Cobweb Empire by Vera Nazarian

relieved to know that she remains at
your side, and can thus tend to you and to the little ones. How
many are there now, four?”
    “Five, Your Brilliance. A son was born just
this fall.”
    “Ah, five. Well then, that one will be your
last. Take good care of your little one—an heir, is he not?—since
you will now have no more, unless you commit polygamy. Five becomes
your final number. Oh, and do bring them all here to Court, the
next time you visit.”
    The Duke inclined his head in a short,
pained bow.
    “Now then,” she continued. “What has your
King to say to me?”
    Poor Duke Deotetti bowed for the third time,
conforming to protocol. “His Majesty, King Frederick Ourin of
Solemnis, sends His warmest regards to Your Brilliance,” he began.
“His Majesty also conveys that the battalions are ready to march,
upon Your Brilliance’s Orders.”
    “Good. Tell His Majesty that my Orders are
hereby given. Have the battalions proceed north, by way of western
Balmue, and wait along the western shores of the River Styx, but do
not cross it.”
    “If one might suggest,” Ebrai Fiomarre spoke
in a soft courtly manner, and his low compelling voice had the
richness of velvet, “it may be more prudent to cross the river at
that point, for the battalions will then be facing the Fiomarre
lands directly, at the border of Balmue and the Kingdom of Styx.
Otherwise they will still have to make a far more difficult
crossing farther up north, past the Domain border and within the
Realm itself. If you cross the river while still in Balmue, you
will have a strategic advantage. And, you will have me to guide you
through the lands of Fiomarre. . . .”
    Ebrai spoke reasonably, turning his elegant
aquiline profile in the direction of the Duke, but gently
addressing the Sovereign.
    She watched him indirectly, with her
peripheral vision—the impeccable lines of his jaw, the slight
dimple at his jutting chin, the dark shadow of stubble just under
the skin that could not be banished even by the most skilled
barber’s close blade. He was like a beautiful raven, with his wavy
locks unmarred by a wig, and his heavy expressive brows framing
dark eyes.
    Such an earnest face.
    “No,” said the Sovereign, interrupting
Ebrai, without looking in his direction, and all her attention upon
the elderly Duke. “The battalions will wait along the western
shores of the river, without crossing it.”
    “Your Brilliance’s Orders will be conveyed
to His Majesty exactly.” Duke Deotetti confirmed, nodding his
bewigged head carefully.
    “That is all,” said Rumanar Avalais. “You
may go with my blessings. Godspeed!”
    And bowing for the last time, the Duke
backed away from the dais, and then hurried out of the Hall.
    The Sovereign turned her face to Fiomarre.
“My dear Ebrai,” she said. “Do not interrupt me thus again. During
an Audience, you may only observe. Make your recommendations
privately, afterwards.”
    Ebrai’s eyes were a study in leashed
intensity. He inclined his head, and whispered, “Afterwards may be
too late.”
    But the Sovereign was once again turned away
and motioning to the Chamberlains. The doors were opened to admit
the next in line for an Audience.
    The entrant was a spry young man with a fair
complexion, short, slender and unassuming, dressed simply as a
second-tier courtier, with a plain unpowdered wig. He moved quickly
across the expanse of the hall, and his light footfalls made no
sound along the stone floor.
    “Quentin Loirre,” said the Sovereign in a
very different, lively tone, speaking almost playfully. “What have
you for me?”
    “Your Brilliance!” The young man bowed like
a sleek cat, and kept a very composed countenance and unblinking
eyes, but his skin betrayed him, breaking into a fierce blush. “I
have a carrier bird with a message from Lethe. A certain Lady
wishes to convey her news of success. The Chidair Duke has been
convinced and has switched sides. Hoarfrost is now an Ally of