great table where Daskellin had had a map of Sarakal, Elassae, the Free Cities, and southern Antea built. It wasn’t as detailed as the war rooms dedicated to the re-creation of the paths of armies and the death of cities, but it served as a good general reminder of the shape of things. Here was Nus, there the thin green threads of the dragon’s roads, at the southern edge the mountains that kept Sarakal from fading into Elassae, and the far city of Inentai that guarded the mountains’ end. Each keep and holdfast was marked by a tiny pewter model. Geder leaned forward, plucked the first of these from the dirt of the map, and put it back in place with the red banner of the spider goddess with its eightfold sigil flying from its minute rooftop.
“Do you think it’s true?” Aster asked.
“What bit?” Geder asked.
“Do you think it was really like that? With Lord Ternigan taking the battering ram and the frost on the tents and the cunning man calling up flames?”
“That part, I don’t know. The number of lost soldiers is probably accurate or nearly so. I have other men who can confirm all that. And how long it took to win the keep. The things that can be measured and counted, I don’t think he’d dare exaggerate. But the rest?”
“You think he lied?”
“I read a fair number of field reports from all through history,” Geder said, “and they didn’t match my experience.”
Aster glanced over at Basrahip, and the massive priest lifted his eyebrows.
Geder hadn’t known many children. Growing up, he had been the only child in the manor, and the boys and girls of the village had been only occasional companions. But even then, Geder thought that the patterns of age must be invisible to the people suffering them. Aster was his example. It was almost two years now since King Simeon had come and asked Geder to become protector of the prince. Geder could almost think that the boy he sat with now had been there, but that was an illusion. Aster had grown a bit taller, yes, but more than that, he had grown into himself. The planes of his face were still gentle, but not those of a child. Or at least not as often. He had become stronger too, leaner. There were still years before Aster became a man grown and took his crown, but Geder could see glimpses of that man. That king. It left him proud and melancholy both. If he was going to give Aster a world that was truly at peace for the first time since the dragons fell, he wouldn’t be able to rest, and there were days he would have liked nothing better than to sleep late, eat in the library, and nap in the sun. He had known that being Lord Regent would be a sacrifice. Even with all the power and status it gave him, carrying the weight of empire was only supportable because he was doing it for Aster.
That was what he told himself, anyway. He also could admit to himself that there were some parts of wielding power that he would miss, when the time came.
“Lord Palliako?” The old man bowed almost double as he came into the room. Ever since he’d come back after the insurrection with the courage to break from small traditions like letting other people bathe and dress him, Geder had gotten a reputation with the servants of the Kingspire. It made them much more respectful. “The general audience is ready, my lord.”
Geder stood, pulling his robes back into their best trim. Basrahip rose from his seat beside the window and stepped toward him, gentle for so large a man.
“All right, then,” Geder said. “Let’s clean this all up, shall we?”
When he turned toward the door, the servant’s face was pale. Geder glanced behind him, half expecting to see an assassin or a bee. Some sort of danger. There was nothing but the room.
“What? What’s the matter?”
The servant swallowed and coughed.
“Your crown,” Aster said, and Geder’s hand rose to his bare brow. “It’s back here.”
“Thank you,” Geder said, taking the metal circlet and putting it on. “How does it look?”
“Regal,” Aster said.
Geder struck an exaggerated pose. The boy prince laughed and Geder laughed with him.
The general audience was reputed to be one of the great chores of the regency. Over the long months of the winter, requests for audience had built up like water behind a dam: magistrates who