be wed as well, and internal strife ended…”
“You’re going to what? You’re mad. Crit says she tried to mur-” Tempus bit off
words of accusation, thinking matters through as quickly as he fought in battle.
Torchholder was canny; the move was one sure to bring him power, consolidate his
position, put him beyond Tempus’s retribution and above reproach. But it would
also save Tempus’s daughter from a lengthy inquisition: even Crit would admit
that, since Strat was alive and would recover, Kama was more useful to them
alive than dead, if she shared Torchholder’s bed.
And Crit had sent word to him that there was some evidence that PFLS members had
used the blue-fletched arrows: the task force leader had warned against hasty
action, using all his operator’s wiles to posit misdirection, to give Tempus an
honorable way out of accusing his own daughter of an attempt at murder.
“So you’ll make an honest woman of my … daughter. Just don’t expect a dowry,
congratulations, or any leniency on my part if you later wish you hadn’t: a
divorce will get you killed. So will unfaithfulness, or perfidy of any sort.” It
was the least he could do for his daughter. And, said before the emperor,
Tempus’s conditions bound like law. It was a good thing that a priest of
Vashanka could have more than one wife, though Tempus wouldn’t have wanted to be
Molin when that one’s first wife heard this news.
Torchholder blanched, but smiled and said, “I’m off to tell her, then. And
you’ll take care of the other matter… the little misunderstanding she had with