“Interesting,” Prince Tenarreau said, finally, his voice jolting me out of my exhaustion induced half-sleep. The only sound of the previous half-hour had been that of shifting paper as he pored over some of the records marked 'Teuring'.

“Yes, interesting. Quite,” I said, sitting upright in my chair, doing my level best to clench my teeth together and hide the yawn that I suddenly found myself unable to avoid.

I hoped he wouldn't notice. Yawning while in the company of the Prince? Inexcusable!

It would almost be as bad as giggling madly upon seeing him sitting at his desk, diminutive form propped up on the seat of a chair that was noticeably higher than mine. Given the size of the furniture in the room, he left you with the impression of a child seated at his father's desk.

This 'child', of course, was presently the most powerful man in Harael, one who could probably have me killed on a whim. I'd reminded myself many times of this fact, whenever I'd been tempted to chuckle.

Although I'd sworn his attention were elsewhere, he gave me the tiniest smirk once I'd finished stifling my yawn.

“Sorry, am I boring you?”

“No, not at all,” I said, admitting to myself even as I spoke that a private audience with the Prince wasn't nearly as exciting an event as it sounded. “Sorry, long day, full of thwarted attempts on my life, acts of butchery, all sorts of exciting mayhem. I'll live.”

“Ah, of course. Speaking of which, how is Ismir faring?”

“Well enough,” I said, attempting to quell the sick, guilt-ridden feeling re-emerging in my belly, “and the healers expect him to make a full recovery. The majority of his wounds looked a lot worse than they were. He did take several blows to the head though, so they're watching him for any signs of erratic behavior. And, of course, there's the scars...”

“Yes, he got marked up rather badly, didn't he? Dangerous sport, neh? Still, these things happen. I suppose you're not entirely comfortable with what transpired out there this afternoon, given your intimate familiarity with scars and all.”

I didn't answer, not really trusting myself to speak. I could still see Ismir in my mind's eye, fingers reaching to clutch at his face as razor-sharp steel sliced through his cheek from the inside, a hideous flap of skin folding outward along his jaw and hanging there like an improperly applied wall treatment.

My fault, I reminded myself, cursing silently.

“Well, there's no point in agonizing over it I suppose,” he continued smoothly. “From what I know of Ismir, a display like the one he was subjected to this afternoon will just drive him to work harder to understand Western style fencing. He was getting just a wee bit too proud of himself, by my reckoning. ”

“Highness, is he actually royalty, like you said out there at the Circles?” I asked.

He fixed me with an amused look. “You don't know much about Vereet, or some of the other countries East of us, do you?”

“Not at all, I'm afraid.”

“Yes, he's royalty. Of course, approximately nine people out of ten who are born in Vereet can claim ties to royal blood. From what I understand of the place entire families, even distant blood relations, routinely go to war with each other and attempt to exterminate entire branches of various other families for no other reason than that they simply believe such a thing to be overdue. Barbaric and unproductive, obviously, but one of the more interest-ing consequences is that you end up with the majority of your population being related to one another. Fascinating, to an extent.”

“I see. I do appreciate you coming down and pointing out that particular fact today.”

He shrugged. “Someone had to save poor Ismir. And you, of course.”

Err...

“Me?” I asked. “I wasn't aware I required saving.”

“You had taken several steps toward the dueling circle, and had made several motions that suggested you were on the verge of leaping in there yourself in order to stop what was happening. You'd moved up a full four feet and were practically leaning into the ring by the time it was over.” He sniffed disdainfully. “I dislike executions if they can be avoided.”

“I, uh - I hadn't noticed,” I said, bewildered at this revelation. Was he serious?

“You are aware that it was the whole point to Redforne doing what he did out there, aren't you?” he asked, tenting his fingers in front of him, considering me. “Brutalizing Ismir, wounding him in a manner that would leave an obvious scar ... all done to enrage you. He wanted you to break the circle while attempting to prevent your duelist from getting butchered. If the entire point of this was to kill you, as you've said, then no doubt he would have stopped working on Ismir at that point and gotten to work on you. Armed or no, it would be his right according to dueling codes. It was a fairly crude and desperate gambit on his part, but to be fair it looked as though it was working. He's frightfully smart, that one.”

“Frightful I get, but smart?” I attempted to keep most of the outrage I was feeling from my voice. “He tortured and brutalized Ismir out there in a display of that nauseated all but the most sadistic, depraved individuals watching, and you call what he did 'smart'?”

“That's right. Smart. Intelligent. It's the act of divorcing your thoughts from your emotions and doing something for the express purpose of achieving a result. You've done it from time to time I'm sure, unless of course you feel absolutely dreadful for each of the highly entertaining robberies and other escapades you've managed to pull off over the years. Some of them caused quite a lot of embarrassment, I recall.”

I crossed my arms and frowned over the desk at him. “Hardly the same thing.”

“If you wish to believe it does not fall into the same category, by all means do so. The fact of the matter is that young Redforne knows what he's doing, as I think he's proven just recently.”

I gave a reluctant grunt of assent. “His plan was very elaborate, I admit, and did seem somewhat insightful.”

“Somewhat,” Tenarreau scoffed, sitting back in his oversized chair. “The boy understood you so well that he even knew the manner of counter-trap you were likely to snare him with. From what you've told me the planning for this goes back years – he has patience as well as a devious mind. Your original plan to flush out your unknown enemy was rather unique and clever. Knowing that that's precisely the sort of thing you'd do well enough in advance to set you up to actually do it in the manner of his choosing ... well, I dare say that's even more clever. How did he manage to set you up with just one of the Copperfen goblets? Was it pure chance and opportunity, or did he manufacture a situation where you would wish to borrow one?”

“I truly don't know,” I said, uncomfortably. That bothered me. If I'd been set up with the goblet I'd not been aware of the fact. A Lord needs to be aware of everything going on around him at all times, and if not for a bit of luck and a healthy dollop of paranoia I'd have missed this one completely.

The Prince read my expression and smiled.

“Oh come now. You were outsmarted, or at least you had been until you managed to pull your own fat out of the fire. It happens to us all at some point or another.” He swiveled in his chair and hopped lightly to the ground, desk momentarily hiding all but his head from view. Walking unhurriedly to the counter nearest the wall, he looked over at me, hands sorting through various items. “Would you care for some tea? A candle perhaps?”

“I really shouldn't, I've been burning candles all morning long,” I said, scratching at the sparse growth on my stubbled chin. I'd forgotten to shave these past couple of days, I realized. “As it is I'll probably sleep well into tomorrow morning, and will still look like death on toast for the ceremony tomorrow.”

“Very well, though I hope you don't mind if I help myself to some tea in front of you. I've got a busy evening lined up. Busier than I had thought, now that today's events have worked themselves out, what with tomorrow and all. It seems that every year about this time I end up burning the midnight wax.” He took a few moments to pour himself some steaming liquid from a small carafe before walking back to his chair. He sat down (sat up) and after a moment spent getting comfortable casually lifted his cup to his lips for a sip before fixing me with a considering look. “I find that I've got a bit of a problem, Tucat.”

“I'll say,” I snorted. “Young psychotic country Lord-ling wheels into town intent on murder and mayhem, determined to carve a nice chunk of city territory for himself, wielding a couple of priceless swords with more skill than anyone has a right to have. There are days I don't envy you.”

“Ah. See, that's not exactly my problem,” he said, setting his cup back upon the saucer on the dark wooden desk and once again tenting his fingers while looking over them at me. “It's you.”

“Me?” I asked, startled.

“You're a clever fellow. What am I about to tell you?”

I furrowed my brow at him, perplexed, and pondered. After a few moments of contemplation I understood, and anger began to burn hotly in me.

“You can't be serious!”

He lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, as if to say 'Well...'

“You're granting him territory. Lordship in Harael,” I practically choked. “He's a psychotic, conniving, bloodthirsty, unstable little boy, Highness! What possible use could you have of someone like that if you wish to maintain some semblance of order in our city?”

“I dare say, that's quite amusing coming from you,” he said, mirthlessly. “One might think that you thought yourself completely guilt-free when it came to such things – that you yourself were behaving in a manner consistent with the principles of order and balance. Why, that delightfully droll incident regarding Lord Leventale leaps to mind. Oh, and let us not forget what happened to poor Lord Twigg.”

“That was-” I began defensively.

“Lord Tucat, I know exactly what that was. That was the act of someone who believes themselves as terribly funny as they are clever, and wishes to prove that fact to the whole world. It was the sort of act that builds a very specific kind of reputation, one that acts as a warning to others that you are not the sort of fellow to be trifled with. It was effective, and actually quite entertaining to hear about at the time - livens things up and gets people emotionally involved in the day to day politics of the city. It was not, however, the act of someone who is particularly concerned with balance and order.”

I closed my mouth, perhaps scowling slightly.

“Don't get me wrong. It's what I expect of you, and you do a remarkably good job of it. You see, Tucat ... balance and order, that's my responsibility. Everyone serves a purpose, and it's my job to ensure that I know what purpose that is, and the manner in which it can be best applied. Yours is to do what you do best - annoy other Lords. That, and you find spectacularly interesting new ways to embarrass them or harm their reputation. From my vantage point, you're like the highest tree in the forest during a lightning storm. Bullies, brutes, cruel-minded people who might laugh at something unfortunate such as disfigurement, all of them seem to take exception to your antics and flock to you. Some of the more sensible Lords tend to avoid you for exactly the same reason.

“You yourself are not a cruel man, despite your many antics. From what I can tell, anything you yourself have initiated against another Lord has been tentative and quiet, respectful almost. On the other hand, if someone attempts to make a move that threatens your own reputation or things of value, or if they are simply tactless and obnoxious when it comes to sensitive things like your appearance, you're merciless. I hear about these attempts against you, and their outcome tells me as much about the person you've thwarted as it does about you. All these assorted things factor into my decisions ... who gains territory, who loses it. Whose petition for a duel I grant, whose I don't.”

I maintained my silence, pondering his words carefully.

“The same thing is true with everyone who governs in Harael,” he continued. “Your friend Lord Haundsing to the North of you, for instance, is an incredibly accomplished swordsman. He serves to remind other Lords of their own mortality, and that the straight-forward threat of violence can be an effective type of protection in and of itself, when managed properly. Other Lords situated near him have come to realize this over the years.”

“I believe you're mistaken regarding one small detail, Highness. Lord Haundsing and I are not friends,” I said, trying not to sound alarmed.

There was a seconds-long pause, followed by the sound of the Prince coughing politely into his hand.

“Yes, of course. The two of you are bitter enemies who squabble constantly in the streets, after all. What ever was I thinking?” he asked mildly, peering up at the ceiling with sudden interest, as if lost in thought.

Ye gods, was there anything this man didn't know?

“Now, we've established that there's a certain amount of good that can come from just about any individual who governs territory. Do you know what the most dangerous threat to order is?”

“No, your Highness.”

“Unpredictability,” he said, voice becoming grave and serious. “Something new. An unknown, or factor outside of your direct control. Now, we have a situation where a young country Lord wishes to acquire territory in Harael in addition to ... other things.”

Like killing me. I nodded my understanding.

“So we know one aspect of what he wants. Doubtless with the resources at his disposal he could think up some rather clever, unpredictable ways to get what he wants, but...” he picked up his cup and took a brief, satisfied sounding sip, “we happen to know what he's been up to this past while. I could thwart him easily enough - quash some of the more subtle claim agreements and title exchanges happening between him and Greybridge that some of the more dense and untrustworthy clerks in my records department don't think I'm aware of. Or, I could allow certain aspects of his plan to come to fruition, gradually introduce him into Haraelian society in a controlled, useful manner.”

“And how exactly does one make use of a bloodthirsty young psychopath?” I asked, snidely.

“Simple. You give him a fledgling estate, something considerably smaller than what he's attempting to acquire stealthily, and you tell him to prove himself. His introduction into society serves two purposes. First of all, once news of this elaborate attempt on your life comes out into the open, the presence of this subtle and unpredictable young Lord will do much to create an air of uncertainty among certain other Lords in town-”

“I thought you said unpredictability was a bad thing,” I muttered without thinking.

The library is a very quiet place. He stared at me in absolute silence long enough to make me vow to myself never, ever to interrupt him again.

“-which will cause the smarter, more cautious Lords to focus on maintaining their estate, becoming more security minded,” he continued, sniffing slightly while idly whisking away an invisible speck of dirt from his desk. “There have been a rash of thefts as of late - last-minute attempts to curry my favor, the quantity of which has been disturbing. I'd like to see things tightened up. Redforne - a new Lord desperate to prove himself – arrives in the thick of things, his very presence changing the mood amongst the nobility quite nicely. The second, equally important thing he provides me with is the opportunity to prune some dead wood that has been problematic as of late.”

Dead wood? Was he talking about me?

“Uhm,” I said uncertainly, looking a question at him while pointing a finger to my own chest.

It took him a moment to piece together what I was asking, at which point his face split into a grin, and he laughed.

“No, not you Tucat. Dear me, no. Things would become dread-fully boring around here without you tweaking someone's nose every now and again. No, I'm referring to Greybridge. He was quite good at managing things when he was younger, but as of late he appears to have no desires that extend beyond a few bottles of wine and a nice comfortable chair. He's old, weak, and owns far too much territory to allow him that sort of complacency.”

“So in the end you're allowing a Lord to retire to the country, in addition to introducing a new Lord to replace him, only he's not really replacing him...” I said, nodding with understanding.

“Redforne acquiring the bulk of Greybridge's estate would be a catastrophe, I think you would agree. He has to be managed, started off small. An inexperienced Lord, even one with the substantial resources young Redforne appears to have, would cause havoc if given that much territory at once. So, I give him a portion of what he wants, a parcel of city land that includes the old Redforne keep, and I put the remainder of the Greybridge estate into Surety.”

We sat in silence for a while, the only sounds being the occasional click of cup and saucer as he took small sips of tea. As much as it galled me to admit it, I was beginning to see where he was coming from.

“Okay,” I said, uncrossing my arms and trying to look less defensive than I had been for most of the conversation. “I can see the necessity for that. In what way am I a problem?”

“Well,” he said, swirling his tea cup idly, “like I said, I know what young Redforne is after. I can tell him that one of the conditions upon which he gets his father's estate is that he make no move against you, subtle or no, for a period of one year. Even with him wishing you dead, he would be something of a fool to turn down that opportunity. One way or another, I can get him to agree not to move against you for a time, promising dire consequences if he should breach any agreement made with me. You, on the other hand, are a different story entirely.”

“Moving against him, you mean?”

“That, as well as the fact that I'm not entirely certain what it is that you want. My hope is to allow Redforne to acclimatize himself to life in Harael, get a feel for how things are done here, keep his options open. He can't do that if he continues to focus on you. I presently have no real influence over you, Tucat, and cannot ensure that you won't act against young Redforne to preserve your own safety.”

“Truthfully, I'm more than a little uncomfortable with the notion of a 'truce' of sorts,” I replied after a few moments thought. “You say you can keep him from plotting against me, at least for the first little while, but how can I know he's not? His original plan to kill me was subtle enough, who's to say he's not subtle enough to arrange something similar that doesn't appear to involve him what-soever?”

“And thus your problem becomes my problem. You see, I need to ask this of you despite knowing all of the perfectly reasonable objections you might have to such a plan. Incredibly unfair of me to do so, but necessary if my plans for Redforne have any chance of succeeding.”

Neither of us spoke for a good long while, and I sat there pondering what life would be like knowing Redforne was out there, a fellow Lord in my city. Even with my vague impressions of such a thing, imagining situations I might find myself in, I saw that all my instincts were pointing at removing the threat that Redforne posed – to get him before he got me.

Even if he wasn't granted Lordship, I realized that was the direction I'd been headed anyways. A ruthless and intelligent country Lord wanted me dead, and had enough cash on hand to ensure that such a thing could happen. How long would I have been able to sit by and simply allow the situation to continue?

Not long at all.

I looked back to the Prince who was looking into his teacup distractedly, respectfully waiting for me to sort out my thoughts. My eyes narrowed as a new thought occurred to me.

“You're trying to offer me a bribe,” I said. “You want me to name some sort of price for leaving Redforne alone, strike some sort of compromise with you so that I can perceive myself as being bound by this arrangement.”

He smiled, still looking at the contents of his cup.

“See? Clever fellow.” He drained the last of the cup's contents and put it down upon the saucer with a clink before drawing himself up in his chair and looking at me seriously. “At the end of our talk you would most likely grudgingly agree not to go after Redforne. While I do not doubt your word, you would probably begin rationalizing all manner of actions against him that would not truly violate your promise to me ... all in the interests of self-preservation. If on the other hand you were to accept something of value, I have confidence that your agreement would be kept, both in letter and spirit.”

“And so ... a bribe.”

“Think of it more as a proposal to secure your good will for the benefit of the crown.”

“Yes, I see,” I said, frowning in thought.

Too much had happened recently for me to treat any decision lightly. There were enough things going on that I couldn't afford to stumble around blindly, even when it came to once-in-a-lifetime bargains that were being offered by the Prince. He was presumably hinting that expansion of my territory, within reason, was for the taking – I could increase the size of Tucat estate more in one day than with twenty years of careful planning and calculated risk. A mere week ago I'd never have dreamt that an opportunity like this were even possible.

A week ago, I would never have considered rejecting it. Did I wish to put myself under his thumb like that?

“Could I be forgiven the need for a little time to consider this proposal? This is rather a lot to digest at the moment, and I want to think on it carefully,” I said.

His expression was unreadable as he studied me, and he waited several long moments before giving me a tight-lipped and patient smile.

“Yes, of course. Take some time to consider. Busy, busy day, after all. Come, I'll show you out,” he said, rising (hopping down) from his chair and gesturing towards the door. I stood up to bow, and began walking behind him as we made our way out of the small library. We traversed several hallways in silence, eventually coming to the rear palace entrance that led back out to the Circles.

“I shall attempt to have an answer for you shortly, Highness,” I said, noting that the sky was several shades darker than I'd been expecting. “I appreciate being allowed to think on the matter.”

“Quite. Do not dawdle, Tucat.” His tone was reproving. “While I'm sure that you have much to think about, tomorrow sees Harael's territorial lines being redrawn. A prudent person would take that into account.”

“I understand, Highness.”

He sniffed, looking into the distance as he stood beside me on the topmost steps overlooking the arena, suddenly seeming hesitant. “Very well then. There is one other thing that I would like you to at least consider while making up your mind.”

“Oh?”

“It seems like a very hard thing to do, but try to consider in what ways you and young Redforne are similar – the things you have in common.”

“I don't care to believe that I'm anything like him at all,” I dismissed.

“I know you don't, and that's because you’re focused on the differences. Try looking at what you have in common. Both of you are devilishly smart, for one. You're both young, comparatively speaking, as well as ambitious ... capable of great things. He is an extremely talented Lord driven by a desire to prove himself, as are you. His father died as a result of choosing to better himself, not completely aware of or prepared for what he was getting involved in. Your family...”

He trailed off and looked skyward. I frowned down at him.

“My family's death was an act of the gods, Highness,” I said, furrowing my brow. “Rose Blight, if you recall. Redforne's father chose the path that led him to his unfortunate death. My family didn't. A chance outbreak of a fatal disease like Rose Blight doesn't offer up much in the way of choices.”

The silence that greeted me stretched on for far longer than it aught to have.

Prince Tenarreau coughed politely into his hand.

“Yes, of course,” he said finally, turning to look at me. “Chance. Fortunate timing, I suppose, that all of your household's servants had been given leave to attend the Harvest Moon festival the very eve you and your family contracted the disease. Odd that we haven't had any outbreaks since then.”

He broke eye contact, turning towards the palace entrance to return the way we had come. With the swirling vortex of thought in my head, I barely had time to register the last of his soft-spoken words as he was walking away.

“Indeed, whimsical act of the ever capricious gods. What ever was I thinking?” he murmured.

His diminutive footsteps on the marble palace floor were the only sounds as he slowly disappeared into the shadowy recesses of the main hall.