Well, where to begin?

I suppose I should start with my background, for context. I'm Qubine, nineteen years old, the ruler of a Duchy in the northwestern corner of a continent-spanning empire, and have thus far proven that both my wits and my talents are ample for the task.

In theory, as a Duke, I answer to both an Emperor and to the decisions of a ruling Congress. In most practical terms, I answer only to myself as sovereign of my own realm. I've been ruling Celapaleis since I was four, officially, though for the first few years my advisors - naturally - handled affairs on my behalf. By the age of nine of so I was able to shoulder most of the burden of rule myself. I granted independence to our most prestigious vassal state a few years later - an excellent decision, for multiple reasons, despite the loss of revenue. I oversaw massive changes, after all the tools that sustained our way of life - the Remnants - that we had used for millennia crumbled into dust.

I regained a part of my freedom the day they vanished, though that thought didn't occur to me at the time. My father died young, as did his father before him; our life energies sapped by the Remnant we had each bonded to in turn. It was a price we gladly paid to keep our remnant - so beautiful and benevolent when bound - from corrupting our people and twisting their souls.

And Celapaleis had been lucky, at that. My people admired and loved the Umbermarici, but it was for the most part merely an object of wonder and inspiration. Other rulers had remnants without which their cities struggled; I saw my allies left with desert oases suddenly bereft of water, in ports suddenly struck by floods - the remnants had held back so many disasters, and we had grown accustomed to that safety.

Of course we sent out assistance. I'm not a cruel man, nor are my people heartless. We sent aid, helped lay out roads, built aqueducts and evacuated entire areas where needed. I refused any offers of future financial reward for the aid I sent; there was little point in gouging my peers when the future prosperity of their lands would benefit us all.

Our neighbouring state - Athlum, previously our vassal - had been instrumental in the loss of the remnants. There was a war, and they did it for good reason, and at great cost to themselves. I have heard their Lord tell the story himself three times; once to the assembled Lords of the Congress, once to a smaller assemblage of those who had aided their cause more directly, and once, far far later, to myself alone.

The emphasis of the story shifted between the tellings, but the point remained the same; sacrificing the remnants saved the world.

I was - and remain - grateful to them, and have made a point of encouraging others to share that view.

I was a callow youth of but twelve years old at the time; more cynical than most grown men I knew, but not immune to hero worship of a sort. My admiration for the young Lord of Athlum was matched only by my pity at his situation. His lover had been a remnant, or at least part-remnant; his sacrifice had been willing, but with so many other losses, the crumbling of the remnants - the Dissipation - had been a crushing experience for the Lord of Athlum.

I watched him, aware that my situation and his pride meant that the only aid I could offer was practical and covert; builders and artisans and merchants found their way mysteriously into his towns and villages and were generous with their prices and their plans. My troops - who were merely passing through on their way elsewhere, naturally - helped clear out the last pockets of organised fiends from their territory. Everything was calculated to allow me to deny awareness or involvement, and David never confronted me over it.

Athlum flourished as a result, until it was a jewel nearly as brilliant as my own Celapaleis. Along with Elysion - which had been built on a grand enough scale to remain prosperous and lovely even without the remnant Elysion illuminating its skies - our corner of the Empire became known as The Glorious Northwest.

I passed through my awkward adolescence, my cynicism unfading, steering my people as well as I was able. I grew into a man, rather unmuscled, but pleasing enough in features to be considered handsome nevertheless. The leadership of the Congress was offered to me; I took it for long enough to be certain I did not wish to retain it. It passed on again, and in time it became the custom for the leadership to be passed on every year or two.

My people sent out great ships into the Western ocean, and returned with news of strange islands and stranger peoples.

I was content enough, I suppose, but found myself often... tired. Weary of how routine things were, I suppose. My people were able to run the details of their own lives for the most part. The empire settled into a peace, only slightly wary. I took lovers to ease my boredom; choosing people who would be discreet and responsible - my father had left me with a few half-acknowledged bastard siblings, and I had no wish to do the same to any legitimate heirs I might one day have. I kept my head and heart aloft, and my lovers came from the ranks of those who were not tied to any place; when their lives took them from me, I did not object to their leaving.

I travelled a little, keeping to the major cities for the most part. I visited Athlum a few times, as it was a matter of a day's travel and yet different enough to shake my languor; David tolerated my impositions with grace, and I enjoyed my futile attempts to provoke him into a break from his usual polite formality.

After a while it grew into somewhat of an obsession. The man had barely seemed to experience joy since the Dissipation; he was far from grim, but the powerful charisma he had once exuded had faded into subtle charm and grace. He seemed to take some small pleasure at least in solving his people's disputes personally; they still adored him, and he allowed them to bring minor quibbles and disputes for his adjudication on a regular basis. I could see the appeal, but my personality was ill-suited to such an occupation.

I could occupy myself for quite some time watching him make such judgements, on the other hand. Quite aside from the aesthetic value of watching the man himself, there was joy in watching him work. He handled his people deftly, and with a warmth that was admirable considering his general melancholia.

I knew he considered the generals of his armies to be friends as well as advisors; they were an impressively diverse group, but effective at their task. And I knew he maintained friendships with a few other people. Perhaps he was more at ease around those friends; perhaps in private he showed a spark of the true David I recalled. That David had fire and depth and steel; he was unpredictable and exciting; not this pale imitation.

The frequency of my visits to Athlum increased as I tried to ascertain how deep the change ran. It did not take long before I would have wagered half of Celapaleis that he was no more effusive when alone with his companions than he was in public. While he was still an admirable ruler, I yearned to converse with the David of my youth, the one who defied the God Emperor and defeated the Conqueror.

I settled upon a course of action: I would befriend David, and I would help him rekindle that spark of passion.

Friendship truly was my aim, nothing more. Admittedly, he was an eye-catching man, and I was perhaps still a little in love with the vanquishing hero he had been when I granted him Athlum. And it was true that the man had apparently decided that peacetime afforded him the perfect opportunity to grow out his hair; he kept it tied back but it reached past his shoulder-blades. I had spent longer than perhaps decent on imagining how he would appear were it let loose.

But primarily, I felt that David deported himself as if he did not wish to open himself up to emotion. Did he still mourn his lover? His remnants? His friends? He'd lost a great deal in a short time, and one had to expect that that would leave scars of some sort. His behaviour made me itch to break through his barriers; to force him to shout or cry or laugh. He needed to be shaken out of his current apathy; quite aside from my personal distaste for it, David's passivity was a risk to the future. Athlum was a jewel of a state, and David was hale and hearty, but he was also the last in his line of succession. I had some well-concealed relatives I could - with caveats - permit Celapaleis to pass onto. David's father had been faithful, his uncle childless. David was unlikely to be seeking marriage in his current state; I was certain that he was suffering the same onslaught of ambitious noblewomen that I did, but I doubted they were any more successful with him than they had been with myself.

I did not wish Athlum to suffer some crisis of succession. If David met with an accident - and I dearly hoped he would not - I might be forced to reannex his territory to avoid a power vacuum. Athlum's people were fiercely proud of their independence; they would not be reabsorbed easily.

Those of you of a perceptive mien might note that this all sounds a little contrived as reasoning. It was, and I knew it. The truth was that I was lonely. I had advisors and sycophants among my court, most of whom I listened to when appropriate and could ignore when it suited me. Only my chamberlain could be regarded as really a friend, and he was growing old and frail. His lack of energy meant that he was unwilling to argue with me, and how could I truly be certain of my opinions if I had nobody to discuss them with?

I wanted to know someone who I couldn't just overrule when it suited me, someone with intelligence and experience.

David was of equal rank to my own, was close enough to make regular contact possible, and was - in my recollection - able to be commanding and persuasive and intimidating. I wanted to clash wits with that man, to have someone to argue with.

I suspected that the increased frequency of my visits - approaching once a month, now - had begun to grate on him, though he was as gracious as ever. I took to using one of my more obnoxious lackeys ahead to announce my visits, in an attempt to further annoy him - any crack in his facade would be a good starting point for further attacks.

Eventually on one visit, after I had - rather arrogantly, I admit - dismissed his Generals from his audience chamber, his patience snapped.

"You really don't have to treat me so formally, David. I really don't require such a grand welcome."

"Perhaps you might consider not sending an envoy ahead to request one, then?"

His teeth were positively gritted, though his tone was light. I exulted internally, and assumed an expression of startled apology. "Ah. Zita's been his usual charming self?"

"Quite."

"My apologies, I only wished him to alert you that I would be arriving. I'll find someone less aggravating to send in future, and you can rein in the formality. Satisfied?"

"My thanks." David's expression was still shuttered, but I thought I could detect a sudden light of decision in his eyes. "Might I ask.. what precisely are you doing here?"

I lowered myself down onto the steps near his seat, smiling. "What I'm doing, David, is sitting on the floor because you've neglected to provide seating for anyone except yourself."

His eyes widened, and just as he was about to make some protest, I waved my hand dismissively. "No, don't fret yourself, that was a joke. I'm here in Athlum because there is no pressing need for me to be in Celapaleis, because Athlum is a pleasant city to visit, and because the climate drives any lingering aches from my knee."

A half-truth at best. I had, as a child, had some issues with my leg, forcing me to use a cane if I needed to be on my feet for long. I had only occasional problems now, and the climate in Athlum was barely a few degrees more balmy than Celapaleis' own. Still, it appeared to appease him, and he looked me up and down with an expression somewhere between paternal concern and weary resignation.

"Oh. Well, you are welcome here, naturally."

I couldn't help it; this was such a transparent falsehood that I actually snorted in disgust. "Naturally? David, you couldn't be any less comfortable with me if I were the living embodiment of the God Emperor."

He looked horrified, and with good reason. I had cut through the last few years of rather delicately-phrased diplomatic falsehood. "My Lord, I admit that I feel more at ease now I know your motives are to do with your own comfort and health, I grant, but I have never refused you my hospitality or..."

"Yes, you're an eternally gracious host, and it's appreciated." I sighed. "In all honesty, Celepalais is boring most of the time. Minor border quibbles take up very little of my attention, and with all of us Lords being so very careful around each other I do not even have the luxury of political machination to occupy me."

David still looked rattled, but amusement was starting to show. "How very candid."

"Refreshing, isn't it?"

He laughed, a laugh as much born of surprise as amusement. "Yes, I suppose it is. Why not take the time to see more of the Empire, if you like travelling?"

I shrugged. "My advisors dislike my travelling too many day's reach from Celepalais. Elysion is about as far as they are comfortable with. And Athlum's hospitality is superior to Ghor's or Bertrude's."

"I'm honoured."

"Of course you are. I'm an excellent guest and you enjoy my company."

I saw him blink, and then his lips curved up into a smile almost as sly as my own. "Is that so?"

"Of course it is." I adjusted my sleeves, and thought for a moment, savoring the small victory. Bluntness seemed effective; I would offer more. "I'm also pleasantly surprised. I was expecting it to take another three or four visits before one of us snapped and you finally started treating me like a fellow human."

"Are you genuinely complaining that I've treated you too like a noble?"

"No, I'm complaining about being treated like your superior. You shouldn't act like you're my subordinate, David. Even if you do seem determined to remain a Marquis."

I was expecting a frown or some protest, but his smile widened further, and he shook his head easily. "I'm afraid 'Duke Nassau' doesn't sit well with me."

"I can assure you that the title doesn't exactly sit easily on any of us." I would have pressed further; this was excellent progress. But I could hear footsteps approaching, and David would be unlikely to stay this unshielded in company. I stood, and gestured towards the entrance.

"One of your advisors is lurking, no doubt wishing to discuss matters of state. I shall leave you to business."

"My thanks, but Athlum has no secrets from Celapaleis. If you wish to remain..."

"Don't be absurd," I said, lightly. Staying here as observer would remind him too much of our situation politically and I wished him to cease holding that in the forefront of his mind; still, I should press my advantage while he was offering concessions. "I would like to take dinner with you later, however. If it wouldn't be too much trouble for you to arrange a meal in your chambers?"

David nodded, slowly, as if rather wishing he could decline. "Ordinarily I would offer to have musicians attend us through the meal..."

Fond as I was of music, that would mean other people being around, and it was evident that the key to success here was getting the man alone. Still, it was his castle. "If that's your preference, so be it, but I'd rather be able to talk freely."

"Very well then."

I bowed low to him, aware that doing so would discomfort him. "Later, then. Be well, David."

I dressed with care for dinner.

David had relaxed to a surprising degree, but that air of vaguely avuncular indulgence was worrying. I did not wish him to treat me like a child; I was as old as he'd been when he'd fought the Conqueror. My usual court garb was much the same as I'd worn when a youth, alas, and did little to emphasise my age.

The alternative was a uniform I wore very infrequently but was obliged to have in my retinue's cases; it was the official uniform of the Commander of the Celapaleian Armies. As I lacked much skill with weaponry - due to my leg, I'd focused primarily on mystic arts when training - it felt a little fraudulent to wear such a uniform, but it was far more flattering to my form. It was, however, much too formal for a casual dinner between friends.

I considered the matter at length, and wore the uniform. Maturity was more important at this point than informality. Or so I thought; I realised my miscalculation when David gave a rather frosty apology for not having changed from his own usual court garb.

Irritation would only tighten his defenses, so I did my best to lighten his mood a little. I turned the conversation away from our own borders, and onto more neutral subjects. We spent some time discussing the voyages out to the Western Oceans; he had some intriguing notions about a Sovani homeland and I made a note to relay some of his thoughts to my expeditionary captains.

As his servants cleared the plates, he seemed uncertain of what to expect - perhaps he was hoping I'd leave him to his own thoughts. I wanted to talk to him alone; dinner had been pleasant once he'd shaken his annoyance, but with servants dancing attendance I was unlikely to be able to recapture the glimpse of the David I had spoken to earlier. I deftly prevented the servants from removing the wine, and refilled our glasses.

As the last of his servants backed expertly out of his rooms, I smiled, lounging back in my chair. Directness had been an excellent tactic earlier. My first tactic would be to address Athlum's succession first; I could allow him to think that it was my main concern, and thus he might relax once the topic was dropped.

"So, to more interesting matters. I assume you're under many of the same pressures from your advisors as I am."

David took up his own goblet, and nodded politely. "That seems very likely, I agree."

"When are you going to ensure the next generation of Nassaus, anyway?"

The man had the audacity to look utterly unconcerned. "I'm not certain. When I find a woman I'm willing to marry, I suppose."

I could not allow him to think such an answer would be sufficient. "I'm hardly a child anymore. Please don't try to pretend your relationship with the Sykes boy was platonic."

David actually looked stung, and I momentarily regretted raising the issue. Well, I could hardly undo my words. "Listen, I mean only that... well, was he an aberration? Or do your preferences lie in that direction generally?"

He seemed only lightly mollified, and his response was tinged with bitterness. "Would it conclude this line of questioning if I informed you that I've barely exercised any preference in years?"

I wasn't particularly surprised, but it seemed politic to feign shock. "Truly? That long?"

"It is not a matter I wish to discuss."

"I understand." I picked up my goblet, and sipped at it as if dropping the subject. After a suitably weighty pause, I shook my head firmly - forgive me, but I am prone to theatrics on occasion - and set my goblet down firmly, glaring at David. "Actually, no, I don't understand. It's been a long time since the Dissipation. Are you planning on venerating a memory forever?"

"Of course not. I'm not actively avoiding romance, if that's your concern."

"Ah. But you're not precisely seeking it, either."

"I've met with all of the candidates that would be suitable for securing the succession."

That was hardly an answer either. "Well, certainly. I must agree that I don't want any of that gaggle of highborn sharks in my bed either."

David tipped his head to one side, seemingly thrown, as if he'd forgotten that I was of age to be married too.

"And what are you planning on doing to avoid the issue?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Nothing. Though I suppose I'll most likely elevate some commoner to weddable rank, if it comes to that."

"You're that repelled by the ladies on offer?"

"I think I'm repelled by highborns generally. Most of them are appallingly mannered and tiresome. A commoner would at least have had less training in courtly falseness." As I said it, I realised that I genuinely meant what I was saying. I would rather have picked some random young girl from the street to wed than take to bed any of the nobility who were angling for a marriage. And that same falseness was exactly what David had been hiding behind; that was what had been setting my teeth on edge recently.

I dragged my thoughts back to the present conversation with difficulty. "Besides, my ennobling someone on a whim would make Ghor positively grind his teeth."

"That's certainly one reason to do so."

An angle which would provoke at least some response occurred to me. "Of course, there's the alternative of marrying one of the noble-ranked who hasn't been presented."

"Surely if they haven't presented, they're not truly available? Is there someone you had in mind?"

"Well, your lovely Lady Honeywell is of noble rank. No, I'm not pursuing her," I hastily noted, as David's eyes narrowed dangerously, "I doubt she'd leave Athlum, and if you were of a mind to wed her then you already would have done so. However, she cannot be the only noblewoman who avoids the marriage market. Can you not think of any others?"

David shrugged. "Not offhand. Is there a particular reason you're quite so keen for me to wed?"

"If you want a Duke's answer: Athlum's economy would be well-boosted, and Celepalais would reap a knock-on reward."

This was true, as it stood. A state event on the scale of a wedding would not only provide a short-term advantage in attracting tourists with money to spend, but would also - if handled correctly - would create a sense of goodwill within and towards Athlum that might encourage favourable trade generally. David looked thoughtful at the observation.

I doubted he'd be swayed; Athlum's economy was robust. Still, it was useful to remind David that there were justifications beyond his own succession. "That's hardly enough. Any other reasons you wish to provide?"

I shrugged. "Not especially."

Concerned as I was for Athlum's succession, I didn't wish to push David into wedding if he was truly happier alone. But I did wish him to consider the matter seriously.

"In all honesty, your unmarried status does allow me the luxury of also postponing my inevitable union - for which I'm grateful - but it would have been nice to think you had a reasoned defense for it."

"My apologies if I have disappointed you."

Well, that was that then. I'd admitted that I wasn't truly invested in convincing him, but perhaps he'd feel he'd achieved a victory nonetheless.

I toyed with my goblet idly. "Still... I'm at a loss. We discussed politics as far as I'd like to over dinner, and you strike me as unwilling to talk of the past. Petty gossip seems somehow a tad childish. Now it seems that the option of ribald remarks over our love lives is also unavailable. What do you want to talk about, David?"

Something I'd said unexpectedly made him smile, almost fondly, and he leaned back in his chair. "Actually, idle gossip and ribaldry might be welcome. Since I have little love life to speak of, however..."

Well, I'd wanted him to be informal. "Mine... is not barren, though I'm careful to avoid anything too juicy for the court gossips to whisper over. Are you truly curious?"

"I think I am. If you're willing to speak of it?"

"Why not? I've nothing to be ashamed of, I think. Unlike my father, I've little interest in tumbling every chambermaid in the castle."

"Ah, yes, I'd heard some rumours along those lines."

I'd wager he had. Quite aside from the few half-siblings I had lurking around the northwest, my mother's determination to rid the castle of her rivals for my father's bed had been fairly obvious. Our staff had become disproportionately composed of qsitis and yamas. It was a miracle I'd not grown up scared of unfamiliar mitras, really.

"I've had a few lovers here and there. Ones chosen for their discretion - minstrels and mercenaries and the like."

"Chosen? You make that sound so impersonal."

I laughed. "Hardly; merely that I've not pursued attractions to anyone unsuitable. It is not as if I could bed everyone I like the look of, anyway."

"Ah, for the fickleness of youth. I find few enough people catch my eye these days."

"In any event, my most recent conquest was a lovely young mercenary, who thankfully took herself off to hunt trophy beasts in Siebenbur just as the relationship began to pall."

I couldn't tell if he was aghast at that - in truth, I'd nothing to do with her leaving, but I didn't object to David thinking I was capable of manipulating events on that level. "How convenient."

"Indeed. I've my eye on a bard at the moment, a tad older than I usually like but quite toothsome." And male, not that I wished to inform David of that quite yet.

He looked slightly bemused. "So, how do you approach these women? I imagine it is hard for them to say no to you, as a Duke."

"Come, David, I hope my reputation doesn't paint me a spoiled brat; I am well capable of accepting defeat when my interest is declined."

"Even so; I've always felt it would be strange to sleep with a subject."

I grinned; he'd missed my point. "I pick mercenaries or minstrels or other transients; I've never bedded anyone with a personal loyalty to me."

David smirked, suddenly. "I began a relationship with one of my soldiers once."

"Oh yes?"

"It took him weeks to stop calling me Lord, and I kept worrying that I would be accused of favouring his regiment."

I winced sympathetically, sipping my wine. "I can see that, yes."

"He transferred after I broke it off with him; I believe he's still ensuring he's assigned to border outposts at this point."

"How long ago was this?"

"Six years? Something like that."

I nodded, biting my tongue on a number of responses. Eventually, I settled on saying, "Well, more fool him for being unable to cope, then."

"Quite. I can't imagine what I first saw in him, truly."

"Did you become pickier after that, or were you already - " I hesitated for a moment, but I'd already given the half-insult, " - already fussy over your lovers?"

"Well, he was quite handsome. And charming, in a shy, innocent way."

"And you corrupted him? Tsk, for shame."

He laughed, a genuinely amused laugh. "Something like that."

"I can't say I've ever been someone's first lover. I'm not certain I'd wish to be."

David shrugged. "Perhaps; I'm not sure I was actually Janvie's first, but certainly my first time was pleasing enough."

"Mine was a disaster." I shuddered. "But I would need more wine to discuss that."

He gave me a strange look, and then tipped his head to one side. "It sounds as though your lovers have always been temporary?"

"Aren't most lovers? Until I find some weddable woman, I'm hardly going to promise a lifetime."

"And you've met no-one who would make you fight against that fate?"

"Not as yet." I sighed. "I do envy you what you had with your young commander, however. You both seemed very devoted; not that my spies could unearth much detail."

David's eyes gleamed, and I wasn't certain quite which part of my sentence had provoked a response.

"Your people are very loyal," I added. "Both in your castle and in your city."

"That's good to hear." I still couldn't quite read his reaction - was he amused or irritated? "All credit to them, though; I gave no specific instructions on discretion."

"You didn't need to. Both you and he inspired a great deal of devotion; it was natural that people would wish to protect you."

"I think you underestimate your own people. They'd be just as loyal to you if you chose to pursue love, I'm certain."

"Not to the same degree. You, especially, were dazzlingly confident; I've heard stories of you terrifying men with a single glare." And I believed them; even now, I did not think I wished to make David truly angry.

"I'm sure the same stories are told of you, and at a younger age."

"Well, perhaps." I held out the wine questioningly, and he shook his head. "In any event; one day it would be nice to find love. But I've no particular sense of urgency about it."

"Nor I." He smiled, tilting his head to one side. "And I should to bed soon, I fear; I will be wretched enough as it is from what we've drunk already."

"A clear dismissal if ever I heard one. Very well, I shall oblige you - goodnight, David."

I stood, and as I left, placed my hand companionably on David's shoulder as a farewell; I was startled to feel quite how much he tensed at my touch.

He bid me goodnight in return, however, so I did not think on it too long.

I did not have a wine headache the next morning, but it did take me a while to gather my wine-hazed recollections into some sort of order the next morning.

It hadn't been a great success, but I didn't think it had been terrible either. I'd managed to get him to drop his defenses and relax somewhat, after all. While he'd clearly still been rather uncomfortable overall, I had worked out a few important things.

Irritation seemed to spark him up temporarily, but only momentarily until he resumed his polite distant veneer. A viable tactic for short-term effect, perhaps, but I did not feel it would effect long-term changes in his behaviour.

Flattery had to be judged very carefully for him to accept it as sincere, at least when the compliments were delivered by me.

Humour worked well, and seemed to make him relax rather than tense up as irritation did. And he found candour amusing, which was to my advantage.

The most effective tactic of all, however, had been indulging his curiosity, once he'd relaxed enough to voice it. As a long-term approach, this wasn't that sustainable; I had no illusions about my ability to produce endless stocks of fascinating information.

This was to be a campaign, not a skirmish; I needed more weaponry if I were to secure victory.

I would need to find a way to get David alone again. I was loathe to ask him for another private dinner, however; it would be prudent not to make the man feel hounded by my presence.

Instead, I would rely on his very politeness to provide the chance for more conversation. The usual form at Athlum Castle was for the marquis, his generals, the courtiers and advisors to dine informally together along with some of the senior members of the castle staff. I'd rarely experienced these, however, since David had been scrupulous in arranging more formal events during my visits. I hoped he'd taken my words of the previous day to heart; after a more informal dinner, it would be likely that I would be able to draw him into his study or library to talk alone.

As David was receiving petitioners that morning and I was feeling restless, I visited Athlum itself. I dropped by various weaponsmasters and jewellers that I liked to patronise, and generally luxuriated in the dryer heat that this city had over mine.

I took a side-trip into Virtus Parish, despite the complaints of my guard. I dropped by the guilds to check the current market rates; one never knew when mercenaries would be needed, and I'd rather not be gouged on pricing. However, I primarily wished to drop by the Warrior's Honor. I would pay my own quiet respects to the memory of Rush Sykes; there was a small plaque on the southern wall in his honor and I placed my moonflower in the vase of others beneath it.

I'd had my own reasons to be grateful to the man, after all.

The bartender caught my eye - as expected - and indicated with a tilt of his head that he would like a private word.

He gave me a sly look as we moved into a corner, my guards discreetly warding away interruptions. "The young lord of Celapaleis seems to be spending a lot of time here of late. Isn't that fascinating?"

"I hear he's enjoying the climate."

His moustache twitched with amusement. "Come now, I bet it's not just that which brings him here."

"I suspect he also wishes to escape the attentions forced upon him at home."

"I see. Poor dear, I do hope he's not being reckless."

I grinned at him. "And what of Edmund? Does he still enjoy his position here?"

"More so than any position he could find elsewhere."

Curious, how little ambition he seemed to possess. He betrayed no hint of his heritage in his attitudes towards power. "You've truly no urge to return to Celapaleis?"

"Please, I think you'd rather I not excite my mother's ambitions. Besides, here I get to occasionally rest my eyes on the lovely young Marquis."

"He is rather pleasing to the eye, I admit."

He smirked. "Your taste's improved."

"Nonsense, it's always been excellent."

"And would he be the company you're seeking, then? Should I be getting jealous?" His pout was spectacularly overdone. If I wasn't aware he acted like this with even the most casual of his acquaintances, I'd have worried that people would have thought us squabbling lovers.

"I said I was avoiding company, not seeking it. And I'm as capable as you are of admiring without further urges."

"Very well." He gave me a fond look. "Give my love to my mother, if you happen to see her."

"I believe her new husband prefers her to remain at his estate. But I'll try and pass the sentiments along."

"My thanks. And don't upset Lord David."

I cuffed him fondly on the shoulder, and left him to his work. One day - perhaps after his mother had passed on - I would truly attempt to convince him to return home with me. In the meantime, I accepted his absence and partisanship as a price well worth paying to keep him out of harm's way.

I wondered if David even knew of the connection. I suspected not, and it did no harm in any case; my brother had bluntly refused any enticements I could offer to make him my spy, and if he wouldn't spy for me then David could be assured that nobody else would win his loyalty.

Drifting back towards the castle, it occurred to me that I could have asked him for advice. He was perhaps one of the few people who'd been observing David's habits for longer than I had, after all.

Dinner was indeed rather informal that evening, to my relief. We did have to suffer through some mediocre vocalist's idea of an aria as a prelude to the meal, but the meal itself was accompanied by a quietly excellent stringsman.

The meal was hearty and spiced in that slightly bitter way that Athlumian food seemed to favour, and I lingered over it as I watched David and his generals converse genially. I gathered that the day's petitions had gone well; from the jokes, I also gathered that David had indeed started his day with the wine headache he'd predicted. I shrugged innocently at his look of mild accusation, but felt a sense of triumph at the familiarity that such a look even implied.

I had readied a mild jibe intended to coax him into inviting me to join him for a drink after dinner, but it wasn't necessary; as the meal drew to a close he very offhandedly tendered me the invitation I'd wanted.

Athlum's library was less spacious than my own, and littered with small piles of books and scrolls that had no apparent order; I'd have laid good odds on there being no full catalogue of the contents. The room was bright with warmly burnished woods, however, and battered couches were thoughtfully located near a small - and well-shielded - fireplace in one corner.

David retrieved a bottle of brandy and some glasses from a small cabinet, and we sat near the fire and drank in what seemed to be a comfortable silence.

I gazed into the flames, thinking. He seemed far more relaxed today than he had been, and his affection for his generals had been very clear at dinner.

"So I have been considering a few things," David said quietly.

I raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Your visits have become frequent, and I don't doubt your word that your health benefits from being here. However, I'm fairly certain that's not the entire truth. Are you willing to explain further, or must I be content with the half-truth?"

"If I asked you to be content, what would your response be?"

"I'd ask for an absolute assurance that you are not indulging your desire for intrigue and manipulation at my expense, or at my city's expense."

I nodded, amused. "I can assure you of that in any case."

"Very well." He did not look very pleased, and I sighed.

"David, you are the closest thing I have to a friend. I'm here because of that; I merely like spending time with someone who is my equal."

He tilted his head to one side. "I... forgive me, but you accused me of not treating you like a human the other day. And yet you think of me as a friend?"

"Not quite. But as someone who could be, if he'd allow it."

He leant back in his chair, his eyes thoughtful. "Let me ask then: what is it that you expect of me, as a friend?"

"I..." I was at a loss for a moment. "Our conversation last night, that was as one between friends, would you agree?"

"Certainly."

"It has taken us a decade to have a conversation that relaxed and informal. And you were still uncomfortable."

He frowned. "Idle chatter? That's what you seek?"

"Is it so ridiculous?"

"Perhaps not. But, and forgive me," and he actually looked apologetic as he spoke, "you have always seemed to regard me as your inferior to command, even when I was head of the Congress. Which does not strike me as the best foundation for a friendship."

"David, I have not thought of you as an inferior in many years, I assure you."

"Even so."

He was staring into the fire, that frown still drawing his brows down.

I sipped my brandy, thinking hard. "It's not that I ask so much. I'm fully aware that most friendships follow a natural progression; an exchange of trust and mutual respect and confidences."

He glanced at me, and his frown dissolved as he tried not to laugh. I reviewed what I said, and had to laugh too.

"That wasn't meant to sound so pompous. I... I merely mean that I know friendships should be earned. But I'm weary of thinking it over; I cannot work out how it is that we have spent so much time around one another and yet camaraderie still eludes us."

He sighed. "I am not certain. I suppose - I am willing to try to think of you in that light."

"My thanks," I said, and then realised how curt that sounded. "Genuinely."

He tipped his head to one side. "Perhaps that is why; I'm never certain when you mean what you say."

I snorted in lieu of a suitable response.

We both sat again in silence, this one less comfortable. After a while, David refilled our glasses.

"I am rarely dishonest," I said, after a while. At David's look, I clarified. "I do conceal things sometimes, for expediency's sake. And I play the polite diplomatic game; we both do, and don't you dare pretend otherwise. But I do not lie often."

He looked thoughtful. "Perhaps. I've known you feign ignorance, but not to claim knowledge where you had none."

"Well, I rarely lack knowledge."

He smiled at that. It was true; my intelligence service was excellent and I was usually well-informed. "You also rarely lack humility."

"A minor flaw in an otherwise sterling character, I'm assured."

He chuckled. I admired the effect for a moment.

"It's good to see you laugh."

"Goodness, you sound like I'm forever miserable in your presence."

"Well, no." Could I phrase my thoughts in a way that did not insult him? "But you... withdraw into a shell of formality. And I hardly think that it is merely around me; you do not engage with the world enough any more."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Well, honestly, you have not seemed truly yourself in a long time, David."

He frowned. "People change. This friendship will not go well if you persist in comparing me unfavourably to my younger self."

I confess, I'd not realised the hypocrisy I'd been committing until that moment. I kicked myself internally; how could I expect him to treat me as the person I was now if I didn't extend him the same courtesy?

"You're absolutely right. My apologies." I managed.

He tipped his head to one side, and smiled at me. "Shall we begin over?"

"Yes, I rather think we should." I stood, and held my hand out to him in polite greeting. "Qubine of Celapaleis."

He stood, and took it. "David Nassau of Athlum."

"A pleasure."

"Indeed." We sat, and then both burst into idiotic grins. "I believe your realm borders mine?"

"Yes, I think so. We may even have a few trade agreements and so on."

"Absurd we haven't met before, really."

I laughed, and we played at this new beginning for a while. In many ways it was actually illuminating to see how David chose to present himself; he seemed far more willing to show pride in Athlum than in himself. Eventually I made as if I had suddenly recollected where I'd heard his name before - in the stories of the last war.

Had I not spent so long observing him, I'm not certain I'd have noticed the change in his demeanour. His voice remained very light and polite, but I could definitely detect a sudden coolness.

"Yes, I was there."

"You were rather central to the conflict, I've heard? Forgive me, one does not meet a legend every day."

"Hardly a legend, merely someone who wished to prevent catastrophe."

I wondered if he was genuinely this diffident about it in front of new acquaintances. Quite probably he was, and I did not think it was entirely due to his lost lover. Interesting.

"Well, I'm grateful to you nonetheless. And curious; you must have seen many strange lands on your travels; what thought you of Undelwalt?"

"At the time? I found it intimidating, if a little shabby. I hear it has fallen further into disrepair since."

I kept him discussing other cities for a while; he relaxed soon enough, and I resolved to avoid raising anything relating to the war for a while. By the time we agreed to adjourn for the evening, the brandy was three-quarters gone and I was feeling once again a little intoxicated. And I had a far better idea of the disconnect between the David I'd expected and the David that existed.

He'd indeed grown less idealistic, less fervent in his desire to remake the world to fit his concept of how it should be. But I concluded that I'd misjudged him rather in other respects; he was far from apathetic. While he expressed his feelings with less passion, I had to accept that this was not because he felt them less keenly, but because he had a stronger sense of what emotions were suitable to express in front of other Lords.

I still itched to be an exception to that, however. Perhaps I was loathe to admit defeat; perhaps it was merely that I felt I'd broached his outer defenses, and therefore could indeed bridge that distance he maintained if I kept at it.

I really should have analysed my motives more clearly, in retrospect.