Rulers of the Darkness

Not even buying a new hat made her feel better. The hat sported a jaunty peacock feather leaping up from the band- an Algarvian style, although that, perhaps fortunately, didn't occur to her. Her driver hadn't got too drunk to take her back to her mansion. The horse knew the way, whether the driver was sure of it or not.

Lurcanio praised the hat. That made Krasta feel a little guilty about the supper she'd planned for the next evening, but only a little: not enough to change the menu. If Lurcanio would inflict Amatu on her, she would inflict tripe on him.

Amatu, for a wonder, did have the sense not to talk much about Skarnu when he came. Maybe Lurcanio really had warned him to keep his mouth shut. Whatever the reason, it made him much better company. And he praised the tripe to the skies, and made a pig of himself over it. That made him better company still. Colonel Lurcanio, by contrast, picked at his supper and drank more than he was in the habit of doing.

"So sorry to see you go," Krasta told Amatu when he took his leave. To her surprise, she meant it.

"I'd be delighted to come again," he answered. "You set a fine table- eh, Colonel?" He turned to Lurcanio. The Algarvian's nod was halfhearted at best. Krasta hid a smile by swigging from her mug of ale.

Amatu's driver had had his supper with Krasta's servants. She never even thought to wonder what they had eaten. The count's carriage rattled off toward the heart of Priekule. Standing in the doorway, Krasta watched till it was out of sight- which, in the all-encompassing darkness that pervaded nights to foil Lagoan dragons, did not take long.

When she closed the door and turned around, she almost bumped into Lurcanio, who stood closer behind her than she'd thought. She let out a startled squeak. Lurcanio said, "I trust you were amused, serving up another supper not to my taste."

"I served it for Count Amatu. He certainly seemed to enjoy it." But Krasta, eyeing Lurcanio, judged it the wrong moment for defiance, and so changed her course. Putting a throaty purr in her voice, she asked, "And what would you enjoy, Colonel?" and set a hand on his arm.

Up in her bedchamber, he showed her what he would enjoy. She enjoyed it, too; he did know what he was doing, even if he couldn't do it quite so often as a younger man might have. Tonight, unusually, he fell asleep beside her instead of going back to his own bed. Maybe he'd put down even more ale with the supper he'd disliked than Krasta had thought. She fell asleep, too, pleased in more ways than one.

Some time in the middle of the night, someone pounded on the bedchamber door, someone who shouted Lurcanio's name and a spate of unintelligible Algarvian. Lurcanio sprang out of bed still naked and hurried to the door, also exclaiming in his own language. Then he remembered Valmieran, and called to Krasta as if she were a servant: "Light the lamp. I need to find my clothes."

"I need to go back to sleep," she complained, but she didn't dare disobey. Blinking in the sudden light, she asked, "What on earth is worth making a fuss about at this hour?"

"Amatu is dead," Lurcanio answered, pulling up his kilt. "Rebel bandits ambushed him on his way home from here. Powers below eat the bandits, we needed that man. His driver's dead, too." He threw on his tunic and rapidly buttoned it. "Tell me, milady, did you mention to anyone- to anyone at all, mind you- that the count would visit here tonight?"

"Only to the cook, so he would know to make something special," Krasta replied around a yawn.

Lurcanio shook his head. "He is safe enough. He can't fart without our knowing it, let alone betray us. You are certain of that?"

"Of course I am- as certain as I am that I'm sleepy," Krasta said. Lurcanio cursed in Valmieran, and then, as if that didn't satisfy him, said several things in Algarvian that certainly sounded incandescent. And Krasta, yawning again, realized she'd just told a lie, though she hadn't intended to. She'd mentioned Amatu to Viscount Valnu when they went into that place called Classical Cuisine. Which meant…

Which means I hold Valnu's life in the hollow of my hand, Krasta thought. I wonder what I ought to do with it.

***

Cornelu would rather have entered Tirgoviste harbor aboard his own leviathan. But the Lagoan and Kuusaman naval patrols around the harbor were attacking all leviathans without warning; the Algarvians had already sneaked in a couple and sunk several warships. And so Cornelu stood on the foredeck of a Lagoan ley-line frigate and watched the wharves and piers come nearer.

Speaking Algarvian, a Lagoan lieutenant said, "Coming home must feel good for you, eh, Commander?"

"My kingdom no longer has King Mezentio's hobnailed boot on its neck," Cornelu replied, also in the language of the enemy. "That feels very good indeed." Thinking he'd got agreement, the Lagoan nodded and went away.