"Amen; and make me die a good old man!
That is the butt-end of a mother's blessing:
I marvel why her grace did leave it out."

--Richard III; II.ii

"Thank you for your counsel, Master Numair." Numair Salmalín bowed and left the room. He recognized a dismissal, albeit an oblique one, when he heard it. Alanna stared after him for a moment before wrenching her attention back to the other Council lords
"Seems rather straightforward," Vanget haMinch said.

"Unless Salmalín intends to finish his apprentice's work." The mutterings and discussions that the mage's exit had occasioned stopped. Heads turned to identify the speaker. Imrah of Legann. Alanna was pleased to see nods of agreement to his comment. Of course it wasn't true -- she knew it wasn't -- but how satisfying to see confirmation that that careless bastard wouldn't wiggle his way back into good graces so easily.

Roald, however, was frowning, evidentially less than pleased at the turn his first official Council session had taken, or rather, at the point to which it inexorably insisted on returning. "Have you any cause -- any specific cause -- to doubt Master Numair's loyalty, my lord?" Alanna wondered sarcastically to herself what reason there could possibly be for the young king's weary tone.

"I should think, sire, that King Jonathan's demise would give ample case for suspicion. Salmalín claims ignorance, but…" Lord Imrah's shrug expressed the unsaid end of his thought. "And a mage of his power could surely evade any tests used to discern his sincerity."

"Once a Carthaki, forever for Carthak." Others made similarly ominous speculations

"Now look here," ejaculated Myles of Olau finally. "You can't deny that Numair has served Tortall very well as long as he's lived in it. He and his magics have saved all of our lives." Trust her adoptive father to play the skeptic. But unfortunately, his argument was sincere. And worse, Alanna knew that he was right.

"None of which would provide excuse, were Numair Salmalín a traitor," the king said sharply, cutting off further discussion on that point. Lord Imrah gave a fervent nod. "But he appears in fact to be guiltier of nothing more than gross oversight. These ridiculous speculative accusations serve nothing. When I, too, am struck down by magic, my lord of Legann--" this abrupt addition apparently to forestall his former knight master, who looked to be about to speak -- "you will have the distinct pleasure of knowing that you were right. Until then, however…" The king had intended to joke, perhaps, but his serious face and harsh tone stripped the comment of whatever black humor it might have possessed.

Roald paused, then began again. "Please, my lords, control yourselves. For the full hour before Master Salmalín made his report, we fruitlessly deliberated his and his colleagues' guilt. And while continuing the debate may relieve our feelings, I have always found the practice courts to provide a more effective remedy." There were a few guarded smiles; though no one could dispute the truth of his advice, it didn't seem quite right that a relatively young knight should be lecturing his elders so.

"If I may, Your Majesty," Duke Baird interjected. "Salmalín and his student's papers have been examined under my supervision. There is nothing in them to suggest any deliberate or malicious treachery. I have a report in full for any who would care to see it."

"Even so," Gary said, "I would question how thorough an investigation done in so little time can be. And how accurate."

"I wouldn't be so quick to trust the animal trainer whose tame bear has already mauled."

"Well said, Commander."

"Perhaps. But I don't believe that's really a valid comparison in the first place, Your Grace, however clever the turn of phrase."

"You've already made your views on the subject abundantly clear, sir. There's really no need to subject us to them again."

"Perhaps you'd care to continue this discussion elsewhere, my lord? In a more direct manner?"

"…Would do a bit more than 'not trust,' I should say, eh, Commander?"

"If I could get my hands on Salmalín…" So much for anyone who thought that nobles were above crudity of language and idea, she thought, upon hearing his suggestion.

"Well, now, that's going a bit far perhaps."

"There is a lady in the room, my lord."

Had it always to come around to that? "I'm a soldier, Your Grace. I've heard and seen as much as you have. And have done nearly as bad as you propose, I'm sure. And would happily join you." He raised his brows at her vehemence, but he couldn't really be surprised. After all these years, she had amply demonstrated that she was not, under any circumstances, a "lady."

"Enough!" Alanna blinked. She didn't believe that she had ever seen Prince Roald the least bit angry before. So there was some fire behind that mild, polite exterior after all. Interesting. He looked very much like Jonathan had when he was displeased. Jonathan. There was no crippling black blot on her mind; no need to cry. Just a guilty jolt that she hadn't been thinking about him, and a subsequent spurt of anguish. In the daylight, amid her friends and peers and with work to be done, she was pushing aside the worst of the pain.

"There will be no more discussion of this," said Roald.

"But sire--"

Roald glared in the direction of the speaker. "I cannot imagine that you have any argument that has not been made many times already this morning, my lord."

Alanna squirmed just a little. What was it about the Contés? 'I'd kill to to be able to get that effect out of my new recreuits with so little effort," Raoul had complained time and again. She could feel somewhat virtuous, however, having mostly kept quiet over the course of the meeting. It was galling to be dependent on the University to finish the mess it had caused; more irritating still was that Roald seemed prepared to overlook everything in the name of reconciliation. Jonathan wouldn't have done it. He would have had vengeance…

"There is a valid concern behind all the arguing you're dismissing, sire," she said. "Perhaps there was no malicious intent, -- and we can concede that -- but isn't the entire University then to be held responsible? They've gotten no more than a tap on the wrist for all their treasonous negligence. Why aren't you punishing them at all?" She could feel her hand reaching instinctively for her sword as she spoke. She was looking at Roald, but on the periphery of her vision, she saw nods.

"Very well put, Lioness."

"My Lady Champion is right, Your Majesty. That is the crux of this matter."

"If by 'punishing them at all' you mean 'razing the University to the grounds, slaughtering every man, woman and child inside, and sowing the grounds with salt,' I intend no such thing." Alanna hoped that she only imagined the slight chuckle from Myles' direction. "We shall not alienate some of the most powerful men and women in my realm; we shall not give them a reason to serve Tusaine, or Scanra, or Carthak. Better that they be grateful for our mercy than angry at our heavy-handedness -- for those who are guilty will be punished." He looked around the room, catching the eyes of each of the council lords. "Am I understood?"

The brief silence which followed was quickly broken by Vanget haMinch. "Then we are to take it that Your Majesty will risk Master Salmalín's offer?"

"I shall 'risk' it, my lord, as you say."

"To a layman," Duke Baird said, looking straight at haMinch "there might appear risk, but speaking as a person educated in the Gift, the proposed is entirely reasonable and logical. Or so at least is my opinion."

Alanna felt something poke her shoulder. She ignored it. Another poke, harder this time. Damn Myles! "Alanna…" her adoptive father said softly. Poke. "Alanna…." No. She would keep her counsel. There was no need to say anything. No need to credit Salmalín with anything. Not now. "You've got to support him!" Myles hissed.

Oh all right. "It is mine as well, Your Grace," she said. Another poke. She glared at Sir Myles. "From N-Master Salmalín's explanation, it would seem that any risk involved is taken by the University mages entirely."

"So it seems."

"You, my lord, are distinctly unGifted. Forgive me, but you have no conception of the magic that will be involved, or its relative danger. If His Majesty but follows Master Salmalín's instructions…"

"Aye. 'Master Salmalín's instructions!' We've seen what following 'Master Salmalín's instructions' will do!"

"I believe you all forget," Roald said calmly, breaking up the discussion once more, "that I am fully aware of the 'magic that will be involved.' Like my father, I am a proficient mage, and I have studied the Jewel. If I proceed tomorrow, I will not be a helpless pawn to Salmalín's design."

This was grudgingly acknowledged. "And there is no other way to end this?" Lord Imrah half-asked, half-conceded, but even his tone was perfunctory. He did not receive an answer. "So be it then."

"I am glad to have your consent, my lord." Lord Imrah looked slightly chagrined, Alanna noted with amusement. Granted, if she had been the one to be taken down a notch by her former squire, she wouldn't be nearly so sanguine. Perhaps she should hunt Nealan down, bully him into a practice bout. Gods as her witnesses, he would surely need the training, and beating someone into the dust would be a good way to forget about…about everything. She wondered where she might find him.

"Lady Alanna?" Not the practice courts for a lazy boy like him, for certes. "Lioness?" Duke Baird was calling her attention. The official meeting seemed to be over. The Council Lords stood in groups, talking and taking leave. "Are you free for a moment to discuss Warding for tomorrow? His Majesty tells me that Master Abelard wishes to direct them." Alanna was impressed in spite of herself. That the Archpriest of Mithros would come down from the City of the Gods in such a time of crisis was not particularly unusual, of course, but nevertheless…

And it was a very good thing that they wouldn't be depending on the the loyalty of the University. Mithros' priest would hardly work against a Gods-given ruler. "It's reassuring that we'll be protecting R-the king." She didn't remember things being this complicated when Jonathan had used the Jewel at his coronation. But then, that had been an unforeseen emergency. It would have been altogether better had there been Wards. Then, they wouldn't have had to--

"It's what we'll with him afterwards that I'm thinking about," Gary said loudly to a neighbor. There was a sudden silence. Everyone turned to look at Alanna. Then, they wouldn't have had to…then, they wouldn't have had to… It was no use. Her thought had stopped. Why were they staring so expectantly? Rhetorical question. What other he could anyone be thinking about? Useless to have tried to ignore it. Useless to have tried to pretend it didn't happen. Useless to think that because she had considered the problem, that she could push it from her mind and let it be forgotten.

"If you're expecting me to beg for his life, you can keep waiting," she said, surprised at how easily the over-rehearsed phrases came. "Because I won't do it."


Credit for the some of this chapter's structural inspiration must be given to Miss Manners' Guide to Excrutiatingly Correct Behavior. Yes, it really must, strange as that may sound.