Taniel hung back, a sour look on his face as if he’d swallowed a lime whole.
Tamas waited patiently for Taniel to finally come forward. “It’s time to end this,” Tamas said.
A muscle jumped in Taniel’s jaw. For a moment, Tamas thought his son’s discipline would fail him, but ever the soldier, Taniel gave a sharp nod and headed in, leaving Tamas to steel his own emotions before he followed to complete the delegation.
The chapel was poorly lit by a single window on the eastern side. It was one large room, only about twenty feet by thirty. The pews had been stacked along the walls and a large table brought in, covered with a gold cloth and a small feast of fruits and desserts. Candelabras had been lit and artwork hung along the walls – no doubt, additions made by Ipille’s retinue to give some semblance of royalty to the place.
A small group of politicians occupied the far end of the table. Field Marshal Goutlit sat on one side with a pair of generals Tamas did not recognize. On the other was a thin woman with delicate, birdlike features in the official tan-and-green robe of the Kez royal cabal. Beside her sat a pale, limp-looking fellow named Duke Regalish – Ipille’s closest adviser. A few other noblemen stood along the back wall.
Ipille himself sat at the head of the table.
He’d grown morbidly obese since the last time they had met, the night Tamas had tried to kill him. Once a dapper lion of a man, he sat stuffed into a chair that would have been big enough for a pair of grenadiers. He wore swaths of cloth; thick, bristling furs draped over his shoulders, trimmed with gold, and on his fingers rubies that would make an Arch-Diocel blush.
“Tamas.” Ipille’s voice sounded like the inside of a bass drum, and his jowls shook when he spoke.
“Ipille.”
A chair scraped the stone floor, and Duke Regalish shot to his feet. “You will address his august majesty as ‘Your Royal Highness.’ He is a king, you common cur, and you will treat him as such.”
“Shall I put this dog down?” Olem asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his smallsword.
Tamas let his silence speak for him, letting Regalish stand quivering with indignation until Ipille turned his head toward his adviser. “Sit down, my good duke. Your whimpering will have no effect on Tamas. He is a man of iron. Iron does not bend. It only shatters.”
Tamas clasped his hands behind his back and tried to focus through the pain in his side.
Ipille’s fat fingers drummed heavily on the oak table as Olem made his way silently around the room. He bent to lift the tablecloth, then strolled around the table, looking over each of the advisers with a studious eye, ignoring their baleful glares.
“What is this, Tamas?”
“Precaution.”
“We’re here under a flag of truce, are we not?”
“Come now, Your Moribund Majesty. You took your precaution by arriving first. I take mine now.”
Ipille’s deep chuckle forestalled another outburst from Regalish.
Olem finished his search and gave Tamas a nod, and Tamas gestured to the chairs on his end of the table. “Ipille, I will introduce Lady Winceslav – I believe you’ve met. My son, Major Taniel Two-Shot. Privileged Nila of the Adran Republic Cabal. Members of my senior staff.”
“Charmed,” the king said. “You know Regalish. I believe you killed his uncle. Some of my advisers back there,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Field Marshal Goutlit. Magus Janna.” Another of Ipille’s deep chuckles. “We’re both scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to Privileged, are we not? Sad times.”
Tamas gestured for his companions to sit, then took his own place at the opposite end of the table from Ipille. “I’d wager on my own companion in a fight.”
“Would you? My spies tell me she’s an untrained apprentice.”
His spies? The royal arrogance showing through. I know he has spies in my army, of course. But for him to admit so is… obscene. “Did they tell you that she cooked the whole of one of your brigades?” Out of the corner of his eye Tamas saw Nila sit up a little straighter, trying to look regal. She was a striking young woman – though the redness on her cheeks marred the image a bit. A little skill and confidence, and she would dominate this kind of negotiation. Bo hadn’t sent her as a rebellious insult, Tamas realized, he’d sent her to learn.
“And fainted afterward!” Ipille made a dismissive gesture. “Auxiliaries. I can always get more men. I imagine you’re running out. Isn’t that right, Lady Winceslav?”
Lady Winceslav gave the king a tight smile and flicked open a fan, fanning herself gently. “War is equally unkind to all, Your Majesty.”
“But especially to those with the fewest troops. Now Tamas, are we going to sit here making veiled insults and threats, or shall we treat together?”
“You have an offer?”
Ipille nodded to Regalish, and the adviser stood, clearing his throat. “This war is costing both our countries millions. By the grace of our lord Kresimir and Ipille II, king of Kez, we extend terms of peace.” He paused to clear his throat again. “We will withdraw our forces to Budwiel and the city will be ceded voluntarily to Kez control. Kez will acknowledge the autonomy of the Adran nation, and in exchange will be paid the sum of one hundred million krana as reparations.”
Regalish continued for another five minutes on the particulars of their offer, consulting an official-looking document twice on some minor detail. When he’d finished, he cleared his throat once more and returned to his seat.
Tamas put one elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm, and raised one eyebrow at Ipille.
“You’re very amusing people,” Lady Winceslav commented.
“You have no chance of winning, Tamas,” Ipille rumbled. “I can afford the losses of the past six months. They are a drop in the bucket to our population. You cannot. If nothing else, we will win by attrition.”
“Your men have told you that you’re now at war with Deliv, correct? The late Duke Nikslaus made a grave error by attacking Alvation with the intention of blaming Adro, and I understand they’ve invaded you from the north while also sending some sixty thousand reinforcements, which will arrive in just a few days. And they still have an entire royal cabal.”
Ipille’s expression gave nothing away. Regalish leaned close to him to whisper in his ear.
“Where is your one-eyed god, king?” Taniel said suddenly, his voice cutting through Regalish’s whispers. “Where are your mighty Privileged and your great armies? Where are your spies and your traitors bought with gold and religion?”
Ipille brushed Regalish aside. “You wish to match yourself against me, boy? You fancy yourself a god-killer? Tell me, did you piss yourself when you looked Kresimir in the face?”
“No. I shot him in the eye.”
“Kresimir lives yet.”
“Resting peacefully, I’m sure,” Taniel sneered.
Tamas flinched. Watch yourself, Taniel, he thought. He only goads you on so you will tell him our secrets. “That’s enough, Major,” Tamas said, hating the smug smile in the corner of Ipille’s mouth. He removed a paper from his pocket and unfolded it.
“We’re prepared to offer generous terms of our own. You will withdraw from Adro completely, relinquishing all your false claims and recognizing our republic with the Nine as witness. You will grant us ten thousand acres of the Amber Expanse. You will agree to a hundred years of peace, again witnessed by every country in the Nine, and you will return every prisoner of war and grant us hostages to guarantee your agreement.”
“And in return?”
“I won’t slaughter your army like a herd of mad cattle.”
Regalish was on his feet again. “You go too far!”
“Sit down, you snake. I treat with your king, not his dogs. In addition to all this, you will hand over Kresimir.”