“The PFLS,” Walegrin reminded her, trying to remain patient. “And Kadakithis. Is there some threat?”
The noise from the stables suddenly ended. A few moments later, Rashan emerged and started across the lawn. She waited for the old priest to join them and offered him the wine. He drank deeply, then accepted the parchment and ink-pot from Dismas. He gave Chenaya an inquiring look.
“Tempus came to me with a proposal,” she said to Walegrin. “One with implications for all of Sanctuary. You know that Theron has promised to return at New Year’s and make this city what he wants most-a bastion for the Rankan
Empire’s southern border.” She glanced at Dismas and a silent message passed between them. “You also know that I have no love for Theron.”
Walegrin surveyed the faces of those around him. “It was you and your gladiators who attacked his barge and killed his surrogate.” He said it with absolute calm and certainty.
Chenaya reached up and tapped his forehead exactly as her lather would have done to her. She had never attempted to make a secret of it, just as she had never thought to fail. In fact, she hadn’t failed, just shot her bolt at the wrong target. The man in Theron’s robes hadn’t been Theron at all, and the Usurper had gotten out of town before she could try again.
Her mouth shaped itself into a smirk. “Tempus was stupid enough to try to blackmail me with information that seems to be common knowledge. He’ll be leaving soon with his Stepsons and the Third Commando.” Walegrin nodded. The imminent departure of the two groups was not news. “Well, he had an idea that I should take control of the PFLS and use it to weld the various factions into a