“Well, if you insist, I’ll take Franness back into the Confederacy. But I was just trying to be merciful. As Prelotta’s subjects, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Here came a frown so histrionic it might have caused any actor to die from envy. “But as my citizens, I note that you surrendered the city to barbarians without so much as a single breach having been made in the wall—and them with no siege train worth talking about! Under the stern and ancient law of our forefathers—and that much has not changed—I have no alternative but to decree the decimation—”
But, by then, of course, wiser heads were beginning to prevail. Notable after notable recalling various virtues of Chief—no, King—Prelotta; others commenting wisely on the need not to embarrass the Paramount by having him rescind a decision already made public; still others suddenly noticing the trade possibilities, what with Franness—because of its new status, of course—being the natural provisioning center for, ah, settlers on their way to their new farmlands. One old notable, who apparently had some Emerald blood in his family tree, even began opining on the significance of the distinction between Being and Becoming.
* * *
Two nights later, King Prelotta threw a great feast for the Confederate grandees who came to pay their first official visit on Vanbert’s new auxiliary nation. Paramount Triumvir Verice Demansk headed the list of guests, along with a splendid pantheon of his closest associates and relatives. No mention was made, of course, of the regiment of regulars who accompanied him into Franness; nor, needless to say, of the fact that the siege guns—still in place—were kept trained on the gates of the city throughout; nor, even, of the odd custom of the Triumvir of having his food tasted first by the King himself.
All considerations given, the event went quite smoothly. Things were helped along immensely by the fact that King Prelotta and every single one of his chiefs—barons, rather; in the new “northern province” they held that title—showed up at the feast fresh from the baths.
They were helped even more, however, by the unexpected cordiality—even, one might say, friendship—displayed by the Paramount’s daughter Helga toward the new King. The young lady’s prestige among the Reedbottoms was doubled by virtue of her marriage to the man who was not only Governor of the Emeralds but also, as it happens, was not at the feast—since he was standing outside the city alongside the siege guns. (With, according to rumor, a lit match in his hand—a rumor which Prelotta’s spies later reported was quite false. Yes, the match was lit, and smoldering in its tub. But his spies assured the King that Adrian Gellert had spent the entire evening in casual conversation with his gunners. At least five feet away.)
* * *
Arsule was at the feast also. Demansk having tried, but failed, to keep her away on the grounds of her own safety.
“Give it a rest! You’re just afraid I’ll annoy the Reedbottoms with my prattle. Ha. Much time you’ve spent in the company of barbarians. I speak from experience, Verice. Nothing savages enjoy more than a good conversation.”
Whether she was right or not would never be determined. Other than exchanging a few pleasantries with Prelotta and his top barons, Arsule spent the entire evening in close company with Franness’ small number of priests devoted to the cult of Jassine. Much to Demansk’s relief at the time.
And distress the next day. Arsule badgered him for hours.
“—just terrible! And no way to fix it in Franness itself. Place is hopeless now, with those savages running it. Verice, I insist that you fund a new temple in this new city you’re determined to found on the isthmus. And don’t try to fool me with that ‘keep an eye on the new border,’ nonsense, either! I know perfectly well you’re scheming to build a new capital for the Confederacy. Which is probably a good idea, I admit, since Vanbert’s become such a boorish place. Yes, yes, it was a splendid notion to kill off half the noblemen and ruin their families in the process—for you, the scheming politician. But for me, a patron of the arts, it was a disaster. Only thing for it now is to start all over again someplace new. The isthmus will suit me fine. What with that great canal you’re planning to build—”