“Yes, Highness.”

“I believe that, too, Minister, but I believe you have served me poorly in this matter. What disturbs me more than Hisatal’s fraudulent reporting-and we both know he is diverting grain into markets where he can benefit-is that you saw fit to provide me with the raw reports he sent to you. You did not even correct so elementary an error. Could it be you wanted me to catch it and therefore demand his removal or punishment? Did you want him caught because you had not approved his theft, so therefore the proceeds of his crimes never benefited you? Or was it merely that you saw his actions as a way to undermine a program you never liked?”

“Highness, if I might explain…”

“Can you?”

“I believe so, my lord.”

Cyron folded his arms. “Please. This will be fascinating.”

Pelut sat back up, but kept his head bowed. “I had noted the anomaly, Highness, and had begun my own investigation into the truth of the matter. I did not mention it to you because I did not want to cast aspersions on Minister Hisatal without just cause. If it were his subordinates who were stealing and he was just being sloppy in his reporting, he would have to be dealt with-but in quite a different manner than if he were actively stealing.”

“Your explanation makes sense, but I think that is only half of it, or less.”

“You misjudge me, Highness.”

“I don’t believe I do. You have never approved of the idea of our sending rice north to keep the Desei from starving. You see the Desei as a threat, and if they starve, there are that many fewer to descend upon us. The diverted rice, if not being sold on the black market, could certainly be waiting as provisions for Helosundian troops this spring. Not only would it not have fed Desei, but it will strengthen those who would kill more of our enemy. That means the chances of disruption to our society is minimal-and that goal is exactly what you have been trained to promote.”

“Highness…”

The Prince shook his head. “You need to be listening right now, Minister. As your own Urmyr would put it, ‘The chittering of the dulang masks the approach of the wolf.’ ”

Pelut nodded silently.

“You must remember that Empress Cyrsa, lo these many years ago, divided her Empire among the princes and entrusted it to them, not the Imperial bureaucracy. Do you know why? Because a society that is perfectly ordered is a society that becomes stagnant. It becomes inflexible. You would have it such that every family is a man, a woman, and two children-preferably one of each gender-for it keeps things perfectly stable. But life is not stable. Families change for any of nine thousand different reasons. No planning can encompass them all, which means circumstance is reduced to a controllable number, everything is lumped together, and the society frays because the needs of individuals are not accounted for.”

Pelut’s head came up and fire flashed in his azure eyes. “But, Highness, a society that caters to each individual is one that descends into chaos. It has no stability. No one knows how to act since all acts are valued equally.”

“Nonsense, and you know it. Your society of anarchy is as much a dark fantasy as is mine of perfect stagnant stability. You deliberately miss both of my points. The first is this: by rising to deal with challenges, a society gets better. Look at our current prosperity. Remember how my father and I fought to get ships built for exploration. Doing something new and different has been of a great benefit to the nation. It promotes our long-term welfare and provides us with the resources to deal with new threats.”

Cyron spread his hands. “And my second point is this: the Empress entrusted the nations to the nobility, not the bureaucrats. It is true that I could not administer the nation without you and your people. I acknowledge that and thank you for it. There may well have been princes past who were content to let the ministries do everything for them. I am not among their number. I need information. I need good information, and I will get it from you, or I will get it some other way. It is not because I resent or dislike the ministry; it is because Nalenyr’s welfare is my responsibility. And nothing will prevent me from acquitting it.”

Pelut bowed sharply. “Yes, Highness, I understand.”

“Good.” Cyron returned to his chair. “From now on, I want only accurate information. If you have suspicions, I want them brought to me immediately. How much do you think Hisatal has stolen?”

Pelut’s momentary hesitation told Cyron his answer was a lie. “I suspect him of diverting roughly six percent of the grain into other destinations. As you suggest, some is going to the Helosundians; he has ties to that community. Some has been sold-price fluctuations in some of the northern provinces could be the result of his selling stock off. There are, over all, indications of eight percent shortages. The difference is pilferage by workers, grain consumed by pests, spoilage, and circumstance.”

“I see.” Cyron turned away from the minister and crossed to a pair of doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking his gardens and animal sanctuary. They’d been shuttered for the winter, but still the winds howled faintly through them. He very much wanted to push the doors open, vault from the balcony, and wander through the snowy enclosure, but doing so would be an escape from the very responsibility he’d used to chide the Grand Minister.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “You are dismissed, Minister.”

“But, Highness, there is much more to report.”

“I am aware of that, but I am granting you time to check your figures before you waste more of my time.”

“Yes, Highness. Strength of the Dragon be with you.”

“And you, Minister.”

Cyron again stared at the doors until he heard Pelut slide the room’s other door closed behind him. Convinced he was alone, Cyron raked fingers up through his hair and stifled the urge to scream. He’d had great hopes he could trust Pelut Vniel, and having them dashed was almost more than he could bear.

He took a step forward and rested his forehead against the chill glass in the doors. The secret of Naleni prosperity had been the charts made by the Anturasi family. Qiro, their patriarch, had been a venal, cantankerous, moody man, but his genius with charts had compensated for that. Cyron had indulged the old man as much as he could. As long as Qiro produced the charts that kept Naleni ships safe on the high seas, there was no end to their prosperity.

The difficulty was that Qiro was now missing.

The sheer impossibility of his disappearance would have baffled Cyron, save that he’d been through Anturasikun himself and found no sign of the man. The tower had been a magnificent cage for a genius, and Qiro had only occasionally chafed at his imprisonment. It was almost as if his having supreme knowledge of the world was freedom itself.

What disturbed Cyron most was the map on the wall in Qiro’s personal work space. The world had been drawn in with care, every detail exact. Cyron had always marveled at it and many details had been added since Keles and Jorim had been sent off on their quests. The Prince had no doubt that it represented the world as accurately as possible.

The difficulty was that it showed a new continent to the southeast, occupying what had previously been an unexplored portion of the ocean. The continent had been labeled Anturasixan, and showed all the signs of being a land populated by diverse and ancient cultures.

Cultures of which no one in the Nine Principalities had ever heard.

Worst of all, it had been drawn in Qiro’s blood. And the legend beneath it simply read, “Here there be monsters.”

A shiver skittered down Cyron’s spine. Qiro, genius that he was, arrogantly assumed that his place was rightly among the gods. If he had discovered this land-or, worse, shaped it through magic-there was no telling what sort of creatures lurked there or what their intention would be toward the Principalities.