Fall of Angels

CII

SILLEK TOSSES THE scroll, wrinkled and smudged, with fragments of wax still clinging to one edge, on the sitting room table. Then he bends over Zeldyan and scoops Nesslek out of his consort’s arms.

“You’re the best thing I’ve seen today, except for your mother.”

“I’m a thing now?” Zeldyan’s voice carries but a faint edge.

“Of course not. That wasn’t what I meant.” He looks down at his son in his arms and puts his forehead gently against the boy’s. “Was it? We didn’t mean any insults to your mother.”

“Oooooo …” offers Nesslek.

“That’s what he thinks,” responds Zeldyan, “for all your fancy words.” She smiles fondly at her consort.

“Would you read that abomination I dropped on the table and tell me what you think?”

“A lordly matter? Your mother would not approve, my lord.” Zeldyan smiles again, more ironically, as she lifts the scroll. “Why do you want me to read it?”

“You know why,” Sillek counters with a laugh, “but I’ll tell you anyway. Because you’re your father’s daughter, and you can think. He’s stuck in Rulyarth trying to rebuild thatmess the traders left, and I need someone with brains that I can also trust.”

“Your mother would definitely not approve of that.”

“Of course not. You have brains, and you love me. She didn’t approve of our joining after she found out I’d fallen in love with you. ‘Love is dangerous for rulers, Sillek.’ It gets in the way of honor and patrimony.” He walks to the window and stands there, still carrying Nesslek, waiting as Zeldyan reads through the scroll.

After a time, he finally asks, “Have you got it?”

“It’s a letter from Ildyrom, renouncing all interest in the grasslands. There are many flowery phrases, but that’s what it says … I think.”

“Exactly.” Sillek bites off the word. “Exactly. It came with a small chest of golds.”

“That seems odd,” muses Zeldyan. “Last year he built that fort to try to take them from you. I wouldn’t trust him.”

“I don’t, but I think the gesture is real, and it’s a danger.”

“Not having to fight over the grasslands is a danger?”

“All my holders will know that Ildyrom has sued for peace. Your father holds Rulyarth, and the locals there seem to be pleased with his efforts. We offered a percentage of our trade revenues from Rulyarth to the Suthyan trade council-”

“You did?”

“It was your father’s idea-much cheaper for both of us. They couldn’t really maintain three ports anyway.”

“And we can even if the traders couldn’t?”

“If we expand trade, we can. They just wanted quick golds.” Sillek shrugs and lifts Nesslek to his shoulder. The infant burps-loudly. “The bay is much better than Armat …”

Zeldyan laughs. “I’ve heard this before. What about Ildyrom?”

“It’s demonish. We have peace with both Suthya and Ildyrom. All our borders are secure-except for those devil women on the Westhorns.”

“Oh.” The smile fades from Zeldyan’s face.

“You see? The chest of golds-that’s already known. You can’t keep that a secret. It even means I can hire mercenaries. More women have left the holdings. Genglois had three petitions waiting for me-demanding I do something.” Sillek lowers Nesslek and wipes his mouth gently.

“What will you do?”

“Stall.” Sillek lowers his voice. “Make obvious preparations. Send dispatches to your father. Stall and hope. Hope for an early winter, or the need to do something urgent in Rulyarth or the grasslands.”

“And neither Ildyrom nor the traders will offer the slightest pretext while your stodgy traditional holders bombard you with demands to reclaim the Roof of the World.”

“That’s the way I see it.” Sillek sighs. “But I have a little time. Not much, but a little. I can hope.”

A frown crosses Zeldyan’s forehead, but she forces a smile.