“Till one of them decides he can win in spite of everything,” Hirundo said. “How long will that take?”
“If we start hitting them with new laws, maybe it’ll take longer,” Grus said.
“Or maybe it’ll set ’em off,” Nicator said. “That’s the chance you take.”
Grus sighed. “I don’t think I’ve done anything but take chances since I ended up with a crown on my head. If I hadn’t taken chances, I’d probably be dead now. I’m going to take some more.”
He didn’t try to draft laws on his own. He wanted no room for doubt in them, which meant he needed to deal with Avornis’ chief lawmaster, a gray-bearded man named Sturnus. The law-master had big, bushy eyebrows. They both jumped when Grus spelled out what he wanted. “You aim to keep the nobles in check through laws?” he said. “How unusual. How… creative.”
“Cheaper than fighting another civil war,” Grus observed. “I hope it’ll be cheaper, anyhow.”
“That is what the law is for,” Sturnus said. “Letting people do this, that, and the other thing instead of fighting, I mean.”
“Let’s hope it works that way,” Grus said. “I think it’s worth a try. If we make a few nobles hurt, maybe the rest will remember the local farmers owe allegiance to me first—and so do they.”
“I’m sure stranger things have happened,” Sturnus said. “I trust you will forgive me, though, if I can’t remember where or when.”
“You don’t think the law will do what I want, then?” Grus asked.
The lawmaster shrugged. “I don’t think it will do all of what you want. Laws rarely work exactly the way the people who frame them intend. This one may well do some of what you want. The question is, Will that be enough to satisfy you?”
“We’ll find out,” Grus replied. “If it doesn’t work—and if I win against whatever rebellions it causes—I’ll tinker with it.”
“That strikes me as a wholesome attitude,” Sturnus said. “How soon would you like to see a draft of your proposed law?”
“Tomorrow will do,” Grus answered. Sturnus laughed. Grus didn’t. “I wasn’t joking, Your Excellency. Did I say something funny?”
“You said—tomorrow,” Sturnus replied. “I didn’t think you were serious.”
“I’d intended to ask for this afternoon, but I thought that might be too soon,” Grus said. “Why? When did you have in mind giving me the new law?”
“In a couple of months, as I got around to drafting it,” Sturnus answered. “After all, winter is coming on. Nothing much will happen out in the provinces till spring at the earliest.” By the way he spoke, nothing that happened out in the provinces was likely to matter much anyhow.
“What are you working on that’s more important?” Grus held up a hand before Sturnus could say anything. “Let me ask you that a different way. What are you working on that’s more important than something the King of Avornis tells you to do?”
Sturnus started to give a flip reply. Grus could see as much. But the lawmaster wasn’t stupid. As Grus asked it, the question had teeth—sharp ones. Sturnus saw them before they closed on him. He said, “When you put it like that, Your Majesty, you’ll have it before the sun sets tomorrow.”
Grus smiled. “Good. I knew I could count on you.”
Lanius wished he could be angrier at Grus. The only thing he found wrong with the law protecting the peasantry from the nobles of Avornis was that he hadn’t thought of it himself—and hadn’t had any share in drafting it. He went to Grus to complain. “Am I of age, or not?” he asked.
“You certainly are, Your Majesty,” Grus answered, polite as usual.
“Am I not King of Avornis?” Lanius persisted.
“You wear the crown. You have the title. What else would you be?” Grus said.
“A statue?” Lanius said. “A clothier’s mannequin? Something of that sort, surely. Being King of Avornis means more than crown and title. The King of Avornis rules the kingdom. Do I rule Avornis?”
Grus—King Grus—had the grace to look faintly embarrassed. “Well, Your Majesty, you do need to remember, you’re not the only King of Avornis right now.”
“Yes, I’d noticed that,” Lanius said dryly. “Do I rule half of Avornis? The north, maybe, with you ruling in the south? Or the east, with you in the west? No? Do I rule any of Avornis? Any at all?”
“You reign over the whole kingdom,” Grus said. “You get all the respect you deserve—every bit of it.”
“I point out to you, there is a difference between reigning and ruling,” Lanius said, his voice under tight control. “Who rules the Kingdom of Avornis?”
Grus had never been a man to back away from saying what he thought. Today proved no exception, for he replied, “Who rules Avornis? I do, Your Majesty. We’ve had this talk before, you know, though you likely didn’t understand what it meant quite so well back then. But I’d say I’ve earned the right. I was the one who drove the Thervings back into their own land—”
“Till they come over the border again,” King Lanius broke in.
“Yes, till they do.” Grus, to Lanius, sounded maddeningly calm. “I was the one who put down Corvus and Corax. You helped some there, and I thank you for it, but I was the one who did most of the work. If the Menteshe turn troublesome down in the south—and there’s always the chance they will—who’s going to lead the fighting there? I will. Of the two of us, I’m the one with the experience. Are you going to tell me I’m wrong?”
However much Lanius wished he could, he knew he couldn’t. But he didn’t try to hide his bitterness as he answered, “How am I supposed to get experience if you hold everything in your own hands? The more you do that, the less chance I have to win any experience, and the more you’ll be able to blame me for not having it.”
“I don’t blame you,” Grus said. “You can’t help being young, any more than my son can.” He sucked in an unhappy-sounding breath; he wasn’t blind to what Prince Ortalis was, though he didn’t seem able to change him. “No, I don’t blame you a bit. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to climb down off the horse and hand you the reins. Avornis, right now, is mine, and I intend to keep it.”
“You are blunt, aren’t you?” Lanius said.
“It saves time,” Grus answered. “In the end, time is all we really have. Suppose you tell me what you think of this whole business, and then we’ll go on from there.”
If I told you what I thought, I’d end up in the Maze, probably in whatever sanctuary’s housing Corvus these days, Lanius thought. On the other hand, how could Grus not already know what he thought? He said, “I don’t like it a bit. Would you, in my place?”
“Probably not,” Grus said. “If our places were flip-flopped, I’m sure you’d keep as close an eye on me as I do on you.”
Sometimes Grus could deliver a message without coming right out and saying it. He’d just done that now, or so Lanius thought. And this message was something like, Don’t try overthrowing me, because I’ll know what you’re up to before you get well started. Lanius wondered how true that was. He decided he didn’t want to find out—not right now. “I think we’re done here,” he said coldly.
“Yes, I expect we are.” Grus sounded cheerful. Why not? He had the power Lanius thought should be his by right of birth. “Any time you’ve got troubles or worries, Your Majesty, don’t be shy. Bring ’em to me. I’ll help you if I can.”
“I’m sure of it,” Lanius said. “You certainly helped me here.”