"Your Majesty," Ryssand said, seeming shaken, "I do notsupport any man caught in wrongdoing, as I have no cause to doubt Your Majesty's word, but Earl Cuthan has a tale to tell, and I beg you hear him… not for matters in Amefel, which is another matter altogether. He comes straight from Tasmôrden's court with a letter."

"Tasmôrden's court," Ninévrisë said scornfully. " Tasmôrdenhas a court! Indeed!"

"Your Grace." It was the first time Ryssand had turned conciliatory toward Ninévrisë—his desperation was a remarkable sight, and perhaps it was even a true sentiment he expressed, insofar as the lord of Ryssand might have recognized that the Lady Regent of Elwynor represented a potent force in the Crown's camp, one it was more expedient to deal with—certainly should Tasmôrden's proposal see acceptance, he would have to deal with her in the future. And should Artisane marry into the royal family Ninévrisë was the power over the women's court. His reasons were clear enough.

"Your Grace," Ryssand said mildly to Ninévrisë, "he has an army."

"An army bought and paid for," Idrys interjected sharply. "My lord king, this is no respectable lord: they're scoundrels. Mercenaries with no stake in the lands they are stealing, bandits, some of them withinthis so-named court."

"As the Lord Commander objects," Ryssand answered, "there are irregular elements. But an army nonetheless, and with that army Tasmôrden sits in Ilefínian, which is a fact. He holds a court there— whether legitimate or illegitimate, I leave it to others to say."

"I do not admit it," Ninévrisë said, and Ryssand reprised, refusing to be shaken from his point.

"But thathe held court there enabled him to receive Earl Cuthan when he fled Ylesuin. And through Cuthan, who alone of his resources could pass our borders alive—merely a courier, Your Majesty!—he sends a convincing offer of peace."

"Convincing," Idrys echoed dubiously.

"Hear him," Efanor said, and said so just as Ryssand drew a large breath in anger. He had to let it go and reprise in a mild, a reasonable voice.

"Thank you, Your Highness. I am honor-bound to lay this letter before His Majesty, for the good of Ylesuin, and pray to do so."

"Peace with Tasmôrden?" Cefwyn said. "I think not."

"Your Majesty, I have brought the letter. Only hear it."

"A letter to me?"

Ryssand hesitated. "A letter which Earl Cuthan was authorized to unseal—"

"A letter from a scoundrel, unsealed by a scoundrel!"

"So that I would know its import to bring it to Your Majesty!"

"You allowed the opening of a sealed letter," Idrys said, and by now sweat stood on Ryssand's face.

It was time to have the content of it. Cefwyn waved a negligent hand. "The letter is compromised, but no less so than the source and the letter-bearer. We will hearit, since you've read it, in its Principle details and as best you remember it. I will not entertain

Earl Cuthan in my hall, a man who has betrayed his own brother lords and connived with a man recommended to meas honest—" He had no need to say that it had been Murandys who had recommended the appointment. He only shot Duke Prichwarrin a burningly resentful glance… and at the same time found it noteworthy that Prichwarrin did not stand immediately next his former ally in this; moment of peril, but rather over against the nearer column, as far as he dared remove himself from the area. "A man who turned out to be a common thief and a liar, besides. A man who ordered the murder of surrendered and disarmed noblemen. What a pedigree for this business!"

"Your Majesty." Ryssand was not finding it easy going, his immediate plan overset, his witnesses disallowed. "I pray you hear the exact words…"

"Tasmôrden's? As if they were sacred writ? As if any letter the bearer could unseal at will is proof in itself? I find all our enemy's arrangements curious. If Cuthan could pass our border at will—why come to you, a league and more to the north? Why not send to me, for the good gods' love? Why this care to have it in yourhands, pray?"

"The enemy knows Her Grace's presence in the court and feared lest the letter_"

Well struck. "Don't say it!" Cefwyn burst out. "Don't dareto suggest—"

"Your Majesty!" Ryssand cried, "not my suspicion at all, I assure you, but rather the imagination of our enemy—"

"A lie," Ninévrisë said. "Lies and deception are old allies of his."

"Nonetheless, Your Grace, Your Majesty, if you will hear his proposal—Tasmôrden is prepared to make peace with Ylesuin, and to agreed that the Lady Regent rules in the districts east of Ilefínian, granting to her the title of Queen of Elwynor, granting to the king of Ylesuin the district northward, and agreeing for himself to the titles and honors of the King of Ilefínian and High and Lower Saissond."

A woman who was a fool, perhaps, might have leapt up in rage and tears and lost her case with a people never in the least enthusiastic about their king's foreign war and foreign bride, and for such a response Ryssand undoubtedly hoped.

Such a response the man who had raised Artisane would undoubtedly expect.

But Ninévrisë was not such a fool. She sat, chin on fist, staring at this recital.

"Ridiculous," Cefwyn said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "The man consorts with sorcery! He claims a kingship, in Elwynor, where prophecy claims a High King will rise against us! Gods save us, Ryssand! To what do you counsel us? To give this snake a lair from which to breed and strike at our heart?"

"By no means sorcery, Your Majesty!"

"Oh?" Cefwyn asked in mock mildness. "And who informs us of that?"

"Your Majesty, his own words… if Your Majesty will read his letter…"

"Damn his letter! Word from a heretic!"

"Quite the contrary, in a land rife with the old ways, he contends againstthe dark arts which sustained the Regency—"

Now Ninévrisë' did move, drew herself up with a breath. "There is a lie, sir."

"The Regency depended on wizardry," Ryssand said in a rush, "as the Lord Regent was a wizard, no less than Aséyneddin's ally—"

"A great deal less than Aséyneddin's ally!" Ninévrisë cried. "Who was a sorcerer!"

"Yet this man struggles against the remnants of Aséyneddin's forces andCaswyddian's, your enemies, Your Grace, which have kept the land in turmoil. He struggles against a rise of the old powers—against the far greater threat from across the Lenúalim, where contrary to Your Majesty's law, the old Sihhë wallsare rising and a claimant exists to the High Kingship…"

Corswyndam of Ryssand was dangerous and quick. They already knew that. He delivered a telling shot and Cefwyn lost no time in returning fire, with a slam of the royal fist on the arm of the Dragon Throne.

"You are deceived, Ryssand. Dangerously deceived. Good gods, I had thought a man of your years would see it!"

"I am not so deceived, Your Majesty!"

"What, and bring me a murderer and a thief to swear to Tasmôrden's character? It seems apt, but hardly persuasive! And you take his word, above your own king's? What are we come to? And wherein do foreign powers write youletters and send youmy messages as if you were—what, a king?"

'If Your Majesty please, only listen to an agreement which may save the realm from great, from incalculable danger! The war Her Wace urges can only cast more and more power into the south, where the dukes of Ivanor, Lanfarnesse, Imor, and Amefel have raised an army, and authorized fortifications your grandfather ordered demolished. This new lord in Amefel, this wizard's fetch, this Sihhë-lordas they openly hail him in the streets of Henas'amef…"