Lanius put smoked salmon and sliced onions and olives on a roll. He slid the silver tray across the table to Ortalis and Limosa. "Here you are," he said. "This will make a fine breakfast." Turning to Sosia, he added, "Pass the pitcher of wine when you're through with it, please."
"Of course," she said, and she did. The pitcher, also silver, was decorated with a relief of Olor in pursuit of a goddess who would become one of his six wives. Since she wasn't overburdened by clothes, she looked as though she had a good chance of escaping him this time.
Ortalis piled salmon and onions high. He went easy on the olives; he wasn't as fond of them as Lanius was. "Your turn," he said to Limosa.
She usually liked smoked salmon. Today, she put a little on a roll. She looked at it. She added a few sliced olives and then hesitantly reached for a pungent slice of onion. She raised the roll to her mouth, but put it down before she could take a bite. "Please excuse me," she said, and bolted from the table.
"Oh, dear," Lanius said, and then, at the sound of retching a moment later, "Oh, dear. How long has she been sick?"
Sosia had another question for her brother – she asked, "When is she going to have the baby?" Lanius kicked himself for not figuring that out on his own.
"Some time this winter," Ortalis answered. "She only realized she was carrying a child a few days ago. We were going to wait until we were surer before we told you – but it looks like there's no more need to wait now. If the gods are kind, they'll send me a son."
Sosia murmured something that had no words in it. Lanius sipped at his wine to make sure Ortalis couldn't see his face till he got it under control. He didn't much want Grus' legitimate son to have a male heir. Ortalis' son would be a rival for Crex. So far, Ortalis hadn't shown much interest in the throne. The kind of power he craved was more personal than political. But he might well want to seize for a son what he didn't care about for himself.
Limosa walked back into the dining room. She looked wan. When she sat down, she reached for her winecup. She sloshed the wine around in her mouth before swallowing it.
"Are you all right?" Lanius asked.
"Better now, anyway," she answered. "I'm afraid I, uh, didn't quite make it to the privy. The servants have a mess to clean up."
"That's what servants are for," Ortalis said with a wave of the hand.
I'm sure they love you, too, Lanius thought. He nodded to Limosa. "So – another baby on the way? Congratulations!" He could say that and still hope she would have a girl.
She blushed, ever so slightly; that she'd been so pale made it easier to see. "Thank you, Your Majesty. You're kind to say so." She picked up the roll she'd so hastily abandoned. This time, she did take a bite.
"Will it stay down?" Sosia asked. apprehensively, as though listening to her stomach. Then her smile got wider. "Yes, it'll be all right. Everything's fine in there now. I got rid of what was bothering me – until the next time."
"Yes – until the next time," Sosia echoed with womanly sympathy. She knew what Limosa was going through in a way that Lanius couldn't. Morning sickness was nothing he'd ever wanted to learn about at first hand, either.
Even though Limosa said she was feeling better, she didn't finish the roll and the smoked salmon. She excused herself again. This time, Lanius was glad to see, she didn't leave the room at a dead run. The king looked across the table at his brother-in-law. "Be careful with her," he warned.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ortalis asked, but his eyes said he knew.
Lanius spelled it out anyway. "While she's with child, leave the whip… wherever you keep it. Hunt more instead, do whatever else you think you need to do, but don't give her new stripes. This isn't the time for it."
Something hot and unpleasant kindled in Ortalis' eyes. "You mind your business, Your Majesty, and I'll mind mine." In his mouth, Lanius' title sounded more like curse than compliment. Grus' legitimate son rose from the table, turned on his heel, and strode out after his wife.
"I wouldn't have told him that," Sosia said. "Why not? Because Limosa enjoys it as much as he does? That's not reason enough, not when she's going to have a baby," Lanius said. "He's liable to get carried away, and who knows what would happen then?"
His wife shook her head. "No, not because Limosa likes it. Because if she does die… then or in childbed, we don't have to worry about any son of Ortalis'. We don't have to worry about him so much, either."
From a political point of view, Sosia made breathtakingly good sense. She had much more of Grus' ruthless pragmatism than Ortalis did; all he'd gotten was the ruthlessness. Even so, Lanius said, "I don't want Limosa dead. I can't stand her father, gods know, and your brother – " He broke off before resuming, "Well, he is what he is, that's all. But Limosa? She's kind of sweet, even if she… likes what she likes. Who would have thought Ortalis could find such a good match? And having him running wild again might make things worse, not better."
"Maybe." Sosia didn't sound as though she believed it for a minute. "You're too soft for your own good, if you care even a copper for what I think. Who cares about likes? You want Crex to be king after you, don't you?"
"Of course I do. But – "
"No buts." Now Sosia swept out of the dining room. Lanius stared after her. One piece of well-meant advice, and he'd managed to clear the room. If that wasn't a record, he didn't know what would be.
Pterocles pointed to a mound rising from the mostly flat land of the Menteshe country. Sadly, the wizard said, "Another one. That's the third or fourth we've seen."
"I know." King Grus sounded none too happy, either. "They're what cities look like after they die. The rubbish the people who live there throw out year after year makes the ground higher than it is anywhere else. And when the walls get knocked down and the buildings fall to pieces, too…"
"This is what's left," Pterocles finished. "I wonder what happened to the people who used to live here."
"Some of them died," Grus said. "Got killed, I mean. Others? Others are bound to be the ancestors of the thralls you're freeing. That town's been dead a long time."
As the Avornan army drew nearer, he could see the jagged remains of walls and buildings crowning the hill and giving it a silhouette no natural rise would have had. He wondered what the name of the place had been. If he described where it lay, Lanius could probably tell him. Lanius knew all sorts of things that didn't matter. Things that did? A different story.
But the Banished One took Lanius seriously. Grus couldn't let himself forget that. The exiled god wouldn't have threatened the other king in dreams if he hadn't. He threatened only people he took very seriously indeed. Hirundo, for instance, had done as much as any man to turn back the Menteshe and to beat the Chernagors, but the Banished One let him sleep undisturbed of nights. Grus scratched his head. He didn't pretend to understand the choices the Banished One made.
Grus laughed. It was funny, after a fashion. Had he understood all the choices the Banished One made, he would have been well on the way toward godhood himself. Part of him – the part that wanted to live forever – wished he were. But he knew too well he wasn't. His beard had far more salt than pepper in it these days. He remained healthy enough, but knew he lacked much of the strength and stamina he'd enjoyed when he was half his age. Sooner or later, he would lose what he still kept. He didn't like that – he hated it – but he knew it was true.
He looked toward the dead, abandoned city. Places had lifespans of their own, just as people did. They usually lasted far longer, but the Banished One had watched this town age and wither and die while he went on. He'd probably smiled as he watched, too. The town had been full of Avornans, and had gone to ruin at the hands of the Menteshe. They worshiped the Banished One; why wouldn't he smile to see their triumph?