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—Pri­vate note in the hand­writ­ing of De­saniek

(not au­then­ti­cat­ed)

I ducked in­to the door­way in front of me with­out wait­ing to fig­ure out where it went. I was in a nar­row hall­way with a flight of stairs at the end. I went up with­out stop­ping, swal­low­ing the acidic pan­ic that comes with on­ly hav­ing one di­rec­tion to go when you know some­one is af­ter you. If Sethra had been sober, she’d have thought of that, dammit.

There was a door at the end of the hall­way. I opened it with­out clap­ping, my right hand brush­ing the hilt of La­dy Tel­dra.

The War­lord seemed to have been nap­ping; her head snapped for­ward and she stared at me. If she’d gone for a weapon, which wouldn’t have been all that un­think­able, there would sud­den­ly have been a lot more peo­ple than the Jhereg look­ing for me—or else no one at all.

She blinked a cou­ple of times as I caught the door and shut my breath, or what­ev­er I did.

“Vlad,” she said.

I stood there, try­ing to nei­ther pant nor shake. “Hi there,” I said.

Her of­fice was tiny; just enough room for her, a chair, and a small ta­ble. There was an­oth­er door to her left.

“I must have dozed off,” she said. “Sor­ry.”

“It’s noth­ing. As you see, I came in any­way.”

“Shall we find some­where more com­fort­able to talk?”

“I don’t mind stand­ing. Thanks for see­ing me, by the way.”

She nod­ded and looked up at me—an un­usu­al ex­pe­ri­ence for both of us. “Last I heard,” I said, “you were Drag­on Heir. I guess con­grat­ula­tions are in or­der.”

She gave some­thing that could have been a laugh. “I guess.”

“Are you ad­dressed as War­lord, or as Your High­ness now?”

“De­pends on the sub­ject.”

“Is there a sto­ry there? I mean, in how it is that you hap­pened to be­come War­lord?”

“Not one I’m in­clined to talk about.”

“Is your be­com­ing War­lord re­lat­ed?”

“To what?”

“Eh, I thought you knew why I was here.”

“Sethra said you want­ed to see me about Aliera.”

“Yes.”

“To that.”

“What is it you want­ed to see me about ex­act­ly?”

“Aliera’s sit­ua­tion.”

She hadn’t an­swered my ques­tion. Just want­ed to let you know I caught that. Can’t get one past me.

“I’m not sure how much I can tell you,” she said.

“Lack of knowl­edge, or are there things you aren’t per­mit­ted to say?”

“Both. And maybe things I could say but choose not to.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I’ll ask, you tell me what you can.”

“It isn’t that I don’t care about Aliera,” she said.

I nod­ded, feel­ing sud­den­ly un­com­fort­able. It wasn’t like No­rathar to feel she had to jus­ti­fy her­self to me. I leaned against a wall, try­ing to look re­laxed. When she didn’t say any­thing, I cleared my throat and said, “In my own way, I have some un­der­stand­ing of du­ty.”

She nod­ded, star­ing past me.

“So, what hap­pened?”

She blinked and seemed to come back from wher­ev­er she was.

“Aliera was caught prac­tic­ing El­der Sor­cery, which is il­le­gal. For good rea­son, by the way. It was used to de­stroy the Em­pire. By Aliera’s fa­ther. The Em­pire frowns on be­ing de­stroyed. It tends not to like things that can do that.”

“Yeah, I know. That adds a cer­tain—uh. Wait. How much of this is be­cause of her fa­ther?”

“I don’t know. That’s prob­ably what made her the per­fect—I mean, that may be why. . .”

She trailed off.

I should have thought of that soon­er.

“And how does she—I mean the Em­press—feel about it?”

“Beg par­don?”

“She’s Aliera’s friend. How does she—?”

“You know I can’t give you per­son­al de­tails about Her Majesty.”

Since it was ex­act­ly the per­son­al de­tails I was look­ing for, it was a lit­tle sad to hear that. “All right,” I said. “Did you hear about Aliera’s ar­rest be­fore it hap­pened?”

“I don’t un­der­stand.” She was giv­ing me a sus­pi­cious look, as if I might be mock­ing her but she wasn’t sure.

“Oh,” I said. “You were giv­en the or­der.”

She nod­ded.

“I don’t know how these things work, but that seems un­usu­al. I mean, ar­rest­ing crim­inals isn’t what I think of as the War­lord’s job.”

“It usu­al­ly isn’t,” she said. Her lips were pressed tight­ly to­geth­er.

“But—?”

“With some­one like Aliera, I can’t see it hap­pen­ing any oth­er way. She wasn’t go­ing to dis­patch a, a con­sta­ble to do it.”

“It would be dis­re­spect­ful to her po­si­tion.”

She nod­ded. I need to work hard­er on com­mu­ni­cat­ing irony.

I said, “Who car­ried out the ar­rest?”

“I did.”

I grunt­ed. “Must have been fun.”

She gave me a look.

“Sor­ry,” I said. “Was she sur­prised?”

“Is this nec­es­sary?”

“I want to know if she had any warn­ing.”

“Oh. Yes, she was sur­prised. She thought I was jok­ing. She said—”

The wall over her head was blank, a pasty col­or. She should put some­thing there. I re­solved not to tell her that.

“Sor­ry,” she said.

“How long was it from the time you were giv­en the or­der un­til the ar­rest?”

“Ten min­utes.”

“Had you ex­pect­ed the or­der?”

She stud­ied me care­ful­ly. “No,” she said. “I was told I was now War­lord, and or­dered to ar­rest Aliera, and to de­liv­er the com­mu­ni­ca­tion re­liev­ing her of her po­si­tion.”

I tried to imag­ine that scene, but I couldn’t do it. I was glad I hadn’t been there to see it.

“Had you ex­pect­ed some­thing like this to hap­pen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aliera was ar­rest­ed to dis­tract at­ten­tion from some­thing the Em­press doesn’t want peo­ple think­ing about. Had you ex­pect­ed—”

“That’s your the­ory,” she said, as if re­fut­ing it.

“Uh, yeah. That’s my the­ory. Had you been ex­pect­ing Zeri­ka—”

“Her Majesty.”

“—Her Majesty to do some­thing like this?”

“I don’t con­cede your premise,” she said.

“Um. Okay.” I looked around the room. Maybe one of the walls had se­cret writ­ing that would tell me how to pull the in­for­ma­tion I need­ed from No­rathar. Nope, guess not. “I’d have thought the War­lord would have a big­ger of­fice.”

“This isn’t the of­fice, it’s more of a pri­vate re­treat. The of­fice is through there.” She in­di­cat­ed the door to her left.

“Is this a tem­po­rary po­si­tion for you?”

An eye­brow went up. “Well, it cer­tain­ly won’t last longer than the next Drag­on Reign.”

“I meant more tem­po­rary than that.”

“I don’t know.”

“How did it hap­pen in the first place?”

“How did what hap­pen?”

“The in­ci­dent that start­ed it all. You’re the War­lord now, you must have ac­cess to—”

“I can’t dis­cuss that.”

“I don’t mean the de­tails.”

“Then what? Get­ting philo­soph­ical on me?”

“Sar­casm aside, yes.”

“Are you se­ri­ous?”

“Yes.”

“How does it hap­pen? I’m told you served in the army, in wartime, in the line.”

“Briefly.”

“In com­bat.”

“Briefly.”

“And you need to ask how some­thing like that hap­pens?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

She shook her head. “Pay no mind. If that’s all, Lord Szurke, I’m rather busy.”