"Jason," Corinn said, "tell the Council about our horse culture."

The scholar started again. He set a somewhat pleading look upon her, but when she returned it with an expectant smile, he found words. "Tinhadin was a horseman, it's true. And Edifus kept a great stable of stallions in the Pelos valley. Some here will have practiced the Eighth Form, in which horses play a part. The Akaran royals have always ridden-"

Saden cut in, noticeably annoyed with the change of subject. "The royal family riding does not make for a horse culture. You know that, I'm sure. You know that the reason few people in the empire ride is that the royal family didn't want them to. Simple as that. Your ancestors forbade horses to Talayans outright." He nodded at Baddel, who did not acknowledge the gesture. "Thought riding would cripple them. Turns out it did nothing of the sort. They can run as far and as fast as any horse, farther over a span of days. At least, that's what I've heard. Tinhadin tried to take them from the Mein, but never managed it."

"As I understand it," General Andeson said, "there are laws in the books expressly forbidding commoners to ride. Horses may pull carts or carry packs, yes, but only the military-and the nobles, of course-can ride."

Corinn said, with a tone that suggested she would have said the same thing regardless of what they had said in between, "The past is behind us, and now I look to the future. I don't want my people to always walk the earth like peasants. Not all of them, at least. I believe we'll be stronger if more people know horses. Jason, develop a lore for the horse as well, something to feed the people. Elaborate on what you know and put it in writing. Understand?"

The tutor started to sweep his hand to his chest, knocked his tumbler, caught it, and righted it dexterously. "Your Majesty, develop a-"

"Lore. Develop legends. Heroes on horseback and such things. Seek out some of the old tales in the library. Find stories that include horses. If you can't find them, insert the horses. Plant the seeds. Add another layer to the lore and let it be spoken of in taverns and halls and told to children at night, that sort of thing. Get the people dreaming horses."

Balneaves smiled crookedly. "Noble work, Jason. Go to it with gusto."

"I am glad you think so." Corinn rounded on him. "I have a part in this for you, too." Indeed, she had a part in it for almost everyone here. To different individuals she assigned responsibility for acquiring breeding stock, finding good pasturelands, hiring trainers, contracting architects and builders and blacksmiths. The list of needs was extensive. Corinn spoke with enthusiastic seriousness. Rhrenna duly wrote it all down. The councilmen looked about as if each was hoping another would call the whole thing a joke. But none did, and at the end of the session Baddel walked out mumbling, "As the queen wishes. The stallions shall stud. The mares shall birth. And the people shall ride."

And the councillors shall scurry about like worker ants, she answered, although only within the safe confines of her head.

Later that afternoon, she had one more meeting. This one took place in the privacy of the lower wing of her offices, on an open balcony that looked out over the sea. It was a small space, cut into the rock and hidden from prying eyes from above. She chose it because the man she was to meet could ascend an outer stone staircase unnoticed. It was that type of meeting. Clandestine. It was possible it was even dangerous, but she did not believe so.

Delivegu Lemardine, her agent, was faithful in his own way-faithful to the coin she paid him and to the knowledge that his service might fund a life of whatever vices he enjoyed. He had once aided Rialus in his covert designs, and Rialus had introduced him to her. She did not trust Delivegu, but that was not unusual; she did not trust anybody. Unlike most people, Delivegu had proved useful on more than one occasion.

Senivalians were not known for walking quietly, but in that Delivegu differed from his countrymen. He was up the stairs and but a few feet from Corinn before she knew it. He was dressed showily, as ever, in an open-necked shirt with a brigandlike flare in the sleeves tucked into his snug-fitting trousers; his knee-high black leather boots were laced to shape around his calves. Though he was padded around the belly with a few extra pounds, never had a man looked more comfortable with his body. Indeed, he luxuriated in his size and in what appeared to be natural strength. His face was composed of an unsettling combination of blocky, masculine features and feminine touches, as in the petite pucker of his lips. He was, in his own way, frustratingly attractive.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing, "I am your servant in everything. In absolutely everything." He held the position a moment, and then rose. "If I may say, you are a vision of-"

"I don't have time for flattery," she snapped. She cupped her hand around a stone resting on the balcony. "Tell me, and then go."

Delivegu smiled. He always smiled. He seemed to find the world and everything in it amusing-insults as much as praise. "The blacksmith was strong. I'll give him that much. Not just in his arms, though those were formidable. For a moment when I first confronted him I thought he might have me. Ever thought you were about to be skewered on a red-hot sword pulled from the flames? Not a pretty-"

"To the point, Delivegu. To the point."

"Yes, well, I lived, as you can see. And I beat the brute to within an inch of his life and then questioned him."

"By what method?"

Delivegu cocked his head, demure, but when she pressed him he detailed his procedure readily enough. The initial beating had been coarse, and for the questioning he chose methods meant to coerce the mind as much as the body. He started by asking his questions gently. Why, he had asked, was the blacksmith's name in a note shot out of the sky by a Marah on night patrol? The man had watched a messenger bird dispatched from the lower town, and rightly guessed it carried some covert correspondence. When the missive was detached from the bird's leg, only one word could be made out on it: his name. The rest of it was coded gibberish.

The blacksmith had shut his lips and focused his loathing through his eyes, refusing to answer.

"He didn't care for me much," Delivegu said, combing his fingers through his black hair.

A monkey came loping up the steps and seemed startled to find them there. It chirruped a greeting and sauntered past them, looking much like a noble out for an evening stroll. It stopped some paces beyond them and stood intently scratching its rump.

The means of coercion had to be improved upon. He had flattened the man's hands in a vise and had driven nails through the finger bones. He had dunked his head in a bucket of water until he passed out, revived him, and did it over and over again. He had stripped the man's brawny body naked and, using a candle, burned the hairs from his body, dripping hot wax on him the entire time. "That was amusing," Delivegu said, "but not effective. Nothing was. I even put a weight on his manhood and promised to make a little cut if he didn't speak true."

Corinn betrayed no discomfort. "And?"

"And… begging your royal pardon, but he still didn't speak. I kept my promise and that was that. He died not long after. Who wouldn't? Without a prick the world's a miserable place." He paused a moment, glancing at Corinn.

She was not sure if the amusement in his eyes was from speaking to her with such lurid candor, or if it was his own recognition that she, being a woman, was just as prickless as the blacksmith.

"If he'd had a family, I could have used them, but he was a single man, friends to many but none who seemed right for that purpose-"