Thicelt cleared his throat. “Have I mentioned Trae’s latest enthusiasm? Something he got from Adrian during your son-in-law’s last visit to Chalice. I don’t really understand the principles that well, but here’s . . .”
A few minutes later, Demansk was scowling at a sunset whose colors he no longer found splendid in the least.
Darkness, darkness, everywhere.
Radio?!
* * *
When Arsule made her entrance, however, just in time for the feast which was being prepared on the balcony, Demansk found his gloom lifting. Despite himself, Arsule always had that effect on him. Especially when her dark eyes sparkled so, as she gave him a sultry glance.
Whenever Demansk imposed his authority over her—which happened at least twice a year—Arsule immediately retaliated by locking the doors to her private quarters. Demansk could, of course, have ordered those doors broken down by his soldiery. But . . . leaving aside everything else, that would be so undignified.
Besides—also predictably—the doors never stayed locked for more than a few weeks. No matter how often they clashed, the fact was that Arsule and Demansk had grown very intimate over the past three years. As intimate, he would now admit even to himself—more intimate, in some ways—as he had ever been with Druzla. And . . .
The feast was starting. The Paramount Triumvir, master of the world, took his seat next to his wife at the head of the huge table. In every aspect, from his stern visage to his ponderous way of moving, he exuded the dignity one expects from such an august personage. All of which was actually quite at odds with the thought uppermost in his mind.
I’m getting laid tonight.
Under the table, unseen by anyone because of the rich cloth spilling over the edge, Arsule’s slim fingers stroked his inner thigh.
Oh, yes indeed.
* * *
When the meal was finished, Demansk rose. Silence fell over the table. He gave the crowd gathered there a long and slow examination.
All my family.
His eyes fell on a slim and very pretty blonde young woman, seated not far down the table to his left. She was erect in her chair, very stiff, and looked nervous. Not surprising, of course, since it was the first time she had ever participated in such an affair.
Kata too, now that Arsule finally got the adoption through the bureaucratic maze. His lips quirked a little. He had no doubt at all that Arsule’s present warmth was due to the adoption. Demansk himself, at the end, had settled the issue. Amazing, really, what the banishment of one obstreperous official to a remote post had on the efficiency of all others.
There was some sadness, seeing Kata at the table. It reminded him of Ion, whom he was coming to miss all the more as time went by. But not much. Whatever else, Demansk would be able to face Jeschonyk’s shade in the afterlife.
Close advisers, most of them. Many of them, I think, now friends as well. Hard to tell, of course, with any except Sharlz.
Prit was there, naturally. As the highest financial official of the Confederacy, Sallivar was resident in the new capital.
So were Forent Nappur and Jessep Yunkers, who were also sitting at the table. Demansk would allow the Council at Vanbert to retain their illusions of still being the “seat of power.” His son Olver, who now resided in Vanbert, was always present at the Council to give his father’s view on things. And while Olver had come to this gathering, Kall Oppricht had remained behind. To keep on eye on things, so to speak.
More to the point, Enry Sharbonow was there with him, really keeping an eye on things.
But when it came to the two real sources of Demansk’s power—money and the assegais of his regiments—there would be no pretense. As the Emeralds would say, the Form of power remained in Vanbert. The Substance . . . elsewhere.
Demansk’s eyes ranged all the way down the long table on the balcony of the palace—the size of a galley on the ocean—taking note of all the officials and notables gathered for the occasion. Their faces were quite well illuminated by the new gas lamps which Adrian had designed and which had first been introduced, outside of Adrian’s own palace in Solinga, in Demansk’s new capital.