He never had found out how Pouncer got out of the moncats' room and roamed the narrow passages within the palace walls. Since Pouncer – and the Scepter of Mercy – returned to the city of Avornis, he'd stopped looking. That was his reward to Pouncer.

"Mrowr," Pouncer said again, and looked down at what remained of the mouse.

Lanius, being well trained by then, knew what was expected of him. He stroked Pouncer and praised his hunting talents some more, and then picked up the little corpse (fortunately, what remained included a tail, not too badly chewed). After holding it for a moment – which seemed to mean he would eat it if he only had the time – he gave it back to the moncat. Pouncer took the dainty in its clawed hands and ate another few mouthfuls. Lanius turned his head away.

He didn't miss the mouse. If Pouncer ate all the mice in the archives, he would have been delighted. But he didn't want to watch the moncat do it. That squeamishness had a lot to do with why he was such a reluctant hunter, too. Anser and Ortalis both found it funny.

He didn't mind Anser's teasing. Considering Ortalis' tastes, he was in a poor position to chide anybody about anything. That didn't stop him, of course. If it had, he would have been a different sort of person altogether. Too bad he's not, Lanius thought, and went back to an old tax register.

Hirundo bowed as he came into the small audience chamber where King Grus sat. "Thanks for seeing me, Your Majesty," the general said.

"As though I wouldn't!" Grus said, and waved him to a stool. "Here, sit down and make yourself at home. A servant is com – Ah, here she is now." The serving girl set a tray with wine and cakes and a bowl of roasted chickpeas on the table. After pouring wine for Grus and Hirundo, she curtsied and left.

Hirundo's gaze followed her. "Pretty little thing," he murmured. He raised his silver goblet in salute to Grus. "Your good health, Your Majesty!"

"Same to you." Grus returned the salute. "We're both pretty lucky, for people our age. Most of the parts still work most of the time."

"That's not bad." Hirundo scratched his beard, which was not quite as gray as Grus'. "A lot of people my age are dead."

Grus chuckled, not that it was anything but truth wrapped in a joke. He ate some of the chickpeas, then washed them down with more wine. That meant he got to the bottom of his goblet. After he poured it full again, he asked, "Well, what's on your mind?"

Before answering, Hirundo got up and shut the door to the audience chamber. When he came back, he slid his stool closer to Grus'. In a low voice, he asked, "Your Majesty, who are your son's friends?"

Grus frowned and scratched his head. The idea that Ortalis had friends was enough – more than enough – to bemuse him. His legitimate son was not an outgoing sort. "I don't know," the king said. "What are you driving at?"

"Maybe nothing," Hirundo said. "In that case, I'll beg his pardon, and yours, too. But do you remember him hanging around with these guards officers before we went off to fight south of the Stura?"

"He hunts with some of them – I know that," Grus said. "Not with all of them," Hirundo said, which was true enough. "Do you really want him wasting time with them? What if he's not wasting it, if you know what I mean?"

"I know what you mean," Grus answered; the same thought had occurred to him. Even though it had, the king had trouble taking it seriously. "Ortalis likes hunting and… some other things." Grus didn't care to talk about those, although Hirundo knew what they were – come to that, half the city of Avornis knew what they were. "I've never really thought he liked politics."

"You might want to think again, then, Your Majesty," the general said. "People who don't like politics don't make friends like that."

"No?" Grus raised an eyebrow. "Who would Ortalis make friends with?" If he makes friends at all. He didn't – quite – say that out loud. Instead, he went on, "Priests? Not likely, not unless they're like Anser and enjoy going after deer. Scholars? He never cared for his lessons. I wish he'd cared more, but he didn't. Maidservants?"

Hirundo grinned at that. "Well, who doesn't?"

Some of Ortalis' dealings with maidservants might have started out in a friendly way, but that wasn't how they'd ended. Still, Grus said, "As far as I know, he hasn't done anything like that since he married Limosa. I wanted to clobber him with a rock when he did marry her, but it really looks like he loves her." The idea of Ortalis' loving anyone but himself was even more curious than the idea of his making friends.

"She…" Hirundo's voice trailed away. Grus had no trouble figuring out what the general would have said. She lets him do what he wants to her. She even likes it when he does. Every word of that was true, too. All the same…

"I think there's something more to it," the king said. "He's been different since she had a girl, and he's been quite a bit different since she had a boy."

"Ha!" Hirundo stabbed out a triumphant forefinger at him. "There! You said it yourself, Your Majesty. He has been different, and he has different friends, and you ought to look at him in a different way."

That made good logical sense. Grus realized as much. Logic or no logic, he couldn't do it. He could imagine his son being dangerous in a fit of fury. Anything that required planning? He didn't think so. Going hunting the next day was about as far as Ortalis' planning reached.

The more dubious Grus looked, the more insistent Hirundo got. He said, "For all you know, Limosa's egging him on."

"Maybe," Grus said, not wanting to laugh in his old friend's face. He couldn't see anyone leading Ortalis around by the nose. He'd never had any luck doing it, anyhow; he knew that.

Of course, he'd always tried to lead Ortalis in the direction he himself wanted his son to go. It never occurred to him that Ortalis might be easier to lead in the direction he wanted to go, or that the dreams he and Lanius had always perceived as nightmares might seem something else again to his son. And they were leading Ortalis, too.. ..

Even in their bedchamber, behind a door that was closed and barred, Limosa's voice was the barest thread of whisper. "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"I have to," Ortalis whispered back, even more softly. Limosa worried about Grus because he'd sent her father to the Maze. Ortalis worried about Grus because his father had been there scowling at him, shouting at him, hitting him, for as long as he could remember. Why Grus had felt he needed to do those things was forgotten. That Grus had done those things never would be, never could be. Ortalis went on, "It's for Marinus' sake."

"Of course it is," Limosa said. "He's not just robbing you. He's robbing your whole line, that's what he's doing. And all because of -

"

"Lanius," Ortalis finished for her. He whispered his brother-in-law's name, too. Somehow, that let him pack more scorn into it, not less. "All he does is sit around and read things all day, read things and play with his miserable animals. And for him – for him – my own father's going to disinherit me, disinherit his grandson, too. Oh, no, he's not, by the gods."

That some of his own actions – and inactions – might have given Grus reason to prefer Lanius to him never once crossed his mind. Even if it had, Limosa or, more likely, the Voice in his dreams that were better than dreams would have talked him around. He wouldn't have needed much persuading; like most people, he saw himself in the best possible light.

Limosa saw him in the best possible light, too. She leaned over and kissed him. "When you put on the crown, you'll show everybody what being king is really all about. You'll be the best king Avornis ever had. You'll pick up the Scepter of Mercy and… do all sorts of good things with it." Her imagination failed her, there at the end.