The priest lit the great lantern, and the bells rang out first one, and then a dozen, and then thousands. The brass mouths announced what everyone already knew. All men die, Simeon said in his memory. Even kings. Dawson stepped forward. Etiquette dictated which of the pale-fleshed ash poles he was to take, who he was to carry before, and who behind. He was not so near the front as he wished. But he was close enough to see young Aster walk out to his place at the column’s head.
The boy was pale as cheese. He had accepted coronation in the ceremony immediately before the burial, as tradition demanded. Palliako had, to no one’s surprise, accepted the regency. The great men of the nation had bent their knees to the boy prince, now king. The worked silver crown perched on Aster’s head as if in real danger of sinking to his ears, but his steps were sharp and confident. He knew how to bear himself as if he were a man full-grown, even if the effect was only to more clearly show that he was a child. Geder Palliako, as protector, stood behind him looking considerably less regal than the child prince. The bells stopped together, replaced by the dry report of the funeral drum. With the rest of the hundred bearers, Dawson took his pole and lifted Simeon to his shoulders.
At the royal crypt, they laid Dawson’s childhood friend in the darkness and closed the stone doors behind him. The official mourners took their stations at the crypt’s entrance. For a month, they would live in the open, keeping a fire lit in memory of Simeon and all kings past. When that was done, the fire would be let die. As the priest read final rites, Dawson’s family came around him. Clara stood at his right, and beside her Barriath and Vicarian. Jorey stood to his left with his arm around Sabiha still fresh from her wedding gown. When the last syllable had been spoken and the last bone-dry drum sounded, the nobles of Antea turned back to their carriages.
“For what it carries, I am sorry,” a voice said. Lord Ash-ford wore the dark robes of mourning, his cheek ash-marked like the rest. “I’d heard he was an amazing man.”
“He was a man,” Dawson said. “He had faults and virtues. He was my king and my friend.”
Ashford nodded. “I am sorry.”
“Now that Palliako’s regent, you have an audience with him,” Dawson said.
“I do.”
“He’s asked me to attend.”
“I look forward to it,” Ashford said. “This has been hanging over our heads too long. Better to have a clean start now.”
There are no clean starts, Dawson thought. Just as there are no clean endings. Everything is built like Camnipoclass="underline" one damn thing atop another atop another reaching down into the bones of the world. Even the forgotten things are back there somewhere, shaping who and what we are now.
“Yes,” he said instead.
The walls here were draped with silk tapestry, the air warmed with charcoal and incense. The king’s guard stood along the walls, their faces as impassive before Geder as they had been for Simeon. Even Geder Palliako seemed nearly right for his new role. The tailors had outfitted him in a brocade of red velvet and a circlet of gold that had him looking almost dignified. If he wore it like a costume, these were early days yet. With time and experience, he would come to look natural in it.
Lord Ashford stood, his hands clasped behind him, waiting for the Lord Regent of Antea to take his seat, and Dawson wondered whether Geder knew that no one was permitted to sit until he did.
Dawson’s displeasure wasn’t that other people had been welcomed into what should have been a private audience. It was Geder’s first official act as regent. He’d proved an apt tool in Vanai, and whatever magic he’d done to expose Maas had saved at least Aster and likely the kingdom. Lord Ternigan and Lord Skestinin were both present, and rightly so. Lord Caot, Baron of Dannick. Lord Bannien of Estinford. They were more problematic, but at most they signaled an anticipated shift of the powers in the court. No, what irked Dawson was the other person Geder Palliako had chosen to include.
“Lord Kalliam,” the priest said, bowing. A season in Camnipol had done little to wipe the desert dust off the man. He still looked like a goat-herder from the depths of the Keshet, likely because it was what he was. Geder’s pet cultist looked about as much at home in the chamber as Dawson would have been slogging through a pigsty.
“Minister Basrahip,” Dawson said, neither bowing nor allowing any warmth into his voice. “I am surprised to see you here. I had thought we were addressing affairs of state.”
“It’s all right,” Geder said. “I asked him to come.”
Dawson held back his reply. There were things he would have said to his equals that he could no longer say to Geder Palliako. Instead he nodded.
“Well, then,” Geder said, fidgeting with his sleeve. “Let’s get this done. Please. Everyone. Sit down.”
Ashford waited, matching his movement to Palliako’s so that at no point was he sitting while the Lord Regent stood. Basrahip didn’t sit at all, but rather stood back against the wall, his head slightly bowed, like a boy in silent prayer. Dawson sat, slightly mollified. A foreign priest had no reason to be welcome at the meeting, but at least he was acting like a servant. The other lords of Antea ignored the priest magnificently. He might as well not have existed.
“Lord Ashford?” Geder said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You requested this audience, and I think we all know why. Would you like to say anything?”
“Thank you, Lord Regent,” Ashford said. He took a moment to gather himself, his gaze meeting each man at the table in turn. “We are all aware of the crimes of Feldin Maas. King Lechan asked that I come to assure you all that he had no knowledge of the plot and would have been utterly opposed to it if he had known. The intentions to kill Prince Aster were and are unconscionable, and on behalf of Asteril-hold, I would ask for time to address this conspiracy ourselves.”
Ternigan cleared his throat, and Geder nodded toward him. The conversation was open now until such time as Geder closed it. Dawson wondered whether the boy understood that. Surely he had a protocol servant, but what the new regent remembered was an open question.
“There must be a real settling of blame,” Ternigan said. “Asterilhold has a long tradition of coddling its own.”
“Of course it does,” Bannien said. “What kind of king sides with foreigners against his own lords? Lechan hasn’t sat that throne so long by inviting strife in his own court.”
“If I may,” Ashford said, “he hasn’t done it by inviting invasion and war either. It’s not in the interests of Asterilhold to take the field any more than it is for Antea. This wouldn’t be a little gentleman’s skirmish on some tradable soil. You want the conspirators. Stay within your borders, and the king will deliver them to justice. But if you violate the sovereignty of Asterilhold, it changes the aspect of things.”
“Wait,” Lord Skestinin said. “You said deliver to justice. Whose justice are we talking of here?”
Ashford nodded and raised a finger.
“We cannot turn the nobility of Asterilhold over to an outside court for judgment,” he said, and the table erupted, voices riding at once, each trying to shout over the other. The only ones who remained silent were Dawson himself and Geder. Palliako’s brows were furrowed, his mouth set in an angry scowl. He wasn’t listening to the others, which was just as well as the audience was descending rapidly into bedlam.