Accustomed to petty intrigue, and necessarily involved in a thousand paltry and selfish discussions, ambitious also by nature, his political faith was tinctured, at least, if not tainted, by the views of interest and advancement so easily combined with it; and at the moment he should unsheathe his claymore, it might be difficult to say whether it would be most with the view of making James Stuart a king or Fergus Mac-Ivor an earl. This, indeed, was a mixture of feeling which he did not avow even to himself, but it existed, nevertheless, in a powerful degree. -- Sir Walter Scott, Waverley

Gialma wasted no time. The minute he left Tinuviel, he went straight to his rooms and began to compose a letter to Princess Ixerthi. He went through several drafts of it in the course of the evening. When he returned to his parents' home the next day he was still working on it.

His parents' reaction to the news that not only would their son be put on the High Council, but he had been made an "unofficial ambassador" (in their eyes) to Istogu, made their previous pride and boasting seem downright restrained. From morning to night they told everyone they met about how their son had a glittering career ahead of him.

"We thought he was too shy and awkward to ever amount to much," Gialma's mother told a visiting noblewoman. She looked so insufferably smug that it was a wonder the noblewoman could bear another minute of her company. "But see where he is now!"

Gialma, locked in his room and agonising over the right word to use in a sentence, avoided his parents as much as possible. He claimed it was so he could give his full attention to the important business the Emperor had given him. But another, stronger reason was his increasing feeling of guilt. He was planning to betray Tinuviel, and the Emperor trusted him enough to give him this duty.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

~~~~

All was not well in Malish. Ridanwes-Iqui did not trust any of his sons, but he was getting old. It was undeniably true that he needed a successor. And more importantly, he needed a successor who could deal with Carann once and for all.

So he consulted with his viziers and his advisers on which son would make the best successor. They argued and argued, and discussed the personalities of all seventy-eight of Ridanwes's living sons, but they came nowhere near reaching a decision. Finally the Iqui came to a conclusion on his own. He would call all his sons back to the capital. They would take the opportunity of being in close proximity to each other to plot against and kill each other. Once they started to kill each other off, he would have a smaller number from which to make his selection.

In the Land of the Dead, every living mortal had an hourglass that represented their lifespan. Some of the hourglasses had more than half the sand still in the upper half. Others had only a few grains remaining.

Had Ridanwes-Iqui been able to see his own hourglass, he might have made a different decision.

For there was only a thin layer of sand left in the hourglass's upper half. And it was draining away. Rapidly.

~~~~

Nalginton's reaction when he received his father's summons was brief panic. Common sense quickly took over. There was no way his father would summon him to Ihalāiksonen if he had discovered his treachery. The Iqui preferred to deal with such things secretly. Nalginton would have been quietly assassinated, and his death officially attributed to illness or an accident.

There was some other reason for this, then. Nalginton didn't know what it was, but it gave him an opportunity.

At sunrise on the day he was to leave for the capital, the prince and his wife went to a shrine and sacrificed an iloeen[1]. With this precaution taken, they set out on their journey.

~~~~

Death was not supposed to take delight in the approaching demise of any mortal. There was a world of difference between what she was supposed to do and what she actually did. She took one look at the Iqui's hourglass and grinned maliciously. There was one problem that was about to disappear.

Death was also not supposed to inform any mortals of another mortal's impending doom. But she had planned on visiting Kilan anyway. He would be happy to hear about this.

~~~~

Nadriet was relatively content with her life in Zasordoth Palace -- certainly more content with it than her brother was. She worked hard, but got to attend parties and meet interesting people in return.

Lately she had also met a certain young count who had caught her attention. If all went as she hoped, Kilan and their parents would soon be asked to give their consent to an engagement.

The thought of her own happiness made her think of her brother's less-happy situation. Kilan and Qihadal barely ever spoke to each other. Nadriet watched this ever-increasing estrangement helplessly. How could that cold indifference ever change into a happy marriage? They had never had anything in common, and now they were practically strangers who were married in name only.

Nadriet foresaw a divorce in her brother's future. She hoped she was wrong. Kilan didn't need yet more gossip spread about him. And what would happen to Qihadal if they divorced? Where would she go?

~~~~

"Was I right to give Gialma such a responsibility?"

Leave it to Kilan to have found yet another thing to worry about. Death shook her head in a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

"Sooner or later you'll know the answer," she said. "Worrying won't change anything."

Kilan did not look reassured.

They were in one of the palace libraries. For at least an hour Kilan had been curled up in an armchair with a book open in his lap. Perhaps he had read two words of it. Death lay sprawled out on her stomach on a ruyao opposite him.

"You'll be glad to know that the Iqui will soon cease to trouble you," she said, resting her head on her folded arms and idly watching the flames leap and dance in the fireplace. Outside the evening was cold and windy, so fires had been lit throughout the palace. "Before long he'll be nothing more than a bad memory."

Kilan stared at her. "What?"

Death shrugged -- awkwardly, because of the position she was lying in. "I can tell you no more than that. Can't you guess what I mean?"

"It sounds like he's going to die soon," Kilan said dubiously. "Is he ill?"

She almost laughed aloud at this. "Malishese royals rarely die of anything as mundane as illness, Kilan."

Kilan wisely decided to ask no more about this subject. "I had a report from Nimetath earlier. She says there's been an increase in robberies lately, and recommends a complete overhaul of the police service."

"A very good idea," Death agreed. "But that seems a rather mundane subject for a Chief Inquisitor to write about. Has she no rebellions to put down?"

There was a sardonic twist to Death's lips as she spoke. Kilan wondered what it meant, before he realised he was probably happier not knowing.

The conversation moved to other subjects. Death carefully avoided mentioning Ranoryin, or what Varan had seen. Kilan just as carefully avoided the subjects of Gialma or the Iqui.

~~~~

Nadriet had never liked the long, seemingly endless hallways of Zasordoth Palace. Walking too loudly down them sent echoes of footsteps racing all over the place, until one couldn't be sure if they were the source of the noise or if there was an invisible crowd following them. She didn't like the never-ending procession of portraits and suits of armour she had to pass when she walked along the hallways. In the daytime they were normal and unremarkable. But at night, in the light of the gas-lamps that lined the walls, they looked just a little too lifelike. She could have sworn she saw some of them moving out of the corner of her eye.

So when she had to walk through the halls after sunset, she made sure she always walked quickly and never looked too hard at anything she saw. She had a dagger in her pocket in case of human assailants, but even the possibility of supernatural ones sent a cold chill down her spine.

This evening her path took her past a library. There was nothing unusual in that; the palace had many libraries. Light shone from under its door. This was also not unusual; many of the palace's residents spent their spare time in various libraries, reading or gossiping.

She could hear Kilan's voice through the door. This was unusual. Who was he speaking to? Had he started meeting diplomats in libraries late in the evening?

Curiosity made Nadriet stop and listen outside the door. What she heard only deepened the mystery. Why was Kilan telling someone she assumed to be a foreign dignitary or a household official about his ill-fated attempt at boating on the lake back home?

"I thought the problem was with the boat," he was saying. "But Varan said it was me. 'You idiot, you're not supposed to row while standing!' she said."

Someone laughed. It was a deep but distinctly feminine-sounding laugh, and it definitely wasn't Qihadal's. Nadriet frowned. Why was her brother talking with a woman at such a late hour? Especially when they were apparently alone?

The memory of Marin's sins made the colour drain from her face. It was impossible that Kilan could be going the same way... wasn't it?

The library door was slightly ajar. Nadriet pushed it open slowly and peeked through. At first she could see only shelves of books. She pushed it open further and poked her head around the corner. Finally she got a good look into the library.

Kilan sat on an armchair, leaning forward and gesturing animatedly as he spoke. It struck Nadriet with a cold sense of dread that she couldn't remember ever seeing her brother look so happy. Perhaps long ago, in those vague and cloudy days when they were both children, before the trauma of Varan's accident that their parents said had apparently changed Kilan's personality so utterly. But not recently. Not for many long years.

A woman sat -- or rather lay -- on the ruyao opposite Kilan. Nadriet couldn't see her clearly, but she was certainly not Qihadal. Her skin was much too pale, and her hair too long and too straight. Nadriet was sure she had never seen the woman before. But Kilan seemed to know her, and she seemed to know him. She listened to his every word with a fond smile.

Nadriet couldn't suppress her shocked gasp.

The woman's head snapped round. She stood up with an unnaturally fluid movement.

"What is it?" Kilan asked. Apparently he hadn't heard anything.

"We have a visitor." Nadriet didn't see the woman move. Yet somehow she was suddenly right beside her. She pulled the princess to her feet. "Good evening, Princess Nadriet. How nice to meet you in person."

Nadriet stared blankly at the woman. She was quite sure she had never seen her or anyone who looked like her before. How did this stranger know her name, then? "Who are you?" She looked at Kilan. Her brother looked like he'd just seen a ghost. "Who is this?"

The stranger looked at Kilan. "Well? Shall I tell her?"

Kilan buried his head in his hands. "Oh dear god, how do we cope with this?" he said quietly, as if he was speaking to himself. "I'll tell her."

The stranger shrugged and let go of Nadriet's arm. "You'd better come and sit down then," she said carelessly. "And I dare say you'll need a drink soon."

Slowly Nadriet moved to sit down on the ruyao. Her eyes darted from her brother to the stranger and back again.

"I know you're going to think I'm mad," Kilan began, "but everything I'm about to tell you is true, and I can prove it. I'd rather it didn't come to that, but..."

He trailed off and looked at the stranger. She shrugged again and waved her hand, as if telling him to continue.

"This is Death," Kilan said. "She's... my closest friend, I suppose you could say. I met her when I was eight, then again when I was eighteen, and she's been here ever since."

Nadriet searched her brother's face for any sign that he was joking. Her hopes were dashed. He looked completely serious. She looked at the stranger, hoping to hear any denial of the claim Kilan had just made. But the stranger -- Death -- looked as calm as if they were all old friends.

Oh no. This was even worse than she'd thought.

"I think I need a drink now," Nadriet said.

Chapter Footnotes:

[1] iloeen = A sort of small canine similar to a fox, sacred to the Malishese god Adeaai. Sacrificing one is believed to buy the god's protection.