if making conversation over dinner. "You're to fetch a certain person I require. The Lady Eybridge, husband to Tegren, the Baron Eybridge."

"At once, Your Highness?"

She flipped to the next page in her book of poems. "I'm sure it's only the lateness of the hour that made that sounds like a question, Major Laner. If you meant to debate me, though--if you meant to say 'at this time of night?'--then I would be obliged to note that it is_precisely_ the time that means you must do it."

"Yes, Your Highness," I said, chastened and cautious. "It should've been clear."

"She is rumored to be at the Ralcarry Baths. Your uniform and your sword will be your ticket, Major Laner."

"Yes, Your Highness."

She still had yet to look at me. "That's all," Ansha said flatly, and turned another page.

I bowed, unseen, and dressed myself quickly. Accompanying my ornamental breastplate with a ceremonial sword seemed, if anything, to make my appearance even more absurd--but the sword was sharp, and perhaps a pistol would've been too unseemly.

The precise location of the bathhouse escaped me, but there was nobody around to ask and I didn't want to waste any more time. I hurried from the Iron Hall, making my way through quiet streets towards Ralcarry Hill, ten blocks away.

I should not have worried. The Baths, between the hill's base and the Tabis River, were well-lit despite the time of night. I heard music, and the sound of revelry coming from within. Besides the light spilling forth, I could see nothing, and at the entrance a sturdy-looking bear blocked my path. "Closed," he said.

"I'm looking for Lady Eybridge; I believe she's here."

"Perhaps," the man grunted, giving no sign whatsoever that he intended to move.

"I serve Queen Ansha. I'm here on her direct orders."

Even that didn't persuade him. "We all serve the queen, soldier. But the Baths are closed for a private event. You're clearly not dressed for it."

Patience exhausted, I finally curled my lip. "You'll find I am," I countered, and drew my sword a few inches from its scabbard. "One last time, sir. On Queen Ansha's orders, I am to retrieve Lady Eybridge from the Baths. I don't want to make a scene. Stand aside."

The sight of steel was, at last, enough. He stepped away from the door. "All the same," he muttered. "Bloody Guard, all the damned same. Fine. Do what you want."

"Orders, sir," I reminded him.

He scowled. "And I'm sure the queen_ordered_ you to conveniently forget your wallet. Hmph. The Guard."

"Excuse me?"

"Get on with it," he snapped, and pointed roughly through the open gate.

Beyond the entrance was an empty garden, and beyond that another set of doors that led to the baths themselves. Shadows waved and danced in time to the music of a finely played violin, soaring over the tumult of shouted conversation.

In the lobby of the Ralcarry Baths I found the musicians, and the brilliant gas lamps that flooded the room with soft light. And a long table, piled with food and bottles of wine. And what must've been fifty people, men and women alike, and all of them in various stages of undress.

No sooner had I stepped inside than one of them sidled up to me, a vixen with such modesty as remained preserved by the waving wisps of emerald silk that curled around her crimson-furred body. "Welcome. A drink?"

"No, I--"

"And this off?" She plucked at the iron rim of my breastplate. "You're overdressed, soldier."

"I'm here on orders." The vixen pushed up, against my side; a moment later I was flanked by a second figure, a lithe squirrel with fur still slightly damp from the perfumed water of the baths.

"Orders can wait," he insisted. "The night is not young, it is true, but nor is it_so_ aged that you have to be so restrained. Come, soldier. Drink." The squirrel pushed a gilt-rimmed wineglass into my right paw.

"This is really not why I'm here." I gave him the glass back, and didn't let go until he'd taken it. He shrugged, and downed it himself. "My orders are--"

"Silly. That was a ten year old red you passed on." The vixen leaned up to lick my muzzle; from the smell of her breath she knew at least as much about the wine as the squirrel had. "It's not me, I hope. Goodness, I hope I'm not why you're keeping your clothes on."

"You're quite fetching," I reassured her. "But I'm here for Lady Eybridge. Do you know Lady Eybridge?"

"Ah!" The squirrel laughed, and tilted the glass back so that he could catch the last few drops. "You're here for Peri, are you? A good choice, but she's busy. And expensive. Do you have your wallet?"

At first I presumed he was joking, even if it was the same joke I'd heard from the bear. "No. No, I don't mean that. Lady Eybridge. She's the wife of the Baron Eybridge."

"So? I'm the Viscount Marat." The squirrel laughed gaily, but he made the claim with such offhanded sureness that I didn't doubt it for a moment.

"I may be misunderstanding you, then, my lord, but--"

The vixen next to me tossed her head back, letting out a high giggle and wrapping her arm around me in a squeeze I felt even through my uniform. "'My lord'! Oh, Marat, you_mustn't_ be so formal; he'll get the wrong idea! What's your name, soldier?"

"Aric. Laner. Major Laner. Queen Ansha's guard." They were both watching me, and the vixen kept tightening her hold. It felt nothing so much as an ambush, rather than a party. "Please. You're very nice company, but"--I shook the vixen off, as gently as I could. "The queen demands that Lady Eybridge return at once."

"He's serious, isn't he?" the squirrel asked.

"I think so," she answered. "He'll learn. Eventually. I'll go find Peri, but she'll not be happy."

She sauntered off. Her companion took me by the wrist, and pulled me towards the table so that he could pour himself another drink. "You_will_ learn," the squirrel promised, winking over the glass's golden rim.

"I don't even know what this place is," I admitted. It was all quite overwhelming: the music, and the gyrating bodies that followed it in singles and pairs through the bathhouse's lobby. If I trained my ears, ignoring the violins, I almost thought I could hear rather less polite noises from the rooms beyond.

"A festival," Lord Marat told me. He glanced around the table, found a piece of candied fruit, and popped it into his mouth. Still chewing, he went on. "On the occasion of Countess Westim's birthday. She has quite the taste, don't you think?"

"I... ah..."

He set his glass down to jab my side. "I didn't mean like_that_. Illi, now... oh, that's quite different."

"Illi..."

"The fox you just met. Illi. I'm sure you'd rather prefer 'the Lady Gannenton,' but honestly... get a few drinks in her and she'll answer to anything." He took another slurping helping of wine. "So would I. You soldiers... I know how you are. And you are_quite_ fetching. You're not hungry, are you?" He asked it with a playful, debauched wink.

"No."

"A shame. I'm a little peckish, myself. I'd ask for a taste, but..."

"I'm--I'm sorry, my lord. I'm not really--this isn't what I--"

"Fine,fine." With a roll of his eyes and a playful bat to my breastplate, the squirrel poured one last glass and wandered off to find more willing prey. I carried myself straight and stern, hoping the look would ward off additional visitors.

Mostly, it meant that I was ignored. I was ignored all the way until Illi, Lady Gannenton returned, dragging a slim ferret who wore only an irritated grimace and a shawl draped around her shoulders. "Lady Eybridge," the vixen introduced us. "Peri, this is... well, he has some name, anyway, I guess."

"Major Aric Laner, of the Royal Guard. The queen has asked for me to fetch you."

Lady Eybridge's scowl faded by slow degrees as her somewhat hazy eyes wandered over me. "Did she? Hm. Well, if it's a_royal_ order..."

I didn't want to touch the ferret, both from a sense of propriety and the suspicion that many others had done so before. But she was not entirely steady on her feet, and by the gate of the Ralcarry Baths I had to support her, stooping so she could get an arm over my shoulder.

The bear at the entrance rolled his eyes when he saw us. "Did he pay?"

The ferret shook her head.

"Bloody Guard," he said, grunting.

I didn't do myself the indecency of replying. In fact I said nothing; Lady Eybridge spoke next, after an unsteady, wobbling block. "I ha'n't seen you before, eh?"

"I'm new. I arrived six days ago."

"From?"

"Stolvan, my lady. It's a farming town between--"

She swatted me with her free paw. "I know_that_. Eybridge is in Laddachshire!" Laddachshire lay directly to the south of county Overkiath, my home. Now that I listened for it, she did have a rather southwestern accent. Most nobility tried to suppress it, but she'd gone past the point of suppression. She was almost to the point of ending all her sentences the way a sou'westerner did--ya? I'm from Aybruj, ya?

"Of course, my lady."

"Hm! I meant, where did you_arrive_ from! I like soldiers. What's your unit? The Watch? Ooh, I bet Ansha would do that... mm..."

"Ah. Second Battalion, Cahied Fusiliers. I was posted to Fort Marskirk."

"Not heard of it." She came to a stumbling halt, and stared up at me accusingly. "Where?"

"Surowa."

The ferret's brow lined in confusion, but she permitted me to begin walking us forward again. "So you're a real soldier, ya? That's odd. Very odd. Hmm, hmm, hmm."

"My lady?"

She snorted, and swatted me again, swaying as she did so. "You_are_ a soldier. None of the Guard are real soldiers. They're all from good families. It's a soft post, ya. That's why you need us to make it... harder..."

"Colonel K'nSullach might disagree with this assessment."

Lady Eybridge rolled her eyes and leaned against me. I think she was trying for a shove, but didn't quite have the coordination. "That bitch. She's not what I mean. The rest of them."

"But... the safety of the royal family is quite an important task," I tried. By that point I was no longer even surprised by the language she used. "It does require some professionalism."

The ferret only snorted again. "We haven't fought a war in_years_. It's the capital, ya. It's safe! Soldiers. Well, they're handsome, at least. You're handsome, wolf."

"There was the Harvest Rising," I said. When the king demanded an additional grain from the Lords of the March, to cover a shortfall in the west. I suspected Colonel K'nSullach and I would have different opinions on_that_ one: she was from the March, and I'd enlisted because my family's orchard was failing in that particular drought.

"A silly affair," Lady Eybridge sniffed.

"And the Southern Rebellion."

"Did you fight in that?"

I nodded. "Yes, my lady. Not directly--not against the Railroad, nor against the Militia."

"Was it fun?"

How am I even to answer that? What does she want me to say?

Fortunately, I was not required to provide an answer. "If you ask me, they should've shot all those silly Marchers for treason, ya? Not_my_ fault they're not as bountiful as the Midlands. You're a Midlander! I'm a Midlander!" She giggled, and tried leaning into me again. "Nice place."

I confined my responses to single syllables and nods, which I figured would be the safest course of action. With some difficulty--she was proving to be somewhat less than stable--I managed to return her to the Iron Hall, whose guards didn't seem surprised at the sight.

Neither did Queen Ansha, when we made our way to her chambers.

"Your Highness, I present Lady Eybridge."

Ansha set the diary aside, and lifted a sealed letter from her desk. She turned, and held the letter out to the ferret. "Peri, this is for you. You'll read this, please."

"Yes, my queen." The ferret bowed erratically, and took the letter from the doe's outstretched paw.

"You may retire. Major Laner, remain." I came to full attention, facing Queen Ansha. At last I heard the door shut behind us; the doe nodded, and I stood at ease to wait. "Thank you, major."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Do you wish to know the contents of the letter?"

"No, Your Highness."

She smiled. "You don't want to know what I said, Aric?"

I flicked an ear at the sound of my name. "I believe it is unlikely to be for my eyes."

"Good answer. But you're not curious?"

As she was my lawful superior, I carefully considered Queen Ansha's question--as well as what the colonel had said, about politics being my battlefield. "I may be, slightly. To the extent that it concerns you, and matters that I may need to know about for your well-being."

Ansha leaned back in her chair, and her smile returned. "An even better answer," she told me, her voice gentle. "Peri is from a new family. Tegren was made a baron only a few years ago. He commands an industrial estate of some wealth, in Laddachshire. His wife was sent to me as a lady-in-waiting. Unfortunately, she has a bit of a mouth. Remember what I said about how the walls echo?"

"Yes."

"I'm sending her away. It isn't that I don't trust her, but her love of those parties and her fondness for drink makes her a liability. Did she say anything to you, Aric?"

"She was more busy being improper in... more physical ways, ma'am. Er--Ansha."

"Yes. Yes, there's that, too. But who can blame her for that? There's nothing wrong with a bit of sensory gratification--we've earned it, at our station. As long as you keep your mouth closed."

"I see."

Queen Ansha picked up on my discomfort with her bluntness, but didn't desist. "Well, as I'm sending her away, if you wanted to use her, you'd best be quick. I'm sure she'd be up for it."

"I wouldn't think of involving myself in this matter, ma'am, don't worry."

"'Worry'? Hardly; it's not a bad idea. She probably needs the company, and perhaps she'll say something interesting."

In any case, Peri had made herself scarce. Instead I went to bed, and rose at my customary early hour so that I could make my way to Cassalmure. I wished to be in the habit of making a regular report to Colonel K'nSullach.

She didn't sleep, as far as I could tell. She was awake when I arrived, and welcomed me in immediately. The Border Collie snapped her paw precisely, flicking a neat logbook open to where a bit of ribbon marked the first empty page. "Your report, major?"

"Nothing much, ma'am. I accompanied Queen Ansha to the New Market so that she could be seen inspecting a shipment of silk from Dhamishaya. Also last night--this morning--I was awoken to summon one of her assistants from... an... an event. A party."

K'nSullach jotted down two quick lines. "Was it enjoyable?"

"I didn't stay, ma'am."

"Probably for the best. You found the assistant, major?"

"Yes. And returned her."

"Good." She closed her logbook. "Will that be all?"

In a snap decision, I judged that we were no longer_in public_. "Permission to speak freely, ma'am?" She inclined her straight muzzle in a subtle nod. "The party. At the baths. I... I wasn't expecting it. They weren't... ah... they weren't..."

"Out with it."

"Common folk," I said, before I lost the courage to do so. "And Queen Ansha seemed to know of it. I would've thought that such behavior was below them."

Colonel K'nSullach permitted no emotion to show on her soldier's face. "They're people, major. They have desires. Such affairs keep the nobles distracted and happy--and it has been said that they speak openly when wine loosens their tongues. Alliances are made in those bathhouses. And broken. And consummated."

"The man at the gate implied the Guard makes regular visits."

This time, the effort to remain impassive was too much for her, but had I not been looking straight at the Border Collie even I might've missed the flicker that crossed her stern eyes. "They do. Many view the Guard as an archaic institution. I'm often given the sons of noblemen, to give them a place to earn some military credit and a rank."

It explained how the bear had treated me--how the guests had treated me, too. But it didn't quite align with what I'd seen of the soldiers at Cassalmure. I let my curiosity get the better of me. "That does not seem like proper behavior. To be seen at such a place--let alone to be taking advantage of the Guard's authority, there."

"I agree."

"As commander of the Guard, couldn't you... forbid it?"

Colonel K'nSullach's muzzle wrinkled: again, only for a moment, and only slightly. "The Guard serves the king's will, major. The king's will is that the nobles be appeased. Filling the Guard with their progeny does so. I could forbid it--but for the Commander of the Guard to give the appearance of usurping royal authority..."

"Politically improper."

"I keep as many of the worst offenders as I can at remote posts and simple tasks. It's all I can do. That, and to know the men I can trust."

I nodded. "I do not envy you this."

"That's how I know you're one of them. Carry on, major."

***

I resolved to keep that in mind. Queen Ansha said nothing else of the incident, and the day passed entirely uneventfully. That evening, though, she asked for my company, and specified that I was to make my uniform presentable.

"I shall take a walk in the garden with my husband. I don't wish to be seen with any of my ladies-in-waiting at present. You'll accompany me, major."

I bowed. "Of course, Your Highness."

"It's good that you be acquainted with the grounds, anyhow."

King Chatherral did not have one individual escort, as his queen did; K'nSullach had explained to me that she didn't want to give the impression that any soldier was too close to him. I'd been introduced to them all by name, though. When we arrived, the throne room was guarded by Captain Sergid, an eastern fox and, like me, a veteran of Surowa. He came to razor-sharp attention as soon as he saw us.

"I'm here to see my husband," Queen Ansha told him.

Sergid stared straight ahead. "Your Highness, His Majesty is in consultation with his advisor at present."

"Nonetheless, I'm here to see him."

"Very well, Your Highness." Stiffly, the fox turned, opened the door, and raised his voice. "Her Royal Highness the Queen Ansha of Aernia." As we passed through, the fox and I exchanged glances; he nodded his greeting, but in deference to the presence of divine royalty said nothing else.

"Ah, Ansha!" King Chatherral was standing, and out of his robes. The tailored jacket hinted at his body; even as it smoothed his paunch out it seemed to remark on what had once been the imposing physical presence of a young stag. His embrace was still strong. "How are you, my dear?"

"Well, love. Well. I thought we might go for a stroll. The evening is lovely--one of the first lovely evenings of the year."

His Majesty had, it was obvious, been in conversation. The neglected partner, a spectacled badger, wore a suit nearly as fine as the king's own. Yet his obvious irritation at the interruption told me he had not learned a proper noble bearing, and as a badger he was clearly not of the royal line.You're learning, Aric, I thought to myself. Presuming you're right.

"Oh, yes," Chatherral mused. "Yes, a walk would do me good. Mr. Couthragn, let us retire for a spell. After dinner... yes. Yes, after dinner, we can resume this discussion."

"Very well, sire. You do have one more appointment, as it happens, but--"

"Can't it wait?" Ansha asked. Standing next to her husband, the difference in their age and stature were plainly magnified. Her eyes were keen, and alert; her flowing dress was completely at odds with his formal jacket. She had the sense of youth in her bearing: even in his arms, it was hard to believe she was more than a foot shorter than he. "Don't you suppose it can wait?"

"Of course, Your Highness."

Ever-perceptive, Ansha ignored his words and went for the subtle tone in them. "You don't mean that."

"I do," the badger insisted. "He has traveled far, but that means he can certainly wait a few hours more. If you may permit me, it's only that it would be helpful to know your schedule in advance, when I am planning these meetings."

"Mr. Couthragn," Chatherral said, his voice grandfatherly. "My dear, dear Mr. Couthragn, love and fine weather know no schedule. If he's here..." A knock at the door provided the answer. "My dear, would you mind? I'll be brief, I swear to it..."

Ansha bowed. "Yes. Yes, we'll wait outside for you, love."

The old stag banished the thought with a waving paw. "Stay, stay. I'm sure it's of little account. Mr. Couthragn, who_are_ we meeting?"

Couthragn went to the door and held it open. Two men stepped through, a bear and a tall, wiry-furred dog that I might've mistaken for a mongrel were it not for the elegance in his bearing. He wore his military uniform with the dignity I'd_expected_ from such men. "Nan!" King Chatherral exclaimed, and went to hug the bear who had entered first. "And... and your friend!"

Couthragn flinched, out of the stag's sight. "Your scheduled appointment, yes. For the benefit of the... the new guard, this is Nantor, Duke Cirth-Arren. Earl of Temar, Earl of Erdurin, Viscount Arvostia, Viscount Masongate, Royal Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of Tæn, Second Master of the Grand Council of His Royal Highness the Arkenprince Tullen. And this is Admiral Daveon Kennish, Earl of Ashenar, Viscount Kennesmar--First Naval Lord. Lord Ashenar is here to see you, sire."

"Ah... ah, yes." The king nodded. "Ships and the like, is that right?"

Daveon drew himself to attention. "Yes, Your Majesty. I requested an audience from Mr. Couthragn on account of the report your office had requested from the Admiralty, concerning shipping losses between Surowa and the homeland."

"Your report," Couthragn prompted.

The admiral remained as stiff as his fur. "The situation has become severe, my lord. The... the weather deteriorates. Our losses accelerate; they're twenty percent greater than this time last year, and twice as much as ten years ago. The merchant captains are beginning to voice their displeasure."

"Arkenprince Tullen advises me that he has heard of this in the Old Council as well, my lord," Nantor added. "The Western Shipping Guild presented an official petition of grievance. They demand action."

King Chatherral raised his head, eyes looking towards the ceiling in thought. "Action?"

"The Royal Navy, my lord. The Guild requests that a squadron be dispatched."

"Hmm."

I watched as Couthragn looked between his king and the admiral, waiting for Chatherral to say anything further. "Pardon my... ignorance, my lord. A squadron, that would be... three ships? Six?"

"Yes, sir. Six. Vice-Admiral Marral's fleet at Reth is standing by, as it is in their official mandate to protect the coastal shipping."

"And the cost?"

Couthragn had asked the question but, I saw, Lord Ashenar addressed the king directly. "The details are in the report, but for this summer, an incremental expenditure of ninety thousand pounds is requested."

I could not tell, from his expression, if King Chatherral was surprised or displeased. "Oh, my. That's quite a lot, Daveon. You could do it for less, I... I think... fifty or sixty..."

The dog went more rigid still. "Your Majesty, we've lost a dozen ships on the Velvet Coast alone this quarter. I must impress upon you the gravity of the situation."

Chatherral was silent. After an uncomfortable pause, Duke Cirth-Arren spoke. "You believe another storm is likely?"

"Again, my lord, the details are in the report. But yes, we've heard rumors. Without support, our supply lines to and from Surowa are at risk. And if we cannot secure the colonies, there will be more trouble."

"Storms," Chatherral murmured. "Quite... tempestuous, those waters..."

"Your Majesty," the admiral began.

"Not that it is within my control," the stag went on. "Ah, to calm the weather; that would be a trick. I prefer pleasant sailing, when I must sail. I never had the sense of adventure you... you sailors have. Salt spray and all that. Mm."

"Your Majesty." The admiral was uncomfortably tense. "These are not merely small ships. The freighter_Calwain_ was four thousand tons, and armed with proper cannon."

"Four thousand. That's a lot. I remember a storm I read about once. But of course, I can't stop the sea, admiral. If I could..."

Lord Ashenar took a short, deep breath. "Your Majesty. I beg of you to at least acknowledge the truth! It was_your_ order that shipping losses south of Paralan Bank be attributed to weather instead of piracy! Not the Admiralty--you, my lord, and--"

"And_yet_," Nantor growled, to silence him. The bear raised his paw. "Yet had that sentence continued, you might well have come dangerously close to contradicting that order and attributing them inappropriately anyway."

King Chatherral looked more confused, than anything, about where the conversation had gone. "Nan?"

"What Admiral Lord Ashenar means to say, Your Majesty, is that the inclement weather has left many good crews in need of rescue. The Royal Navy would be able to sail to their aid, if it were present; to take on passengers and cargo, and render assistance to their lifeboats. It would be a good showing. A sign of proper faith to the Western Shipping Guild. You meant that, did you not, admiral?"

The dog quivered, his sigh trembling and tense with the effort required to keep his composure. "Yes, my lord. I did."

I saw the sweep of King Chatherral's great antlers as the stag nodded slowly; the antlers seemed meant for a sturdier man. "Mr. Couthragn, is that... that is accurate, I suppose?"

"Commodore Gara should be able to detach his squadron. The_Utaniel_ and his command; that leaves enough in Reth still, I believe. I'm to understand the Narad is being transferred from Giral Moss to the western fleet at Sidley. Is that correct, admiral?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not a sailor, either, but I conjecture the_Houric_ can wait until fall for her refitting, and remain at Sidley for the duration rather than being relieved. If the Narad were sent further down, as Gara's flagship, that would then be six ships led by a modern steam frigate--for ninety thousand pounds, sire, a bargain." The badger showed no signs of remembering that, scant minutes before, he had feigned ignorance of what a 'squadron' meant.

"Mm. Very well, very well. Draw up the orders," King Chatherral said. "I confess the discussion of storms has rather worn me out. I may take that walk now, my dear Ansha."

The doe bowed. "With pleasure, love. You need some relaxation, anyhow..."

"Yes. Yes, and... and some privacy," he added, sounding rather distracted. "You didn't bring your companions. That's fine. Quite well. I trust you can handle all the... the fiddly bits, Mr. Couthragn," the stag finished, and looked towards the door before taking his wife's paw in his own.

Stay, she mouthed to me. I nodded my silent understanding, and stood motionless as the pair left the room. Lord Ashenar's shoulders sagged, and he let out a heavy sigh. "Hallun..."

He'd been talking to the badger, who patted the dog's shoulder lightly. "It will be done, my lord. How critical is the refitting of the_Houric_?"

"In my honest opinion, sir?"

"Of course. We're between friends."

The dog shook his head. Clearly, it was not about the warship so much as his indictment of the concept of 'friends' in general. "Her copper sheathing should be repaired and her guns are half-worn. But Sidley is a safe harbor, and at worst... Vice Admiral Ondaris would not permit her to sail in poor condition."

"Ondaris is..."

He shook his head again. "Fine, I agree. But Commodore Granjan will protect them. The_Narad_ is better-suited for the southern patrols. If you can convince the Duke of Sidley. I doubt His Majesty's word has--"

Once again, and even though Chatherral was no longer present, Nantor lifted his paw to silence the dog. "Watch yourself. He's your king, Daveon."

"Yes. Yes, Your Grace, I know. I..." The admiral swallowed heavily. "I forget myself. Apologies. I meant no slight to His Majesty."

"Good. I'll speak to Arkenprince Tullen. He should be able to apply some pressure. It would help if the losses stopped. Can you guarantee that?"

"I'll do what I can, Your Grace. If I might prepare a second, confidential report... for your eyes..."

The bear's face was stony. "You may not. You serve the king, Daveon. Not me. Remember that."

"Of course."

"Do what you can."

"Of course," he repeated, subdued. "Permission to return to the harbor, Your Grace?"

That left the three of us in the room--me still standing rigidly, and the bear and the badger looking wearily at one another. Nantor noticed my presence first, indicating me with a dip of his head. "The soldier."

"A guard. Deaf, as they all are. You are deaf, are you not, soldier?" I said nothing in response to the badger's question. "You see? He has ears only for his superiors."

"Many ears in this palace," Nantor countered. "We should not have been so indiscreet. Soldier, look at me. Forget Mr. Couthragn's... theater. Look at me." Hesitantly, I turned towards the bear. "What's your name?"

"Major Laner, Your Grace."

"Your title?"

"Major," I repeated.

"Don't play me," Nantor snapped. "Your family, wolf. What's your lineage?"

I could feel the bear's eyes boring into me, and did the only thing I knew, straightening up tightly. "Major Aric Laner, sir. Detached from the Second Battalion, Cahied Fusiliers, Temit Barracks, Fort Marskirk."

"A colonial?"

"I was born in Stolvan, Overkiath, Your Grace. My father was Hælech Laner, also of Stolvan, and his father was Pied Laner, of Durn Sion."

"Hallun," Nantor said, still staring into my face. Nantor was a sturdy, imposing figure, taller than I and two stone heavier. "I suppose this is where I ask you for the truth."

Couthragn stepped into my field of view. "He's one of Ivra's, hand-picked from the garrison. His family are immigrants. Pied Laner settled in Durn Sion, eventually, but his father was from Sess-Ezor, in Karepeth."

"Interesting.Vat noch, en väre," Nantor growled. "Explains the wolfish look, doesn't it?"

"He's correct, Your Grace," I admitted. I stammered it, caught off-guard by the interrogation and by Hallun Couthragn's knowledge of my ancestry. "I... I do not speak Ellagdran, though. Nor did my father. We're completely devoted to--"

"Spare me. Hallun, Stolvan is in the Marrahurst sphere, isn't it?"

I didn't dare to look away while Duke Cirth-Arren was staring at me, but saw Couthragn's shrug from the corner of my eye. "Geographically, yes. But they have no mines; culturally, it's closer to the South Coast. In Kiathen Down's sphere, if anything. But mostly neutral. That's why Ivra picked him."

"Do you trust Ivra?"

"No. Of course not." He let the words hang.

I must've given something away--a flinch, a twitch of the eye--for Nantor laughed. "That unnerves him. He thinks we know something. Hallun doesn't trust anyone, wolf, don't worry. Were you always a soldier?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I enlisted at seventeen."

"Six years in the Martal Regiment. He transferred to the Cahied Fusiliers just before they were assigned to Marskirk. Field commissioned as a lieutenant during the Southern Civil War. Two Iron Arrows, two Iron Shields--one with a silver standard, awarded during the Sickle Campaigns." My flattening ears betrayed both my shock at the thoroughness of Hallun's report, and its truthfulness. "He was to be next in command of the Second Battalion, before his recall."

Nantor stepped away from me, and gave an approving nod that Hallun answered in kind and, oddly, put me at ease as well. "We don't see many of your kind, Major Laner."

"Soldiers, he means. The Guard is... well. It is the Guard."

"Ivra is careful with the inner circle, though. The ones protecting the king and queen. That is your sworn duty, is it not, major?"

"Yes," I agreed. "Certainly, Your Grace."

"They require it." Duke Cirth-Arren's voice grew more solemn as the bear went on. "You may not think it, but they do. Some would say His Majesty is under siege in the Iron Hall itself. I do what I can to keep him safe--not from swords or bullets; they're more subtle, here. The voices that whisper in his ear. Seditious voices."

"Sedition?" As soon as I asked the question I resented myself for my curiosity--Queen Ansha would no doubt have told me to keep my distance. But there it was, and neither man balked.

"The Governor's League is only the least objectionable of them. His Grace refers to others. The Guilds. The capitalists--the Carregan Railroad in particular. They aim to usurp his divine authority to their own ends. It might as well be poison, and... and at times, I think his mind is... no longer the antidote it once was."

"We speak freely because you must be trusted, major." Duke Cirth-Arren turned his head to the empty Iron Throne, as if sensing the way its wrought carvings cooled without a sovereign to occupy them. "There will come a time when the stakes are higher than any of us yet know."

***

I resolved to keep this in mind, although I didn't have much of an opportunity. As I left the Iron Hall, Lady Eybridge interdicted me. Reacting to my surprise, she simply told me to call her 'Peri' and requested a word with me "in private."

"Private, ma'am?"

"My room." She stretched out on her tiptoes and whispered into my ear: "We have things to discuss."

Much as I doubted this, I also recalled what Queen Ansha had told me about the ermine. In any case, she was not about to take 'no' for an answer. I followed her along to her room. Most of the decorations must've been removed, for the walls were conspicuously bare.

Peri closed the door, barred it, and turned to face me. "Now, then."

"You wanted to talk about something?"

"I should certainly hope there's not much talking..."

"Ma'am?"

"You're Ansha's boy, aren't you?"

"Ah. Yes. I'm her escort, from--"

"Good enough." She slipped the overcoat from her shoulders; it pooled smoothly around her feet and she stepped forward, one graceful, fluid movement at a time. With her flawless pelage and the cut of the dress laced tightly about her chest, I began to understand why she'd been so popular at the Ralcarry baths.

Peri wouldn't have needed to undress all the way to attract attention--but she did, unfastening her dress until it joined her coat on the floor. Not all of my gaze was so innocently...information-gathering. There was an undeniable appeal to her look.

"You follow orders, don't you, soldier?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Grinning lewdly, she pulled her finger straight down the front of my uniform. "Disrobe. I want to see what you look like standing at attention." I tried to keep my eyes on her, and fumbled at the first button; her grin widened. "Eager, are you?"

She seemed to like the idea. I nodded slightly, and quickly got my shirt off. "Yes, ma'am," I told her, before unbuttoning my trousers, as well. I took more care than the ferret had in removing them, lest they become obviously wrinkled.

That amused the ferret, too. As soon as I was done, she closed the rest of the distance between us. "You're so_proper_," she drawled. "Has it been awhile, soldier?"

It had--not since Dhamishaya, and even then the local girls weren't really to be trusted. I admitted that freely. "Yes. Uh--ma'am. Yes, ma'am." Her fingers cupped my sheath, kneading gently until my shaft was pushing into her paw and I could enjoy how silky her well-kept fur was.

"Well, why don't we fix that, ya?" Her accent was beginning to slip; the South Coast dialect took hold as she continued to stroke and tease me. "Tell me..."

"Ma'am?"

Peri took a step backwards, waited for me to follow, and proceeded in this fashion all the way to her bed. She gripped my cock in her fingertips, slowly dragging them upwards to the tip. I couldn't help but shudder. "Mm-hm. Tell me, do they make you try out for the Royal Guard?"

"No."

"So you haven't been properly vetted, ya? On the bed," she instructed.

It was far more comfortable than the cots I was used to. The scent of perfume rose when I settled onto my back, joining the growing notes of our mixed arousal--and the hint that I had not been the first, just barely perceptible beneath the freshly laundered sheets.

She slid atop me, her knees gripping either side of my thighs and her hips near enough to my waiting erection that I swore I could feel the dampness between us. "One rule, soldier. You said you followed orders..."

I nodded, making sure it was quick and eager. Her approving grin told me that had been the right move. Peri gripped my shaft, pointing it between her legs and settling down until I was prodding against the soft, wet warmth of her entrance. She started to yield, to take me inside her--and stopped.

Her smirk was melting into a more pointed grin. "No tie. I won't have that... complication."

"Yes, ma'am."

She pushed down firmly, and the reply hissed between her bared fangs as the ferret took me. "Good." Her eyes had rolled back with what had been the pleasing shock of that first, deep penetration--my cock spreading her open, stretching her around its bulging contours.

She sat back to enjoy herself, leaving me hilted, and rocked experimentally back and forth on my crotch. I twitched in her, precum already smearing the exquisite folds that tugged and gripped me in their wet velvet. There was, after all, no sense in_not_ enjoying myself.

When she was comfortable, adjusted to me, she began to revolve her hips in a deliberate, slow rhythm. The strokes were short at first, keeping me mostly buried; little by little she let her hips rise further before dropping them down to impale herself again.

Before long she was pumping herself on the nearly the full length of my throbbing cock. Breathing in shallow, huffing gasps that deepened every time she plunged me inside her, Peri rode me steadily. I made out her slurred murmuring--good, he's good... oh, that's nice--but it was meant for her benefit more than mine.

It was above my station to comment, anyway. But beyond those whispers there was just the wet, slapping squelch as I speared her cunt, the heat of her squeezing demandingly around me, and I was losing my resolve. I groaned; my muzzle stayed open.

She chuffed a warning bark. "No. Don't speak." She bucked faster, and I had to grit my teeth as she teased herself against my growing knot. There was a lewd skill to the ferret's pace, even as it grew halting and erratic. I couldn't help but arch up to meet her downward strokes, and I heard my muffled growls becoming urgent, but she retained enough control to keep me from tying her.

Peri got out another bark, the word half-formed--then she squeaked and shoved against me, shuddering hard on my knot. Her muzzle tightened; so did her fingers, driving claws into my chest. So did her thighs, clamping down as if fighting her frantic squirming.

So did the rest of her: a subtle but unmistakable pressure gripped my cock and by the third pulsing squeeze I couldn't hold out any more. I hammered up and into her in harsh, jerking thrusts. My need for release left me heedless of the way she fell forward, clinging to me; barely even aware of her voice.That's-it-don't-stop--

She was no longer highborn when my climax hit. She took me like any commoner, like the village girls who'd known the best secluded forest walks back home. Gasped like they had, when my strokes ended in that deep, purposeful lunge. Held still and quivered like they had, while the throbbing surges of my cock pumped a flood of sticky warmth deep inside.

Except that she was even less demure. "Good--good boy--let me have it!" The words hissed into my ear, and I could only grunt in answer as I twitched through the last heartbeats of my peak.

Finally, unsteadily, I let my hips lower, and Peri settled down with me. The sense of substantial impropriety reasserted itself--I was, after all, buried up to my knot in the married noblewoman I'd just filled with my seed. But it was hard for the emotion to find purchase.

The ferret herself was unconcerned, plainly, sighing her gratification. "Perhaps I should've let you tie me," she mused drowsily, as her claws worked through my fur. "It's harder to get away back home, ya, more people watching..."

"Even here, it's not... so easy to be indiscreet."

Peri raised her head, looking at me with a smirk. "I think anyone who found us would know what we'd been up to, ya?" She rocked her hips slowly, until I started to feel the wetness of my seed spilling from her. "At least until I have a bath."

"I thought you didn't want the queen to discover us."

"Her?" Rolling her eyes, she settled back down onto my chest. "What can she do?Cargal'th, sending me off was cold politics for her. I'm just getting a bit of... mm, payback. Why would I care what she thinks, anyway?"

"Well, she is your queen..."

"Then she should act like it, shouldn't she? Rather than putting on airs and scheming. We're nobles, after all--shouldn't we have some benefit from that?" Peri tapped the tip of my noise. "She reads too much to understand that. I always say: act like a commoner, and you'll become a commoner."

"She seems very formal to me."

"You would think that, wouldn't you? She's probably off with Kiray Dunnia, engaged in polite conversation in one of the tea-houses in Barnardech Hill. Oh, well, it'll be more than tea, won't it?She doesn't care about me. She only cares about her books--and I just bet she isn't very formal with Dunnia. What a strange situation. Don't you think?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, by the_gods_, you are nicely daft." She giggled, shaking her head. "It's a refreshing change of pace. I guess I shouldn't have expected a soldier to be knowledgeable about these things."

I didn't want to break the spell, lest she become suspicious. "At least we have other uses?"

I'd given a short, subtle buck of my hips, and Peri immediately got the message. "Again, soldier? Such_energy_," she purred, Queen Ansha all but forgotten.

***

She was not, however, forgotten to me. Ansha summoned me to her room in the evening, after I'd had a chance to clean up. The doe showed no sign that she was aware anything had happened.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that conversation earlier, Aric."

"It was nothing. Matters of state are very complex. I don't claim to understand them."

"It isn't what I meant." The doe let out a sigh, wistfully brushing her fingers over the book she'd been reading. "The workings of the inner court are not the sort of thing to stir one's faith."

I held my tongue.

"The Lady Eybridge departed earlier today. Did you happen to take her up on her offer? I'm sure she made one. Yes, I can tell from your ears that you did--oh, don't be that way. I told you to do it... more or less."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did she have interesting things to say?"

This time, my ears flattened until even I was aware of it. "Strange things, ma'am. Foolish ones. I see what you meant about her... wordiness."

"Indeed. What sort of things?"

"She accused you of dispensing with her for political reasons."

Ansha smiled. "That is true."

"And of being too well-read."

"Also true." She glanced to the closed book of poetry. "Hardly a fault."

"And of aspiring to a common touch."

"A queen should know her subjects." The doe tilted her head, folded her paws, and fixed me in a stern gaze. "Did she truly speak_so_ obliquely, Aric?"

My ears stayed flat. "She said you don't appreciate the benefits of nobility. And that you consort with vonde Kiray Dunnia, and for more than just polite tea. There was nothing more direct, and to be honest... I think she did not expect me to understand the implications."

"But you do."

"Yes. I do."

"Let me guess, Aric: you think vonde Dunnia is a radical. Are you not one for the temple? There's a Tænish temple in Stolvan, isn't there?"

There was indeed, and my mother and father made regular sacrifices to the gods of the Coral Valley. For myself, I'd lost touch with the pantheon during my time in Dhamishaya--for our gods had forsaken that land utterly.

"I asked you a question, Aric," she prompted.

"My family is religious. I am less so, ma'am. And when I was, we traveled to Cassalfen when it was necessary--I was raised as a gerenant, not a vondean. I have no quarrel with the faithful, of course, I didn't mean to cause any slight."

"You've met my husband, Aric. You don't know him as well as I do, but you've met him. And you've seen him at work, now. Don't you suppose vonde Dunnia might have a point? Perhaps the 'divine right' of kings is more_right_ than divine." She stopped, scanning my face to judge any reaction. "If you tell Ivra, she'll confirm the rumors--they're scarcely new or hidden. I love my husband, but I have an open mind. That's all I'll say on the matter. It's sufficient, is it not?"

***

"The rumor mill said that Lord Ashenar was due to arrive yesterday afternoon."

I nodded curtly. "Yes, ma'am. I was present for his meeting with His Majesty the King."

"The rumor mill said that, too." Colonel K'nSullach leafed back one page in her journal. "You remained behind, after you were dismissed by Queen Ansha."

"Should I not have done so?"

The Border Collie considered her answer, and sighed before she gave it. "I don't think they would've permitted you to leave without a bit of interrogation. The Duke of Cirth-Arren, in particular... he's every bit as loyal to our king as I am, and takes an interest in the Guard's affairs. Not that I mind the interest. We need allies."

"He expressed a similar sentiment."

"Yes, well: we're of_similar_ minds. The Berdanish clan is one of the oldest and most dependable in all the King's Reach. Officially, they're loyal to Prince Tullen, but..." She looked up from her book, watching my expression. "Consider this an intelligence briefing, major."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Arren and Tabis-Kitta have always been close, and Arkenprince Tullen is no different than his forebears. He would lay down his life for King Chatherral, and Nantor Berdanish is Tullen's dearest advisor. Listen to him, and listen to Arkenprince Tullen--and to Arkenprince Salda, of Hutwick. Unquestioningly. Listen to Arkenprincess Chavan unquestioningly only if others from Arren and Hutwick are around. With Arkenprincess Geior, always keep one ear alert."

I did what I could to put my knowledge of court politics to use, though it sounded like so many names to me. "I thought that Barland was also a reliable member of the Old Council, ma'am? Why would Arkenprincess Geior require special treatment?"

"They feel neglected. Barland suffered during the droughts that led Chatherral to demand grain from the eastern provinces. They weren't happy with the way His Majesty settled the Harvest Rising. The death of Duke Sidley in Surowa was also not taken well."

I remembered hearing the news in the barracks at Fort Marskirk. He'd been an old man, of course, but his death had come at the worst possible time--stranding us without clear orders and an obvious rebellion brewing. "It was rumored then that his death wasn't an accident," I recalled.

Watching the ghost of a smile drift over the colonel's muzzle, I couldn't tell if she knew more than she was letting on, and in any case she remained diplomatic. "That's why it wasn't taken well. After Queen Vella passed, taking Ansha as a bride was supposed to pacify them.Some feel Arkenprincess Geior is closer to her fellow Barlander than to her rightful king. If I knew for certain, Major Laner, I would tell you, I swear. For now, all I say is that you should be careful. But Arren and Hutwick are safe, and Ailaragh goes with whatever the majority says at the moment."

Ailaragh, an island principality, could consider itself insulated from whatever happened across the strait in Tabisthalia itself. "Duke Cirth-Arren is faithful to Tullen, and Tullen is faithful to the king. What of Hallun Couthragn?"

"An inscrutable man of a mysterious lineage. Rumor," she began, and caught herself. The colonel pointedly closed her notebook, and folded both paws atop it. "Rumor holds that he's a member of the Artem-Jana Guild--those thieves and spies and sneaks that seem to be everywhere. He knows more than he should, that's for certain."

"He knew everything about me. My service record... my parents, and their parents..."

"Yes. In the king's service, he appears to be loyal; as long as he's loyal, he's a useful asset."

"Do you trust him?" It was the same question Nantor had asked Hallun, of Ivra herself.

"No. Of course not."

And that was the same answer.

***

"Isn't it glorious?" The old stag leaned heavily on his walking-stick, and sighed as he reviewed the greenery. With Queen Ansha, I was accompanying Chatherral and the crown prince, Enthar, on a leisurely stroll through his abundant gardens. "Do you know anything of gardening, my boy?"

I realized he was addressing me only when he turned to look in my direction. "Not really, sire, I'm afraid."

King Chatherral sighed again, wistfully. "My dear, will you teach him? They don't teach them anything, these days, I'm afraid..."

Queen Ansha rested her paw on her husband's arm. "He is a soldier, love. They have different concerns. No doubt, he could ride with us as well as any noble."

"Ah... but I'm not much for horses, dear, not now." Chatherral began to walk again, slowly, down into the tidy expanse of brilliant green hedges and even more brilliant flowers. "But growing things... this here, for example..." He stopped, and pulled a flower closer so we could inspect its soft golden petals, fringed with scarlet. "Enthar, what is this?"

The younger stag stepped forward. Prince Enthar would come to have his father's antlers in time; for now it was his mother's grace I saw in his fluid movement. "A Quriathic orchid, father," he said. "A gift from Shah Akesh, of Quria."

Chatherral turned smoothly, and favored his son with a smile. "Close. Very close. But look at the shape again."

The prince wavered. I could see that he dearly wanted to please the king, but the knowledge escaped him. Tension creased his subtle, soft brow. He started to speak no fewer than three times. "Maybe it would be possible to cross a Quriathic orchid with... oh, father, do you suppose it would be possible to cross a Quriathic orchid with... oh, I do not know--wouldn't it be beautiful to see one crossed with a Dhamishi specimen? I might not be able, but you, father..."

The smile on the old stag's face widened, and broke into an open, unreserved beam. "Now_there_ is an interesting proposal. The court gardener and I spoke of it only last week, indeed. It was her opinion that grafting one of the sacred flowers of Paivir might be done, but as it happens--listen close, Enthar--do you listen? You listen, yes," he sighed happily, patting the boy's shoulder. "In Dhamishaya, they're known to enchant their flowers to bring them closer together. I should think that... that... oh, what's this?"

We all turned, hearing the sound of footsteps. Two uniformed members of the Royal Guard approached, followed by the deceptively stately, massive bulk of Nantor, Duke Cirth-Arren. "Your Majesty," one of the guards began. "Duke Cirth-Arren to see you."

"I was occupied," Chatherral said. It wasn't unkind, or even irritated; it seemed to my ears more commentary than anything else. Reflecting on it, I realized that Enthar had never answered his father's question, and Chatherral hadn't minded that, either. "Is it important?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Nantor said. "I beg pardon for interrupting you at such a time, but a dispatch has arrived from the garrison at Castle Mirhall, on the Whistling Pale."

"They're very talkative, yes."

"Indications that the natives are restless. For the first time, we have concrete intelligence. They may be planning an attack on the Chirel Bridge."

Chatherral brushed at the question with a wave of his paw. "'May,' yes... but... but_will_ they? Ah, Nantor, I don't know, it seems so confusing... all these attacks; all this unpleasantness..."

"My lord, if the bridge is taken, all traffic from the Midlands south to New Jarankyld would be interdicted. We'd have to reach the province by ship, and considering the_weather_, that might be risky."

His expression clouded over at the mention of 'weather.' "Mm, yes. So then..."

"Colonel Kye requests the support of the Fourth Light, at Nattenleigh, to mount an expedition with the aim of disrupting the barbarians before they can stage a proper attack."

"Mm," the king repeated. "That's good. But as you can see, I'm rather busy, Nantor. I was just showing my son around here again. Quizzing him on the important things in life, as you know. You know, don't you, Enthar?"

"Yes, father."

I saw Ansha subtly pat the stag's arm. "This might take precedent, dear," she urged gently. "Aren't there troops closer than Nattenleigh, though, Nantor? That's a bit of a journey to move them so far."

"Yes, Your Highness. The Sixth has a regiment posted at Salketh. But the Fourth Light has recently transferred from the eastern frontier, and they have experience in dealing with natives."

Chatherral sighed; a heavy, ponderous sigh. For a moment I felt the burden of his crown. "Nantor, come to me after dinner and we can talk about your battle-maps and such. I need to think about it."

"Colonel Kye's messenger rode with some urgency, my lord..."

"After dinner. Please."

The bear kept his face straight, bowing. "Yes, my lord."

King Chatherral watched him go, and finally turned back to the orchids. "Where was I..."

He didn't bother to pick up exactly where he'd left off. We wandered through the gardens, with Chatherral offering a pleasant narration of the various flowers. Some of them were his own creation; many were gifts from nobles and foreign dignitaries.

A walk through the Royal Gardens ended inevitably at the arrangement of fountains that commanded its far end. Burbling, crisp water circled a huge, carved replica of the Iron Kingdom, formed from polished stone that had been quarried from each of the individual provinces. The fountains arced subtly towards Tabisthalia, hinting at the old saying that all compasses pointed to the Lodestone Sovereign.

Alone, Chatherral stepped over the footbridge that crossed from the edge of the map first to the island of Ailaragh, and then to Tabisthalia itself. The city was represented by a sculpture of the Iron Hall, designed to serve as a throne; when the stag sat down, it only magnified the sense that the fountains were being drawn to him.

"I'm tired," he admitted to us, still on the other side of the water. "But it's been a pleasant walk. I like these walks."

They were a chance for him to be alone, I thought: to escape from the constant demands levied on the throne. But even in the gardens, solace proved to be fleeting--ten minutes later, as Chatherral mused about the old sculptors who'd furnished our surroundings, someone else arrived to summon his attention.

Ansha leaned over, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Ithil Carregan, son of Tokeli Carregan. He runs the Railroad these days, more or less."

My hometown in Overkiath wasn't served by the Carregan Transcontinental Railroad. But even I, child of farmers, knew of their influence. I knew the rumors that I didn't dare repeat in the capital city--that the Railroad and its mercenary Iron Corps was even more powerful than the king. It was more than rumor, at least, that they'd instigated the rebellion in Dhamishaya.

I wondered how they managed to maintain their influence, after that bit of sedition, but the warm look on King Chatherral's face made his fondness for the fox obvious. He got up from the throne and made his way back over the bridges. "Ithil! Ah, hello, hello, yes..."

Ithil did not bow, but he nodded his head. "Your Majesty. I happened to be in town, and I supposed that I would pay you a visit. My mother sends her warm regards."

"Your mother's regards are always warm," the stag said. "Please, please, return them. How have you been? Oh, no, I do forget myself--Enthar, you know of Ithil, but this is... Major La... well, a major, anyway, and sworn to protect my queen. Major, Ithil Carregan--an old friend. Of the Railroad!"

"Pleased to meet you, sir," I told the fox.

"Yes," he answered, and went back to ignoring me. "I'm well enough, sir. I did figure I'd ask you something, while I'm about. No doubt you've heard the troubling reports of native unrest in the Dalrath."

"Oh, goodness. Yes? That's in the south, isn't it? I have some very lovely ferns from there..."

Ithil nodded. "The south. You have a garrison at Mirhall, and we have a rail line connecting Marrahurst to New Jarankyld. It seems that military intelligence suggests the barbarians plan to attack it. I know you're more than capable of dealing with such a thing--the troops at Salketh, perhaps?"

"Salketh..."

Prince Enthar coughed. "Yes, father. Duke Cirth-Arren spoke to us a few hours ago. He said he'll be back at--"

"Your father and I are talking," Ithil interrupted him, gently but firmly, and turned his back on the prince to address his father. "I'm sure you know what to do, sir. I would like you to know, of course, that if you don't care for the cost of such a deployment, we would be glad to help."

"Help?"

I did not like the fawning smile Ithil gave his king--thick with the sort of patronizing obsequiousness one can only afford when it isn't actually required. "We've an outpost at the Chirel Bridge, manned by the finest troops in the Iron Corps. We've been meaning to expand it, anyway, and the Iron Corps is more practiced than anyone in putting down trouble. I've already sent word to my cousin, asking him to reinforce the outpost. You've nothing to worry about."

"Goodness!" Chatherral said. "I don't properly recall hearing about any such uprising, but I suppose you'd know best if it affects those trains of yours, wouldn't you? Ah, you Carregans, you're so industrious. Your mother taught you well, Ithil."

"Yes. And of course, they do mean to attack the Railroad. We're their target, properly; the King's Own Army needn't suffer on_our_ account. I've let Colonel Kye, at Castle Mirhall, know that we'll be coming through to secure the area."

"Wonderful."

"Colonel Kye has_requested_ help from the King's Own Army," Queen Ansha spoke up.

"A formality, Your Highness," Ithil countered. At least he granted her the honor of a title. "Colonel Kye wouldn't want to be seen as imposing on the Iron Corps, not considering the cost of a major operation to suppress the forest folk. They are elite, after all."

"Expensive," Ansha corrected.

"You've seen them. Dr. Rescat invited you to the drills. Perhaps a certain military mind is required--you should ask your soldier, there. In the event, sir," he went on, turning back to the king. "There's no cost for you. As I said--you're not to blame."

"Is it expensive?" the stag asked.

"Worthwhile..."

Chatherral smiled, shaking his head like an indulgent father. "You can tell me, young man."

Ithil Carregan bowed, permitting himself to do just that at the king's urging. "Yes. It would be. We wouldn't dream of asking for reimbursement. Ah, Your Majesty, I see that look in your eyes--no, I'm quite serious. To be honest, it should have been part of our strategy all along."

"Why, whatever do you mean?"

"An Iron Corps outpost guards the bridge, as you know. We'd once thought of making that a proper station. Water, and coal, in exchange for a modest toll--to pay for upkeep and such. We decided against that, in the end. So we shall bear the cost."

I saw Queen Ansha's eyes darken as the doe considered whether or not to speak up. "Now, Mr. Carregan, that was part of the royal charter. Your company was granted that easement in understanding that the line would always remain free and open."

"Yes," the fox answered carefully. "A gift, to His Majesty. As I said: we bear the cost. In this case, it's quite considerable; in others, not so much."

Chatherral was trying to follow along, I could tell. "But you_could_ charge a toll, I suppose."

"Some would say we've earned it, indeed. But it was a gift and, well..."

"You do so much for us," the stag replied. "If it would help you to build a... a 'proper station,' as you said, well--well, think of it as a gift of my own."

Ithil's eyes widened, and he raised his paw as if to protest. "But, Your Majesty..."

"I insist! Your mother knows how much I value our old friendship... a little thing like this, when you've done so much..."

The fox capitulated at once. "You know she'll want to name it after you, of course."

"She is sentimental, isn't she?" The king chuckled, having already settled the matter in his mind. "You should really come to dinner with us, Ithil. I'd love to catch up, and..."

"Unfortunately I must go. The native affair does require my attention, alas..."

***

Later, alone, Ansha explained further. "The rumors were always that he and Tokeli Carregan shared a bed during his previous marriage. You heard them. Tell me--honestly, Aric, tell me. What did they say in Surowa, during the rebellion? Not your political answer; you're not good at politics, not yet. In the barracks, what did they say?"

"They believed that the king allowed the Railroad to do as it wished because of his relationship with Tokeli, yes. That was why the Railroad was given its charter in Dhamishaya, and that is why he didn't intervene when they tried to seize power."

"They believed. Did you?"

"Yes."

Queen Ansha's laugh dripped with bitterness. "Good. Ivra picks smart soldiers, then. It's all true. Enthar was four years old by the time I finally chased Tokeli out for good. Her children still come and go as they please. It's a scandal."

"They said that, too. In the barracks."

"It isn't a scandal that he had a mistress, Aric. He's the king; he can do as he likes. We all have our amusements, and at least he had the good sense to find one with whom he couldn't conceive. That's important. It became scandalous because he gave them authority. It would be one thing if he handed out some ambassadorship, or a meaningless title, but the rebellion was something else. Not demanding its ringleaders be hanged for treason was even worse. He's never understood how it looks. It looked obscene to you, apparently."

"I might not describe it in those terms..."

She stared, all-too-knowingly, at me. "Not to me, his wife? Or not to anyone?"

When the rebellion began in earnest, and we'd had more rumor than gunpowder, a messenger from one of the distant pickets stumbled into our barracks. He'd told us the Royal Frontier Corps had openly engaged the Railroad's militia, and that Fort Shandur was besieged.

Native auxiliaries made up most of the RFC, yes, but the commanders and many of the NCOs were Aernian. The dragoons answered to the king, like any other unit in the Royal Army. Like mine. I couldn't stop my men from speculating about what would happen when the rebellion came south. About whether or not we'd be trading fire with our countrymen, too.

"I think it was obscene," I admitted. "Nobody ever really made them pay for what they did."

Ansha nodded. "A whole province plunged into turmoil for their selfish ambitions. I gave up trying to explain it to him." She sighed. "I imagine it was quite terrible for morale. They ask you to be loyal to king and country, don't they? Thank goodness that you've never had to choose."

She excused herself for an evening of private meetings, which left me alone and with nothing to do. I could have returned to the barracks, but I was still an outsider with the other members of the Guard and their conversation tended to be gossip that didn't interest me.

So instead, in my civilian clothes, I wandered from the Iron Hall on Kenley Hill into the alleys and macadam streets of the Old City. Most of the shops had closed, but the pubs buzzed with activity and there were still plenty of Tabisthalians out and about.

Presently, one of them approached. "Company? The nights are still cool for a while yet."

"I'm not really interested," I told her. "Not tonight."

She kept pace with me. "You're looking for something else, then? I won't be insulted. I mean... I'll be a_little_ insulted..."

I stopped, looking her over. Her plain accent matched itself to plain looks: some kind of dog, fuzzy ears from one family line and soft eyes from another and patchwork fur from a third. She put the eyes to good use, canting her head hopefully and clasping her paws hopefully before her, just beneath her chest. "Does this tactic work for you?"

She smiled innocently. "Sometimes. C'mon, you can't be taken or you'd not find yourself here--not at this time of night. Have some companionship. Take your mind off things."

"How much?"

"Pound. Two, if you want to knot me." Seeing my hesitation, she stepped closer and dropped her voice to a sly murmur. "With what they say about wolves, I oughta charge you three, huh?"

"One pound," I said, and felt around in my coinpurse for the coin. She took it from me with a deft snap of her fingers, and pointed down the next alleyway. I was led through an unremarkable door, and then to a locked room with nothing but a bed, a gaslamp, and a rack to hang one's jacket on.

She barred the door after us. "Sure just the one pound, sir? I know from experience it's a good bed to be tied in."

I sat down at the edge of the bed, and for the moment made no effort to remove my clothes. I didn't really know what I wanted, truthfully. "Maybe next time. Do you have a name?"

"I'm Teya. You're..."

"Aric." My hesitation didn't surprise the girl who, taking her time as well, settled next to me. "Where are you from, Teya? From Tabisthalia?"

Her head tilted again, as she craned it to look at me. "Where do you want me to be from?"

"It was a sincere question. I'll be honest, I... I took you at your word for company. Beyond that, I'm not decided yet. I'm trying to clear my head, if you must know."

Teya smiled, leaned up, and kissed my cheek. "I recognize the sort. More than you'd recognize my home town, Aric. I tell people I'm from Marrahurst--really, I'm just from the unremarkable Midlands."

"Likewise. I'm from Overkiath."

The girl's ears lifted. "Same. South Overkiath. The nearest big town is called Stolvan, and when I say 'big,' Aric, I don't mean like Tabisthalia. A few thousand people, at most."

I let her keep talking and listened for the sound of an Overkiath dialect in her voice.Yes... yes, there it is. A few years in the capital might have muted it, but... "Did you by chance ever have any apples from the Laner orchards?"

"You know them?" Her sudden delight was unforced; her eyes brightened. "My grandmother's favorite part of the year was the fall. She made wonderful tarts with those apples. I guess the town is known for something, after all."

"It's not, but Hælech Laner is my father."

"Selat--_you're not jesting, are you? You're... _you're from Stolvan?"

"Yes. My brother will take the orchards over, eventually. I became a soldier, instead; I haven't been back for many years. Sometimes, I'd like to."

Teya's ears perked, and then flattened out in sudden, embarrassed realization that our shared hometown might make the encounter awkward. One of us had a somewhat less disreputable occupation, after all.

"Or perhaps not. It's not worth so much. You left, too."

"My parents were sharecroppers. After the droughts, we didn't have a choice... couldn't grow anything. I moved to Tabisthalia ten years ago. Worked in a textile factory until I got too old. Too big." She laughed what must've been unpleasant memories off, as though she'd been joking. "This pays better. I wouldn't go back to Stolvan."

"You don't miss any of it?"

Teya's plans for the evening were clearly beginning to change. Giving up on unclothing me, she settled for leaning against my side, and leaned closer when I put my arm around her. "Not much. Maybe one thing... I miss the sight of the sun on the river. Or on the mill pond. It was so clear--I'll never see water that clean again."

The broad, slow, murky Tabis River was a far cry from the fast-flowing streams around Stolvan, true. "And you miss it? I suppose I do, too. Were you there in 877, when the mill pond froze?"

The dog laughed. "I wasn't alive yet. It would be a few years. You were, though, old man?"

"Aye, old indeed."

"I won't be insulted by that implication,either, Aric, if you thought me an old woman. Hm." She closed her eyes, and her sigh pressed the dog's chest into my side. "Did you come to Tabisthalia from Stolvan, as well?"

"No. I enlisted. First I was posted to Martal, and then to the colonies to the south. Before my recall, I hadn't seen Aernia for ten years."

"Ah, yes. You said you were a soldier?"

"I still am. In the Royal Guards."

She pushed herself away from me, and I felt her inspecting me the same way Nantor Berdanish had done. "You don't seem like it, to be honest. Most of them come through here and... ah, well. I don't know. Soldiers have needs, too. Their wives are far away.Are you married, Aric? You don't seem like that, either, but I've guessed wrong before."

"I'm not. Dhamishaya didn't have many opportunities. I wasn't about to propose to a native."

Teya got comfortable again. "I have seen people like you. You come to the city for the first time and it's nothing like you expected--maybe it feels as foreign as the colonies did. You get used to it."

"Do you?"

"Right now, you're seeing the refuse on the streets, the blocked sewer lines and the beggars, and in the old quarters all the drunk lords reeling from one endless party to another. The idea that Tabisthalia is the greatest city on the continent seems like a cruel joke."

"A bit," I said.

"And one of the lords offers you four crowns to take off your top, and you feel disgusted by it, and... and more disgusted because you know one day you will. And one day you won't even think about it anymore. You see that day coming."

I looked down to try and read her expression. Teya's face told me that the story was true, or true enough; on the other hand she was still smiling, even if it had gone a little distant. "And then?"

"It comes. You don't see the other day coming. You take a walk down Danharral Street, half an hour before dawn. The bakers have the first loaves out of the oven and whole street smells of it. You can hear the hooves and the clatter of the delivery vans. In six hours it'll be full of people, haggling and buying things for the day--but for now it's just you, watching the city come to life like it was made for you. And you know it's happening on every street. From Kenley Hill to the harbor, everything was made for you."

"Is it?"

"That's up to you. You're the one taking advice from a whore, Aric."

"A Stolvanish girl," I corrected. "And it's better advice than I've gotten anywhere else."

For the next hour I let her--Teya Danveller--talk to me about the hidden secrets of the city. Where the pastries were good and where they were simply overpriced, where a discreet doctor could be engaged; where to find a tailor who could mend a garment twice as well for half as much as the ones on Haberdashery Row in the New Quarter.

I tipped her another pound, and left. On the way back to the barracks I mused on her name. "Danveller" was not one that I recognized--then again, most of the sharecroppers weren't old families and many of them would move on without anyone remembering they'd been there.

Would it have been better if I knew her? If she was not merely purchased companionship but some link back to my home? Would she have seemed...sullied?

Or was I leaving that for myself?

***

I'd finished making a report to K'nSullach, and was heading out the door, when the Border Collie spoke again. "One last thing. How was the whore?"

I stopped, and turned around. "Ma'am?"

"The prostitute you hired two nights ago, in the Butcher's Quarter. How was she?"

"We talked for a bit, and then I left. She's from my hometown."

Colonel K'nSullach nodded, evidently seeing no shortcoming in my explanation. "I didn't have you followed, Major Laner. Word got back to me from Hallun. He was concerned that she might be a spy, or that you might be a spy, or--well, when you live your life in the shadows, you see more shadows everywhere."

"No, ma'am. She asked me if I wanted some company, and I agreed, but in the end--"

The Border Collie raised her paw. "I don't care about your sexual performance. Be careful, though. You don't know who she is. If you need some...relief, that's one thing. But for the rest, you have to watch yourself, major."

"Colonel, will you permit me an honest question?"

"The best kind."

"You confide in me. The queen confides in me. Nantor confides in me. Yet... yet all of you tell me that none of you are to be trusted, and it seems I have no one to confide in, myself. Nor to trust."

"And if you don't find one in us, you'll pick someone of the street?" I thought I knew the colonel's demeanor well enough to guess that I was being teased, not reprimanded; I didn't defend myself. "If we all say not to trust one another, that doesn't necessarily mean you have to listen. You have to choose, that's all."

"Another honest question? Ma'am..." I tried to twist the question into something diplomatic, and every attempt blunted it into uselessness. "Shouldn't you be telling me to trust_you_? Anything else seems like a dangerous gamble."

"It is. But I can't_order_ you to trust me, can I? That defeats the point. I merely hope for your best judgment."