A/N - Well here I am back again... in a matter of days... this is unprecedented! However, I must confess that I am stalling; another filler chapter here, as I know the secret meeting will be tough to write and so am putting it off! Duke Gareth is back though, so let us be thankful for small mercies... and Illa is his 'minion'... gosh I love that word ;)

Illa was standing alone on the balcony of her quarters, watching the gauzy puffs of her breath fade into the cold, clear winter sunset, when warm arms settled around her waist.

'My father has just returned,' Aubrey murmured, his balmy breath tickling her ear. 'He would like to see you right away.' Illa spun round with carefully feigned composure, affecting a look of some surprise.

'Well, certainly, if he insists.' She calmly smoothed the folds of her green woollen gown and ran a hand over her hair. Aubrey gave her an indulgent smile, feeling that it was probably unwise to point out that Illa had been on edge for three days in anticipation of Duke Gareth's return, and that if the Duke had not requested an audience with her this very evening, she could quite conceivably have taken to his door with a battering ram. He tucked her arm through his and led her back through her rooms. They were halfway along Illa's corridor when she suddenly turned to Aubrey, her face lit by blind panic.

'Great Mithros, Aubrey!' she gasped. 'What in the divine realms am I going to tell him?' Aubrey's brow furrowed for a moment, before he asked bemusedly,

'Why not tell him everything?'

'Gods all bless! Aubrey of Naxen campaigning for a full and frank confession to an authority figure? What is the world coming to?'

'Well, why not?'

Why not, indeed, mused Illa. If it hadn't been for the fact that bringing Tortall to the brink of civil war seemed a very real possibility, she would never for a moment have questioned the value of telling the whole truth. However, the prospect of enlightening the Prime Minister brought with it the risk that he, obliged to eliminate all potential threats to the Crown, would see fit to send half the King's Own hurtling down to Nutmeg's Bakehouse tomorrow at sundown, an eventuality which was unlikely to result in a peaceful or complete solution.

'Aubrey,' she began pensively, 'as comforting as it would be to tell him everything, I just don't think it would be safe to. Not unless there was some foolproof way to swear him to secrecy. Because if he thinks that Tortall's stability is in danger, he's under oath to report it. And if he does, everything's going to go right out into the open, and turn into a bloody mess before anyone can do anything about it.' Aubrey rotated his head slowly, eliciting from his neck a series of staccato clicks which pinged off the bare stone surfaces of the hallway.

'Illa,' he said, 'perhaps you're underestimating his sense of prudence.' Illa looked up, startled.

'He trusts you,' Aubrey continued, 'He sets great store by your judgement. For what it's worth, so does Baron Cooper. If you ask him to keep things quiet, what makes you so sure that he won't listen?' Illa was shocked.

'But I'm not... I really don't... What right have I to just go in there and tell the Prime Minister what to do?' Aubrey reached up and tweaked her ear in amused frustration.

'You've more right than most. Have you forgotten that he actually hired you as an advisor? If ever there was a time when my father needed advice, it's now.' There was too much truth in this statement for Illa to continue the argument so she glanced instead at her surroundings, and was somewhat surprised to see that the tapestries and portraits lining this particular corridor were entirely unfamiliar, not to mention the fact that glimpses of the twilit Royal Forest were visible through the windows.

'Aubrey, I hate to break it to you, but the last time I visited your father's office, it was on the other side of the palace.' Aubrey chuckled.

'Father won't be in his office tonight. He's had a long journey, and he brought my mother back from Naxen as well. They'll be in their rooms.'

'Your mother will be there?'

'Yes. She was rather cross that she hasn't been introduced to you yet, and has charged me to rectify this oversight immediately.' Illa bit her lip. 'What's the matter,' Aubrey teased. 'Is our fearless, hot-shot political hero afraid of meeting one harmless old lady?'

'Don't call your mother an old lady,' chided Illa vaguely, before wailing, 'Oh Aubrey! What if she doesn't like me?' Aubrey hastily turned his guffaw into a hacking cough.

'Well, she's spent rather a lot of time in the company of both my father and myself, poor woman. Ergo, our tastes are somewhat similar. She'll love you as much as we do.' Illa shook her head restlessly, as if trying to dislodge a stubborn horsefly, and then became suddenly businesslike.

'Not that it matters,' she said quickly, 'this is a purely political visit, of course; entirely professional.' Aubrey rolled his eyes.

x X x X x

The Naxen rooms, owing to Duke Gareth's elevated position and closeness to the Crown, were rather larger and more elaborately decorated than Illa's own. Meticulously carved and upholstered furniture was scattered at tasteful intervals around the airy chambers, and exotic Carthaki carpets sprawled boldly on the polished marble floor. One wall of the spacious sitting room into which a neat little maid ushered Aubrey and Illa consisted solely of the expansive, graceful arches of floor-to-ceiling windows. And standing in front of these windows, gazing motionlessly outwards as the first chilly stars winked into life over the inky darkness of the Royal Forest, was the unmistakeable figure of the duke. After so many trying times, the very sight of him came as such a relief that it was all Illa could do to refrain from running over and flinging her arms around him. Perhaps Aubrey sensed this, as his immediate reaction was to grasp her tightly around the waist, effectively pinning her to his side.

'Your Grace,' Illa burst out, trying simultaneously to wriggle free from Aubrey's hold and drop a respectful curtsey, 'I'm so glad to see you!'

'Ah,' said the duke absently, casting a somewhat suspicious glance at his son, 'so nice to know that one's presence is appreciated.' Illa coloured visibly, and attempted to subtly sidestep several feet further away from Aubrey. Duke Gareth smiled at her.

'Lady Illinen, I hope you will be amenable to continuing this interview in my study?' Illa nodded, and meekly followed in the direction he indicated. 'Oh, and Aubrey?' the duke paused to call back over his shoulder, 'your mother is in her parlour. She would like to see you.' Aubrey grimaced comically, but obediently turned to scuttle through an adjoining door.'

Duke Gareth's study was an aesthetic masterpiece of dark wood panelling and dark red leather, but despite its general attractiveness, something about it made Illa immediately uncomfortable. It was such a masculine room that she couldn't help but feel like an unwelcome intruder, and was rather overcome by an irrational fear that at any moment she could be chewed up, found wanting, and spat out again. The unfriendly, forward-tilting chair to which the duke motioned her didn't help matters. Duke Gareth seated himself behind an enormous mahogany writing desk, rested his elbows on a stack of papers and surveyed Illa over fingertips pressed tightly together.

'So, my dear,' he began kindly, 'I don't suppose you would mind filling me in on the situation? The correspondence I have received from you and my son over the past weeks, although mind-bogglingly prolific and undeniable in its urgency, has been quite spectacularly uninformative.' Illa raised her eyebrows.

'Confidentiality is the key, Your Grace,' she said chirpily. 'It didn't much matter what we wrote, as long as it wasn't the truth and was perplexing enough to bring you scurrying back to Corus.'

'I don't scurry. It's far too undignified.'

'Beg pardon, Your Grace. I meant "hastening." I assume it's socially acceptable to hasten?'

'Quite,' said the duke, amused. 'But now I really must insist that you-'

'Your Grace,' interrupted Illa quickly, 'before we even begin this meeting, there are some stipulations I must make with regard to its content. Will you hear them?' The Duke looked rather flabbergasted, but nodded gallantly.

'Naturally.'

'I said before that confidentiality was the key,' began Illa. 'Well, it's more than the key. It's absolutely paramount. Can you promise me before I say anything that you will keep whatever I tell you to yourself? Because even though I know you're a powerful man, I don't inform you to prompt any political or military action. It's more of a precaution, so that if,' she hesitated, 'if something goes wrong, at least someone will know why.' She paused, before adding cheekily, 'and to give me a credible defence witness in the event that I am charged with high treason.'

'Illinen of Shadowflax!' exclaimed the duke, clapping a hand to his forehead. 'What on earth have you been cooking up?' Knowing that she had received tacit assurance of his discretion, Illa sketched out for him, in a few concise sentences, the mystery of the Sjdyrga, the encounter with Aengus Brimm, and the cryptic invitation to the next rebel meeting. A moment of stunned silence followed her monologue, before Duke Gareth let out a long, low whistle.

'My dear, I find myself at a loss for words.'

'Then perhaps it would be advisable to say nothing,' ventured Illa cautiously. 'It seems to me that the less anyone says about it, the more likely it is that everything will turn out alright in the end.'

'And how exactly,' asked the duke dryly, 'do you intend upon ensuring that everything "turns out alright in the end"?' Illa smiled engagingly at him.

'I wouldn't want to go around spilling all my secrets now, would I, Your Grace? Besides, nothing's set in stone yet. You know I'm more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants sort of girl.'

'Illinen that is a downright lie.'

'It is, isn't it?' agreed Illa ruefully. She sat up straighter in her uncomfortable chair. 'Your Grace, there is very little I can say with any confidence at all until I have been to that meeting tomorrow. That's partially why I wanted you to be aware of the situation, so that if I have to make a spontaneous decision – which is a fairly likely possibility – and it backfires badly, someone will be able to pick up the pieces. But you can rest assured that if you allow me to do this, I will keep you abreast of any developments.' Duke Gareth's mouth twisted wryly.

'Illinen, you know as well as anyone that I couldn't stop you even if I wanted to. I don't like the amount that we have to leave to chance here, and I'm a little worried at the danger that the whole scenario will put you in, but as far as you're concerned, I've learned to expect the unexpected. Furthermore, I've found that in your case, accepting the unexpected without reservation tends to pay off.' Illa couldn't help but smile.

'Is that a compliment, Your Grace?'

'Don't let it go to your head.' The duke picked up the sheaf of papers on his desk and began shuffling then absent-mindedly.

'May I ask you a question?'

'Of course, Your Grace.'

'Have you considered that as a member of this conspiracy, you may be called upon to do more than simply attend meetings and contribute to discussion?'

'I have, Your Grace.'

'Then may I ask what your response would be if you were required to do something which would necessitate taking direct action against the Crown?' Illa took a deep breath.

'Your Grace, this is something that I particularly wished to discuss with you. I know that refusing or hesitating would bring me under immediate suspicion from the rebels, so my gut feeling is that it would be safest to agree to everything enthusiastically, even volunteer for tasks. In the end, it might be smartest, too, because the more involvement I have in their missions, the easier they will be to sabotage.' The duke nodded slowly.

'I agree. And I suppose that's where I come in? To vouch for you if you are caught holding a poisoned dagger behind a curtain in the throne room?' Illa winced.

'You don't mind, Your Grace?'

'Mind?' replied the Duke Gareth, 'I will only mind if my brightest little protégée gets herself needlessly killed.' Illa pulled a face.

'And I thought politics sounded like such a nice, safe career choice!' The duke chuckled darkly.

'Can I ask you one more question?'

'I believe you just did, Your Grace,' quipped Illa.

'That's quite enough of that. I merely wished to enquire as to why you were so insistent upon swearing me to secrecy and going through this whole rigmarole. As you say, I'm a powerful man. Given the information we now possess, it would be almost too easy to attack this meeting and bring down the whole conspiracy.' Illa thought carefully before responding. It was imperative that the duke understand this.

'Your Grace, if we chop down this rebellion, and the revolutionaries are hung or imprisoned, it will not be the end of it. Others will hear of their actions, and be inspired thereby. By granting them infamy, we risk turning them into cult heroes. But more to the point, Your Grace,' she continued, 'I feel it is vital that we know what these people want and stand for before we judge them.'

'My dear,' said Duke Gareth sternly, 'you cannot possibly condone-'

'I do not,' Illa cut in smoothly. 'I do, however, acknowledge that there are flaws in the system as it stands. I object to these people being slaughtered simply because they dared to question the subjugations imposed by the law. Perhaps some sort of compromise might be the best solution for us all.'

'That's rather idealistic, wouldn't you agree, Illinen?'

'Well, someone has to be idealistic,' she retorted, before grinning cheekily. 'Imagine what the realm would be like if we were all as cynical as Sir Nealan, Your Grace!' The duke chuckled.

'I confess the thought is... frightening. Well, My Lady, it seems that your mind is firmly made up. Please come and see me as soon as you return to the palace tomorrow evening. Or Tuesday morning early, if your meeting ends at too indecent an hour. And Illa?'

'Yes, Your Grace?'

'Please be very, very careful. I know a number of people who will be extremely angry with me if I let you get yourself killed, chief among them, myself.' Illa, trying to ignore the traitorous lump in her throat, nodded and rose from her seat.

'Now, said the duke, face relaxing into a smile, 'I suggest you adjourn to the parlour for refreshments. There is a lovely lady waiting there who would like nothing more than to meet you.' Illa was halfway to the door before Duke Gareth called her back.

'Just one last question.' Illa's eyes twinkled.

'Goodness, Your Grace, if we keep going on at this rate, I'm going to have to start charging for interviews!' The duke snorted.

'Illinen, would I be right in supposing that my young, impressionable and relatively useless son will be accompanying you in this endeavour?' To her great consternation, Illa was unable to repress a wild blush.

'Yes, Your Grace.'

'And why, pray, would divulging this particular piece of information cause you to turn such a becoming shade of fuchsia?'

'I couldn't possibly say, Your Grace,' said Illa wickedly, 'I suggest you ask him.'

x X x X x

Despite being the mother of three grown sons, Lady Cythera, Duchess of Naxen, remained astonishingly youthful. Her golden hair had faded to an ashy blonde rather than greying, her cheeks retained a girlish bloom and her slight figure, Illa noted with some envy, was still petite and small-waisted. She presided over the tea table with all the flawlessly cordial dignity that befitted a noble hostess. Illa sat ramrod-straight and uncomfortably silent on a tightly stuffed sofa, resigned to eventually committing the inevitable social faux-pas, but dreading its occurrence nonetheless. Lady Cythera turned to her young guest.

'Lady Illinen, may I enquire as to your tea preference?'

'My tea preference?' Illa was confused. The duchess smiled and elaborated.

'I am something of a tea connoisseur. We drink all sorts here.' She gestured towards a large wooden box that sat on the table, propped open to reveal countless rows of tiny, gauze sachets full of tea leaves, colour-coded according to type. 'As you can see,' she continued self-deprecatingly, now nodding to the shelves lining the room, which housed a crammed collection of tea-sets, both beautiful and bizarre, 'tea-collecting has become rather an all-consuming hobby.' Illa bit back a laugh. Suddenly she felt much more at her ease; the revelation of this eccentricity made the stately duchess identifiable as the sort of woman who could have birthed and raised someone like Aubrey. Illa grinned at Lady Cythera, and was pleased to see an answering flash of kinship in the Duchess' eyes, mingled with a look of slight relief, perhaps at the realisation that the girl of whom Aubrey had spoken in such glowing terms was not as cold and reserved as she seemed on first acquaintance.

'Have you any passionflower tea?' Illa asked cautiously, poking around amongst the multicoloured sachets. The duchess raised an eyebrow, and for a moment looked so much like her son that it was quite unsettling.

'I daresay we do; somewhere. Not in the tea-box, I'm afraid. If you'll forgive my saying so, it's rather unusual to come across someone who drinks it for pleasure rather than purpose.'

'Mother,' drawled Aubrey from his precarious perch on an ottoman tilted unsteadily to lean against the wall, 'you seem to be labouring under the misguided delusion that Illa is normal.' Lady Cythera never noticed the modestly slippered foot which poked out from Illa's skirts and curled around the closest leg of the ottoman, though she could hardly fail to perceive her son's flailing, inelegant plunge to the floor. She made no comment, merely picking up and ringing a small silver bell, but under cover of its melodious trill, Illa could have sworn she heard the trace of a somewhat incongruous giggle.

'I will see what I can do with regards to obtaining some passionflower tea for you, my dear,' said the duchess, 'though I must ask where you acquired such a curious predilection.'

'I visited Sir Nealan of Queenscove in the infirmary one evening with a violent tension headache and a chip on my shoulder about something,' Illa explained. 'I must have been a rather fearsome sight, as our inestimably brave chief healer succumbed immediately to his terror, flung a couple of packets of tea in my general direction, and barricaded himself in the storeroom, muttering something along the lines of 'spawn of the Ysandir.' Lady Cythera laughed in earnest now, but Aubrey winced into his cream-cake. Having been the frequent and relatively innocent victim of Illa's wrath, he harboured a sneaking sympathy for Sir Nealan.

'Anyway,' Illa continued, 'I've been addicted ever since. Every time I go back to replenish my supplies, Sir Nealan calls me a freak of nature, but I know he's just sour that I don't complain about it like all the rest of his patients, thus depriving him of the sadistic pleasure which would doubtless be associated with forcing it down my throat!' Amid the laughter that followed, there was a movement in the doorway as a squire neatly garbed in Naxen colours answered the duchess' summons. It was a moment before Illa recognised Raif in the unfamiliar clothing. Her younger brother – only taken into formal service upon the Duke Gareth's return from Naxen that evening, Illa guessed – grinned and waved excitedly, before seemingly remembering his place and snapping to attention.

'Squire Raif,' said the duchess, with a wink at Illa, 'would you please go to the medicine chest in the linen closet and fetch me some dried passionflower?' Raif hesitated for a moment, looking suspiciously at his sister.

'For Illa's tea?'

'For Illa's tea,' the duchess confirmed. The squire gave a long-suffering sigh.

'My Lady,' he said, 'if you'll pardon my frankness, that stuff's gods-awful. You needn't humour her ridiculous tastes just because she's your guest. Just make her drink something normal for a change. It'll do her good.' Aubrey, shaking with silent mirth, was perilously close to losing his seat again when a voice was heard outside the door.

'Impertinence!' bellowed Duke Gareth, who had evidently heard Raif's sage advice. He grabbed his insubordinate squire by the neck of his tunic, pulled him back into the hallway and pointed him in the direction of the medicine chest, before joining his wife, son and political minion at the tea table.

x X x X x

Several hours later, stuffed full of delicious sweetmeats and warmed by the glow of pleasant conversation, Illa took her leave of Lady Cythera, under solemn covenant to visit again soon. Aubrey, blushing furiously, stammered out his intention to escort her back to her rooms, and Duke Gareth rose to accompany them to the front door of his quarters. When they reached the foyer, the duke paused, leaning wearily on the door jamb. Aubrey, realising resignedly that his father wasn't going to get out of the doorway before he had spoken with Illa, bent down tactfully to retie his bootlace. The duke, who had remained credibly composed during tea, now gripped Illa's shoulder with an urgency that surprised her.

'Illinen,' he said hoarsely, 'you are not a spy! How can you do this to yourself?' Illa sighed.

'Because I have to.'

'No you don't. You forget that the politician is a master of delegation. We have the ideas, then we get other people to carry them out.' Illa tilted her chin slightly upwards to face her mentor, mouth set in a determined line.

'Not this time. This is the only way I can serve King and country as well my own conscience, and be assured that I have done my very best by both,' she gave a tremulous smile, 'and I will succeed. There is simply no other option.' With some effort, he returned her smile, but there was concern in his eyes, and it was more than that of an employer for his employee. It was almost paternal. Almost as if he was seeing her not as a junior colleague but as a daughter. Illa cast a startled glance at Aubrey as Duke Gareth patted her kindly on the shoulder.

'So mote it be,' he murmured, 'so mote it be.'

A/N - This will definitely be the last chapter until my exams are finished in late November... and I hope you enjoyed it, as I have made grave sacrifices with regards to my English exam prep in order to bring it to you! Goodbye for now, not forever...

Lady Muck xo