Hercуl is quite correct, by the way: someone is prowling your garden. Your dogs swear to it. Jorl is so anxious he barely makes sense. When I ask about the intruder, he responds: "Little people in the earth! Little people in the earth!"
By prison you may think I mean the Lorg. Not at all! The prison you are escaping is a beautjful one: beautiful and terrible, lethal even, should you remain in it much longer. You shall miss it. Often you will long to retreat to it, to nestle in its warmth as you do now in that bed you've outgrown. Brave soul, you cannot. It is your childhood, this prison, and its door is locked behind you.
At dinner, Thasha's father spoke of his ambassadorship. In every sense an honor. Simja was a Crownless State of tremendous importance, lying as it did between Arqual and her great rival the Mzithrin. The two empires had kept an uneasy truce for forty years, since the end of the horrific Second Sea War.
But battles or not, the power-struggle continued. The Crownless Lands knew the peril surrounding them, for the last war had been fought in their waters, on their shores and streets.
"They look at us and see angels of death, as Nagan put it," said Isiq. "You remember Commander Nagan? Perhaps you were too young."
"I remember him," said Thasha. "One of the Emperor's private guards."
"Right you are," said Isiq approvingly. "But on this trip he will be protecting us. A fine man, a professional."
"He used to visit," said Syrarys. "Such a careful man! I feel safer knowing he'll be aboard."
Isiq waved impatiently. "The point is, the Crownless Lands fear us as much as they do the Mzithrin. And now they've gone clever on us, with this damnable Simja Pact." He bit savagely at the dinner bread. "Fine footwork, that. Don't know how they managed it in just five years."
"What is a pact?" asked Thasha.
"An agreement, darling," said Syrarys. "The Crownless Lands have sworn to keep both Arqual and the Mzithrin out of their waters. And they've promised that if one Crownless State is attacked, the rest will all come to their aid."
"But I thought Arqual had the greatest fleet on earth."
"She does!" said Isiq. "That fleet bested the Mzithrin once, and could do so again. Nor could all seven Crownless Lands defy us, should we be so cruel and stupid as to make war on them. But what if the Crownless Lands and the Sizzies fought us together?" He shook his head. "We should be hard pressed, hard pressed. And the Mzithrin Kings have the same fear: that those seven States could one day turn on them, with our own fleet alongside, and lay their empire to waste. That is what the Simja Pact guarantees: utter annihilation for either empire, should they try to seize the least barren islet of the Crownless Lands."
His hand slapped the table so hard the dishes jumped. "Obvious!" he shouted, forgetting Thasha and Syrarys entirely. "How did we not see it? Of course they'd flirt with both sides! Who wouldn't prefer a quiet wolf to one baying for your blood?"
"Prahba," said Thasha quietly, "if we're the wolves, does that make Simja the trailing elk?"
The admiral stopped chewing. Even Syrarys looked momentarily shocked. Eberzam Isiq had wanted a boy, and Thasha knew it: someone to build model ships with, to read his battle-logs to and show off his wounds. A boy to set up one day with a ship of his own. Thasha could never be an officer, nor wanted to be. Her models looked like shipwrecks, not ships.
But she had a knack for strategy that unsettled him at times.
The admiral reached unsteadily for the wine. "The wolves and the trailing elk. I remember telling you that parable. How a wolf pack drives and harries a herd until it identifies the slowest, the weakest, then cuts it off from the rest and devours it. I do remember, Thasha. And I know what you're thinking: that the old man knows how to fight wars, but not make peace. You forget that my life did not begin when I joined the Imperial navy. And perhaps you also forget that I have hung up my sword. When I sail west it will be in a merchant ship, not a man-o'-war."
"Of course," said Thasha. "I've spoken foolishly. Silly ideas come to me, sometimes."
"More than silly, in this case. Did you not hear what I said about the Pact? If we move against any Crownless State all the rest will turn against us, and the White Fleet of the Mzithrin will join them."
"Eat your salad, Thasha," whispered Syrarys.
"War on that scale would make the Second Maritime look like two brats squabbling in a bathtub," said the admiral, his voice rising. "Do you think I would be party to such madness? I am not a spy or a military messenger, girl! I am an ambassador!"
"I'm sorry, Father."
The admiral looked at his plate and said nothing. Thasha found her heart pounding. She had rarely seen him so upset.
Syrarys gave a consoling sigh, and poured them each a cup of coffee. "I know so little of the world," she said, "but it occurs to me, Thasha darling, that such a remark-it's very clever, of course-"
Ah, here it comes, thought Thasha.
"— but at the wrong moment, it might just… worry people."
"It might be a disaster!" said Eberzam.
"Surely not, dear," Syrarys countered sweetly. "When you're careful, misunderstandings can be sorted out. Don't you think so, Thasha?"
"Yes, I do," said Thasha tonelessly. Beneath the table her hands made fists.
"An hour ago, for instance," Syrarys said, laying a hand on the admiral's own, "Thasha and I were recalling that summer party in Maj District. Fancy, I had the idea she had thrown her cousin into a hedge. When in fact he merely fell."
Eberzam Isiq's face clouded even further. He had been at the party, too. He took his hand from Syrarys' grasp and touched his head behind one ear, the site of the old wound. Thasha shot a glance of blazing rage at Syrarys.
"They are such an excitable bunch, those cousins," said the consort. "I believe there's still a rift between our households."
Another pause. The admiral cleared his throat, but did not look up. "Thasha, morning star," he said. "We live in an evil time."
"Prahba-"
"If Arqual and the Mzithrin come to blows," the admiral said, "it will not be like other wars. It will be the ruin of both. Death will stalk the nations, from Besq to Gurishal. Innocents will die alongside warriors. Cities will be sacked."
Now he raised his eyes, and the forlorn look Thasha saw in the garden was stronger than ever.
"I saw such a city. A lovely city. Bright above the sea-" His voice sounded ready to break, but he checked himself.
Syrarys laid her hand on the table. "This can wait until morning," she said firmly.
"No, it cannot," said the admiral.
"Dr. Chadfallow says you mustn't exhaust yourself."
"Chadfallow be damned!"
The consort's eyes widened, but she held her tongue.
Thasha said, "What I said was awful, Prahba, but it won't happen again. Forgive me! I've spoken to no one but the Sisters for two years. It was just a careless moment."
"Such moments can be lethal," he said.
Thasha bit her lips. She was thinking of Hercуl.
"A darkness follows the death of cities," said the admiral. "A darkness of hunger and cold, and a darkness of ignorance, and a darkness of savage despair. Each darkness speeds the others, like the currents of a whirlpool. We must do everything we can to stay out of the whirlpool."
"I'm older now," Thasha said, feeling the jaws of Syrarys' trap closing on her. "I have better sense. Please-"
He held up a hand for silence: a soft gesture, but one that allowed for no contradiction. Thasha was trembling. Syrarys wore a tiny smile.
"In six days I board Chathrand," said the admiral. "His Supremacy has just given me the heaviest burden of my life. Believe me, Thasha: if I saw some other path I should take it. But there is none. That is why I must tell you-"