the marriage front lately, and how Aulunian resources slipped into Khazar to divest her of that problem.
“Aulun stands alone against Cordula,” Irina says, full of genuine-sounding sympathy. Her voice is as rich as her face and body: deep, for a woman, and warm. The imperatrix’s laughter is said to melt snow from the eaves, a gift of some renown in icy Khazar. Robert has never heard her laugh, nor seen snow melt through force of personality, but he likes the story. “We do not share Cordula’s faith, but we are cognizant of the dangers of rejecting it blatantly. My father recalled the Heretics’ Trials, Lord Drake. We are reluctant to draw attention to our own borders by making hasty treaties with Cordula’s enemy.”
Robert bows, a light and almost teasing action, to hide the grinding of his teeth. “Aulun is certain Khazar never makes hasty decisions, Your Majesty. Aulun would also like to remind you that while much of southern Echon is held in Ecumenic sway, the northerly states, like Aulun, have found their own spiritual paths to follow. An alliance with Aulun is not an alliance against Cordula.”
“We are certain that is a point worth remembering,” Irina says, and now there’s a tint of humour in her large eyes. “We are, after all, only a woman, and must heed the advice of the men around us.”
Robert nearly chokes: he knows this trick. It’s one of Lorraine’s favourites, and it makes him mad with exasperation.
And then suddenly, abruptly, he sees what he should have seen before: that Irina’s gown is the one Lorraine sent her twelve years earlier, in congratulations on Ivanova’s birth. It has been modified, made more fashionable, of course, but the jewel-encrusted fabric is the same, the cut still subtly Aulunian rather than the broader lines of Khazarian fashion.
He is too masterful a player to let his eyes widen, though irritation spills through him. He, of all people, should know that words spoken in political debate mean little, and Irina has given him answers in her dress and in her phrasing that few others would know to read. That he nearly missed them himself is an embarrassment, and he bows again now, in part to cover that embarrassment and in part because Irina has effectively dismissed him. “Aulun trusts your counselors will guide you well, Your Majesty. I hope we’ll speak again before I leave Khazan.”
Irina flickers her fingers, neither agreement nor disagreement, and Robert catches a smirk on a courtier’s face as he turns away. He allows thunderous frustration to darken his own features, playing to that smirk; playing to Aulun being stymied by Khazar, and he narrowly avoids stomping as he leaves the audience hall.
* * * *
His mockery of temper is thrown off by the time he leaves the palace, though there’s a hint of true anger simmering inside him. Irina took him by surprise, and he hates being off-balance.
“Dmitri!” Robert finds the hawk-nosed man in the stables, the scent of straw and manure rising up. The horses snort as he stalks by to catch Dmitri’s arm. Robert is a big man, his hands powerful, and Dmitri flinches. “Irina is making treaties with the Essandian prince, Dmitri. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.” He digs his fingers into the tender flesh of Dmitri’s inner arm, as if leaving a mark will earn him the answer he wants.
Dmitri’s mouth thins and he drops his gaze to the offending grip, then stares at Robert until Robert releases him. There is a note of grace, of chagrin, in the way Robert averts his eyes and offers apology. Dmitri, satisfied, takes a deliberate moment to straighten his sleeve, fussing like a man more fastidious than he normally is. Robert, still irritated, remains silent, waiting.
“A queen doesn’t always heed her advisers,” Dmitri finally says, as close to an admission of failure as Robert’s ever heard from him. “Her strength will be divided,” he adds in a grumble. “Her army will be split between Khazar, Essandia, and Aulun.”
“Or she’ll have Essandian and Aulunian ships alike and her own troops here to put on them and send where she wants. Dammit, Dmitri, you should have told me. You should have stopped it. She hints at favouring Aulun, but I want her to have no choice. Warp the missives from Essandia. Make it seem as though Rodrigo seeks her hand along with her troops.”
“A dangerous game,” Dmitri murmurs. “What if she accepts?”
“She wouldn’t have come to Aulun about Gregori if she were of