Raising the cup to hide his grimace, Hanadan watched his father down yet another serving of purely distilled gaizi liquor, of a batch the ever solicitous minister Tersi had so kindly provided just the other day. Hanadan didn't drink, but not because he suspected poison. There was no chance of that, not with all the tasters and tests and other precautions his paranoid father had employed. Not to mention that gifts from political enemies were among the first to be suspected if a mysterious death occurred, and so these drinks were almost always safe for consumption... At least until someone inevitably took advantage of that in yet another scheme within a scheme within a giant onrushing migraine for people who just wanted to get on with their lives. People like Hanadan, whose lot in life seemed to amount to "Poor soul could never catch a break."

"Ahhh," came the satisfied purr of Heddam Jebril as he plunked his own cup back onto the table. "This is the good stuff. Give it to me if you'll just keep pretending to drink yours."

Without waiting for a reply, Heddam plucked his son's cup from unresisting fingers and tipped his head backwards in relish. Hanadan licked his lips, feeling the onrush of a familiar thirst, foreboding and implacable. He picked up the gourd he kept by his side on the floor cushion and followed his father's example, though he could never master true satisfaction.

Heddam chuckled as he wiped his mouth against his sleeve, picked up a half-finished bowl of spicy beans, and tipped it over a plate of heavily creamed game steak. He looked down at the result with giddy anticipation, beaming like a little child. A really creepy one, who seemed just the type to plot your murder as a fun way to pass the time.

"You'll have to let me in on your secret," said Heddam, his voice muffled by the first spoonfuls. He chewed a while and swallowed, while Hanadan felt prickles of panic working their way up his spine.

"It can't be better than aged gaizi," continued Heddam, "but you've been drinking it all evening and I'm starting to get jealous."

Hanadan almost shuddered in relief, masking the movement by replacing the stopper on the container.

"I would offer it to you now, but I clearly remember you railing at me when I presented that first medicinal drink. The terms 'Channa's chamber pot' and 'spoon-fed quackery' might have entered the conversation."

His father slapped a hand on the table, sending all the plates atremble, and roared with laughter at his own supposed wit. For his part, Hanadan wouldn't even allow himself the smallest of smiles. It was a blessed relief that they now found themselves alone, since acting for the sake of more than one person always tired him. Of course, his father was a special case. If he but began to suspect what his son was really drinking, or what he actually wished and plotted for, there'd never be an end to the retribution. Sometimes, when feeling at a dead end, Hanadan fantasized about confessing his true thoughts and intentions, just to be done with it all. The problem was, his father and his cronies could prove endlessly creative when coming up with ways of dealing with someone who had dissatisfied them. Hanadan's punishment at their hand could be just as terrible as if administered by kingdom law. If he were honest, though, the latter was the one he most dreaded. Terror returning at the mere thought of it, he instinctively reached out for the gourd, but stopped his half-raised hand in time to avoid Heddam's searching gaze and prevent him from smelling his weakness. He moved it towards the table instead, pushing back a saucer that had come dangerously close to its tipping point.

"Is that what you're after, eh?" said Heddam in a mock-threatening tone. "Outliving me? You shouldn't disguise yourself, especially not from your father."

"Any man who wishes to be recognized as such is not entitled, but required to have secrets."

Lifting his gaze from the table, he found his father looking at him, a hard edge in his eyes. But Hanadan knew he'd liked his reply, touched with just enough brazenness to keep him piqued, but not suggestive of actual disobedience. It was on the edge of this knife that he lived his life, and so far, he just about managed not to fall.

Breaking their staring match, Hanadan leaned over, carefully picked up his father's plate, and deposited it on the leftovers tray on the floor.

"You shouldn't eat so late into the night," he murmured reprovingly.

"Bah!"

The silent spell broken, Heddam threw up his hands in exasperation.

"No doubt you think that sage advice, but look at you! How are you supposed to keep up your strength for what's coming next when you've barely had anything to eat? So willowy and thin, what will you do when you have to fight for our cause?"

Ah, the cause. The one that amounted to the same pointless struggle for power. Hanadan wasn't even sure what kind of power that was, just power in general. And even though his father had come to respect him and seek his advice in some matters, he didn't fool himself into believing he had the man's full confidence. There were plans underway he had no clue about, things his father kept even from most of their allies. Hanadan could only guess they had something to do with deposing the newly appointed king, since his father had been in a celebratory mood ever since the old one had died; by natural causes, true, but every succession provided fertile ground for intrigue. And when the crown prince had disappeared just a few days afterwards, leaving a surprised and unprepared second son to inherit, Heddam had insisted on paying for half the festive coronation dinner, even taking the pains to procure entertainment for the royal family and their guests on this glorious occasion. Many had made the mistake of reading too much into his gesture and everyone had waited with bated breath for that day to see who would seize the opportunity and do something shocking. Unfortunately, this proved to be another rendition of the liquor-gift-exchange problem: since everyone suspected everyone else, no one actually did anything, and so the coronation of King Eker IV had been one of the dullest affairs Hanadan had ever attended. He might have even relaxed at one point.

"If I find myself forced to pick up a sword, I will know I have failed. And I will not allow that to happen."

"Hmm. Do not speak with confidence if you don't have it."

"I am as confident in the fact that I will not fail as I am in the fact that eating late at night is the farthest thing from a healthy habit. How about you switch to a hearty breakfast instead?"

"Will you join me?"

The offer surprised Hanadan, but he rallied quickly.

"If it will make you reconsider your approach to nutrition, I will."

"I will only reconsider if you match me in appetite."

Heddam smiled upon seeing his son's confusion and Hanadan's heart gave a painful jolt as he once again became aware of how much he wanted to hate the man, but could never bring himself to. Why did he have to get along so well with the one who had ruined his life even before he'd been born? He watched as Heddam extended an arm, clasped it within his own just beyond the other man's elbow.

"Let's get healthy together, son," whispered Heddam as they shook on their deal. "Let the others fear the Jebril might."

Hanadan nodded, feeling the dangerous approach of tears. After his father released him, he busied himself with the gourd stopper and drank two more mouthfuls. He was just tired, that had to be it. Discomfiture did not suit him at all.

His father sighed as he beheld the almost depleted reserve of food on the table. At last, he dragged one bowl before him, picked up a spoon and looked sheepishly back at Hanadan.

"Since this is my last day of freedom, you'll surely not deny me some porridge."

Hopeless. But then again, that seemed to be the natural state of a Jebril. That, and always finding ways of skewing the rules.

Shaking his head in resigned amusement, Hanadan began to dispose of the tableware, stacking them up smartly onto the tray. He was counting and setting aside the spoons when a sharp plopping noise made him start. Upon looking up, he saw his father lying face down in the porridge bowl, one hand clutching the tablecloth, the other hanging limply by his side.

Where panic would have been expected, Hanadan felt only cold reason guiding him to Heddam's side to assess the man's state. He would not call out for help until he was certain there would have been a point to it. Lifting his father's head, he checked for a pulse, ignoring the cold food dripping on his sleeve all the while scanning the pasty face in search of the smallest movement.

A few seconds of silence passed in torturous slowness. Hanadan was no medical professional, but he hardly needed special training to make a diagnosis. Or to realize how screwed he was.

He removed the bowl and carefully rested his father's head against the table. He then turned, let out an ear-piercing roar and shook the laden tray until several cups fell over.

"How dare they! Audacity, nerve, and crass stupidity! Priar, where in Attari's backside are you?"

There came a scuttling outside the chamber's only door. When it began to creep open, Hanadan let out a warning growl. He made his voice pitch lower, working the terseness of his father's usual tone in his own passable imitation.

"Don't test my patience, you fool. Bring me that woman! Now!"

"Yes, my lord."

The door closed shut once again and Hanadan could have sighed in relief, if he hadn't been aware that he'd only cleared the smallest hurdle of the night. Perhaps even of his life. A very short life, if he didn't move exactly right.

There could be no doubt of the woman's identity. His sister was away for the month and his father had never allowed more women than strictly necessary in his immediate vicinity. He would have avoided them altogether, if he could. Even their housekeeper was a man, a shifty little thing styling himself 'steward' and running a moderately successful smuggling operation in his spare time. He was yet another member of the household Hanadan now had to avoid at all costs.

While waiting in mounting trepidation, he prayed, giving his words the cadence of a conversation, shifting around and moving the table, cutlery and any other item at hand.

"Merciful Lenga, do not forsake your wretched servant, do not cast him out of his mind, but guide his steps towards the succor..."

"Do not bring that up again! It beggars discussion!"

"...for you've walked the path, the slope, the river, for you know the peril of a wanderer alone..."

"A vipers' nest!"

Hanadan didn't know how long he could keep on arguing with himself. He made his father's voice come in angrier and more frequently, but he was starting to sound raspy and his nerves had almost gotten the better of him by the time the door opened some ten minutes later.

"Only the woman!" shouted Hanadan.

The guard murmured obediently and Hanadan watched as a slight figure pushed her way into the chamber, closing the door behind her.

"You! Come here!"

Hanadan's mother quickly assessed the scene, her eyes darting to the half-emptied table, the disarrayed cushions, his father's still body, and the unmade bed before finally settling on his pale, wild face.

"Help me," he mouthed silently.

Without hesitation, she walked up briskly to the table, nightdress rustling gently as she moved.

"What can I do?" she asked quietly.

"Explain this, you traitor!"

Hanadan winced at the bite in his words and reached for his gourd, tipping it back and swallowing thirstily until the whole thing was empty. Clearing his throat, he glanced back at his mother and noticed her studying his father.

"Remember how we used to joke about his mercurial nature?" he began guiltily. "One moment he was pleased, the next ranting. Subtle, then deafening. Alive, then..."

"Dead," she said levelly, eyes still glued to the body.

"And I'll likely be joining him soon."

"Don't be overdramatic."

He hadn't expected grief, of course. Couilla Jebril had been Heddam's wife for almost twenty-eight years, without ever displaying the usual symptoms of marital affection. She'd put up with her husband as she seemed to do with everything the world threw her way, though she'd always dreamed of freedom for her children. It was her fault that he'd started sharing those fantasies.

"Ha!" Hanadan popped his knuckles, then pulled at his own fingers as if he wanted to tear them right off. "I'm sorry to get you mixed up in this. I needed-"

"A witness."

"-you."

She turned to look at him, gaze softening.

"I won't ask what happened here. Just tell me the story and I'll back you up."

Of course she would. It was during moments like these that Hanadan didn't completely regret his own suspicious nature, which had prompted him to exercise caution and restraint in his public dealings with his oldest and closest ally. In their household and beyond, mother and son were known to have a frosty relationship. When they were not ignoring each other's very existence, their addresses were formal, their comments pointed, and various tricks deployed to make any outsider think they were competing for Heddam's favor.

Hanadan had no intention of wasting his time trying to convince his mother he hadn't murdered the man. She would believe what she wanted anyway.

"A disappearance is best. Under the guise of investigating an undisclosed plot to betray him. Be vague and only imply it if one asks. You're not expected to know the details."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, a look of confusion passing briefly over her delicate, age-hewn features.

"Why make him disappear? I thought you just wanted to change the circumstances of death."

He shook his head vigorously, slapping his hand on the table and rattling the dishes on the tray, albeit not as forcefully. She winced in surprise and he let out another disgruntled sound, as would have been expected of his father.

"You think they'll trace him back here anyway?" she whispered.

"Undoubtedly. They know a golden opportunity when they see one and they'll use it to further their own goals. A disappearance is safer for me than betting on their infighting. And do speak louder. They can't make out your words in the corridor, but they know when we talk. This is a normal conversation between three people, one of whom is definitely Heddam Jebril, alive and quite vexed that someone is trying to pull a fast one on him."

"I see," she nodded. "Very well. I've been here, I've heard, I know my piece. Hand me that saucer."

Together they tidied up the table amidst words of mutual encouragement. Hanadan found that by the time she stood up to take away the tray, he was calmer and not nearly as thirsty.

"You'll see it through," she said. He watched her walking steadily towards the door. "Priar, I'm coming out now."

Hanadan let the charade run for a few minutes longer. At length, he stood up, extinguished all but one brazier and turned to leave.

When he emerged in the corridor, he adopted a weary look, arm trembling slightly as he closed the door behind him.

"Your lord is not to be disturbed," he murmured softly at the two henchmen flanking him. The one on the left gave no indication of hearing, but the other one - Priar - grinned mockingly down at him. Hanadan scowled, but didn't complicate the exchange, instead gesturing towards the third man waiting in the corridor.

"Come on."

Karuss peeled himself from the wall, stretching all the way. He didn't move to follow Hanadan until he'd popped a few joints and let out a jaw-creaking yawn. A sturdy man of middling height, average features and obscure birth, Karuss knew very well he could afford such displays since everyone knew him to be close to the Jebril heir. Their pairing also proved advantageous for Hanadan: a calculating master with a laxly disciplined right-hand man made for an unpredictable combination, keeping other factions guessing at their next move. And anyone who tried to put a price on Karuss' loyalty soon found themselves in a supremely uncomfortable situation.

"Thank Attira you're done, I want my bed. Did you calm him down? He sounded in a bad way," said Karuss in a casual tone.

"Assurances don't come easy to him."

Karuss nodded, sensing Hanadan's mood, and they walked on in silence, crossing the receiving area, the well-lit porch, and stepping out into the gardens. Not for the first time, Hanadan found himself depressed at the lack of vegetation. Nothing grew in his father's gardens apart from a sticky sort of grass, always kept short and level. No topiaries, no decorative flower beds or, Lenga forbid, a hedgerow maze. In accordance with his father's paranoid fancies, no landmark was left standing that could hide an intruder, be that assassin, thief, or eavesdropper. The Jebril city estate comprised several small houses for the family, the common areas, and the administrative buildings. If one wanted to move around them, one had to traverse vast expanses of razed gardens, where one would be out in the open for everyone to see.

They were being watched right then, but they could not be overheard. There was also some way to go until they reached Hanadan's quarters, and he knew he should start explaining. It was Karuss who spoke first, however, while Hanadan still hesitated.

"What did he want with your mother?"

"Nothing. He didn't call her."

"What?"

"Hypothetically speaking, how would one go around disposing of a dead body?"

"That's easy. Throw it in your enemy's yard and blame him."

"Fair. But I'm talking actual disposal, making sure there's nothing left."

Karuss paused and eyed him suspiciously.

"I've a hypothetical question too."

"Go ahead."

"When would one have to dispose of this body?"

"Tonight."

"Ah. So I'm not going to bed after all."

"You might if we hurry."

Karuss rolled his shoulders and fingered the sheath at his side.

"How generous of you," he muttered.