Chapter Four: Late Winter – Early Spring, 436

"Oh, no," Richard protested, surprised. "I like girls very much."
"Richard," drawled Alex, whose left leg was beginning to cramp, "you're breaking my heart."
"The Swordsman Whose Name Was Not Death", Ellen Kushner

"Myles," said Gareth, "a match with the Copper Isles would be a very bad thing."

Myles had taken both men back to his sitting room. Dermot took up the entirety of one of Myles' sofas – his legs were quite long, and Myles was mildly surprised to see that any part of them fit on it – and Gareth sat by him at a table. Myles offered him an orange.

"I know," he said. "Even if we only believe the rumors I don't put about, the picture we're getting isn't a good one."

Gareth and Dermot chuckled. Myles generally disliked men with notable military prowess because they tended to have romantic ideas about the Code of Chivalry and unflattering ones about spies. Dermot ha Minch would have fit perfectly into that category were he not himself the son of a former spymaster and wily enough to have earned himself deceptively flattering nicknames whenever he commanded soldiers. Myles thought that had the Lord Provost and Dermot ha Minch been switched at birth, there would be no noticeable differences in the current state of the country.

Dermot ha Minch had enough daughters for his interest in keeping Josiane out of Tortall to be anything but altruistic. Still, any of the Minchi girls would have been preferable to Josiane – especially given the fruitful tendencies of the Minchis and the sparsely populated Conté families.

"We are not here to talk about the Copper Isles anymore," said Dermot, interrupting Myles' reverie.

"No?" said Myles.

"No," said Gareth softly. "We are here to talk about Sarain."

Myles rubbed his forehead. "Princess Thayet would be a very bad match for His Highness," he began.

Gareth shook his head. "It is not Jonathan that I am speaking of."

Myles raised an eyebrow. He looked to Dermot, who grinned. The light glinted off his teeth and Myles was very glad that he was on their side.

"His Grace, the Duke of Conté," said Dermot in tones that relayed his disapproval, "has spoken, for reasons passing understanding, to both of us of his desire to wed the girl."

Myles lifted an eyebrow. "Roger would wed Thayet jian Wilima?"

There was a wry twist to Gareth's mouth. "They do say that only her mother is more beautiful."

"They are quite correct," said Myles, "but Adigun jin Wilima came to power only very recently. And what could we possibly hope to gain? Sarain is doomed to internal strife for the next few decades at least. Jin Wilima will not keep his power."

"There are some trade incentives," said Gareth. "Sarain would give us access to the Roof of the World and the K'mir have magics our own mages are unfamiliar with." He shrugged. "The Wilimas are an influential family in Sarain even when they are not Warlords. The benefits would not be wholly one-sided."

"Nor would they be anywhere near evenly distributed," said Myles. It baffled him, to see two otherwise intelligent men defending such a foolish alliance. "I would not place too much hope in learning K'miri magic. If the lowlanders do not kill them, they will kill each other."

"Savages," murmured Dermot.

"Only if you know nothing of our own history," said Myles.

Gareth sighed. "It no longer truly matters whom Roger marries," he admitted. "He is fully grown, and he is of age with none of the still marriageable royal women. He is only the heir until Jon has his own children. If he asks permission of the king to marry her…" Gareth shrugged. "It will be granted. They will not deny him anything."

"Which doesn't mean that we approve," said Dermot, "only that we try to make the best of the situation."

"Ah," said Myles. "The trading benefits will last only so long as jin Wilima stays the Warlord."

"Yes," said Gareth resignedly.

"They will not take kindly to our interaction with the K'mir," Myles said.

"They're marrying a half-breed from, at best, the Book of Glass to a Duke whose mother's family predates all the Books and who is currently in line for the throne," said Dermot ha Minch. "They will accept our terms."

Roger employed his own spies. There were not very many of them, but he only needed a few in very select locations. Roger was certain that Myles was aware he kept his own agents, but he was also certain that Myles didn't know what they were doing. He had taken precautions.

He examined both the small wiry man standing before him and the concise newly submitted report on his desk. Stefano Ugo could be difficult to deal with, but he was also Roger's best agent. He didn't know how Ugo managed to get places no one else could, but he'd spent considerable time in the company of Thayet jian Wilima and Roger no longer particularly cared how it had been managed.

"The reports are not exaggerated, then?" he said.

Ugo shrugged. "Not in the least. She is a very beautiful young woman. She possesses remarkable poise at the age of seventeen, especially for a girl who is rarely allowed out of her own rooms."

"Is she intelligent?" asked Roger.

Ugo shrugged again. It was his most common form of expression. "She is not noticeably stupid. I believe she has some tenacity inherited from her mother and her mother's people. Which…" He shrugged once more.

"Thank you, Ugo," said Roger. "That will be all." He tossed a bag on the table. The sound it made was a pleasant mixture of a jingling and thud. Ugo swept it up with a quick hand.

"Your Grace," said the spy, bowing. He left quietly. He did most things quietly; it was part of why he was so valuable.

Geoffrey did not understand Alex's interest in math. Very few people did. Fencing was a perfectly normal interest, and if no one could understand it like Alex did – except Duke Gareth, but they hadn't had a lesson in weeks – it was an interest infinitely more common among Alex's friends. Even Roger had no interest or understanding of math. It was one of the few things he let Alex have all to himself.

In the wildly nonstudious atmosphere of Tortall's capital, it was difficult to keep track of academic advances. But one of the few benefits of sleeping with Thom had been a wealth of mathematical news at his fingertips – or so it had seemed in comparison, despite Thom's vast disinterest in the subject he couldn't help but absorb some knowledge. There was, Alex learned, a woman in Tyra who had written a book – that was as far as he got whenever he tried to talk to anyone about it.

Thom hadn't told him any of the specifics, but he had gotten the name and the author's. The royal library didn't have a copy. The university wouldn't let their copy out to non-students and Alex didn't feel like investing the time or the money in that institution. None of the merchants had a copy and when he had spoken to the Mithran who taught the pages mathematics then man had declared it heretical. (Alex had never liked him – he was too much inclined to give Gallans credit for advances in math that rightly belonged to the Bazhir – but it was still irritating.)

So Alex was left on his own to procure a copy. His latest tactic was attempting to meet with the Tyran ambassador and convince him to purchase a copy. The man was slow to answer Alex's letters, but Gary had assured him that the ambassador was that way with everyone and that the important thing was to keep writing letters.

Really, though. After five letters the man might make some reply.

Buri paced around Thayet's room.

Thayet herself lay sleepily on a divan, watching her friend's progress through half-closed eyes. Despite any fairytales to the contrary, there was really very little for an unwanted princess to do without the appropriate funds. The Warlord, Thayet learned early on, did not mind spending money on his daughter but he would never give her money outright.

"When will the Tortallans make an offer?" Buri asked suddenly.

Thayet shrugged. "Soon. My mother made him pretend to seriously consider Carthak and Maren. She thinks it will not be long now."

"As if Kalasin would ever consent to let you be another wife in a Carthaki harem," Buri said. She snorted.

"I wouldn't mind a harem so much, I think," Thayet said with a lazy smile, "except there is very little to do in one and the Carthakis are a notoriously lazy people. Maren frightens me much more. It would be like marrying a lowlander."

"Is he handsome?" Buri asked. "The Duke, I mean."

"I believe so," said Thayet. "They are a well-favored family, in general. And he is not - " she stopped, recovered herself. "He is not very old."

"He is old enough," said Buri and the way she said it made Thayet want to run across the room and embrace her for the rest of forever. Perhaps on a cooler day she might have done so. Instead, she lay back and looked at the younger girl affectionately. "In Tortall…"

"Yes?" said Buri.

"In Tortall, you will be as free as I can make you."

Gary and Raoul had significantly less time to themselves now. Gary also tended to prefer going drinking with Alex because Alex was not dangerous in the way that Raoul was when he got drunk. But Alex didn't know George and now he would never know George, so Gary and Raoul went to the Dancing Dove together whenever they could. Somehow, Raoul drunk there was better than Raoul drunk anywhere else and certainly better than Raoul drunk alone.

It was frustrating, being the least damaged of your friends, but Gary tried his best.

When they arrived, George was – for mysterious reasons of his own, no doubt – not yet installed in his customary spot. Gary and Raoul found themselves a relatively quiet table in a corner where nothing they were likely to say would reach unwanted ears. Gary waved down Solom and the first two beers of their evening. The weather had the warmth of false spring and they'd both had to do thirsty work that day.

Somehow between the third mug of beer and the fourth, the girls had decided that neither Gary nor Raoul were worth the effort and left for greener pastures. They'd also gotten on the topic of Jon (which meant Alanna) though why or how or who Gary couldn't have said.

"I'm worried about him," he told Raoul. Or possibly he told his beer mug, but Raoul heard it too.

Raoul's smile was slightly sodden but heartfelt. "You worry about all of us."

It was true, and they both knew it.

"I mean - " Gary paused " - it's been months, now. And no sign of improvement."

"Not everyone recovers from broken hearts quite as quickly as you do," George said from behind them. Gary and Raoul made room for him at the table. Or Gary did, anyway. Raoul was clearly thinking about what George had said.

"What?"

George looked surprised. "I thought it was gossip in court," he said. "They were lovers, lads. Kept it quiet, or tried, but I thought it would've made it's way 'round in one form or 'nother."

"No," said Gary quietly, "the only Conté people have recently accused of sleeping with his squire is Roger."

"Of course with Roger it was true," said Raoul and Gary was drunk enough not to care very much. Anyway, that was also true, although the whispers had quickly faded. Gary hoped they wouldn't spring up again in Delia's absence.

"You can't simply heal a broken heart," said George. "It won't work."

"Tell the queen that," muttered Gary.

George smiled bitterly and Gary knew they were both thinking of the same piece of news. "I'm watching out for Jon," he said. "Don't worry so."

It was difficult to argue with a Thief King, even when he was one of your best friends.

"Join us in a drink?" Raoul suggested.

"If you promise not to fall over on your way home," George said.

Gary and Raoul exchanged embarrassed grins as they waved one of Solom's girls over. "We'll do our best," Raoul said.

Alex's breathing still came hard and fast and heavy; his legs were still tangled with Roger's. It was, perhaps, not an ideal time. Roger could be a sadistic bastard when it suited him, as apparently it did now. Alex was for a moment completely still. His breathing calmed.

A slender smile played around Roger's mouth. He slipped from the bed and pulled on a dressing gown. "Have I surprised you, Alex?" he asked. Pleasure at the prospect hummed in his voice.

"I'm only worried that you mean to marry Delia," Alex said. His own voice was perfectly controlled. Alex was not – had never been – stupid. (Except once, fantastically so, and that one instance seemed to be ruining his life.)

Roger laughed. He poured them both cups of wine and slid back into the bed.

"No," he said, "my intention has never been to marry Delia."

"Then I offer my congratulations on your forthcoming marriage," said Alex.

He would interrogate Gary about it tomorrow.

The documents that, in theory, would cement the marriage of Thayet jian Wilima and Roger of Conté made their way with truly alarming speed to the Warlord's palace. Likewise, the marriage negotiations took an unseemly short period of time. But there was little Sarain could offer Tortall that Tortall wanted – besides the girl herself.

Thayet would arrive in Corus in summer and would marry Roger in autumn. Delia of Eldorne broke a vase when the news reached her, but no one was there to remark on it.

Prince Jonathan's reaction likewise went unmarked.

AN: For future reference, I will probably be updating this more quickly via my new fanfiction journal. The address is, I believe listed in my profile but I can't get it to work in this note. Thanks to K'miri Kalasin at the Dove for the beta job.