“I didn’t believe their help was required at Kaltfel,” Dawson said. “And I thought it would be better for morale if the victory were unquestionably Antea’s.”
“Oh, that’s silly,” Geder said with a wave of his hand. “Everyone knows they’re on our side. I mean, they weren’t out driving down the enemy’s confidence over some private feud they had with them.”
“I suppose not,” Dawson said, fighting not to stare his anger at the priest. “But for the sake of form, if nothing else.”
“And once all this is over, I’d like to talk with you about how to manage the transition with Asterilhold. I’ve been reading the histories, and I don’t find any single good model for this. I mean, I know it helps that we both used to answer to the High Kings.” Geder sighed. “I wish my orders had gotten to you a day earlier. This would all be so much easier. I mean, when you’re at war, death’s to be expected. Now that they’ve surrendered, things will be more difficult.”
“They can’t be slaughtered wholesale,” Dawson said.
“But we can’t just leave them,” Geder said. “It doesn’t make sense to have half a victory. If you don’t destroy your enemies utterly, aren’t you just asking for another fight later when they’ve regained their strength? If you want peace—real peace—I think you have to conquer, don’t you?”
“We need justice, not petty revenge.” There was more bite in the words than he’d intended. “Forgive my saying so, my lord.”
“Oh, no. Please. Speak your mind. You’re one of the only men in this city I trust.”
Dawson leaned forward in his seat.
“We are noblemen, my lord,” Dawson said, choosing his words. “Our role in the world is to protect and preserve order. The houses of Asterilhold have Antean blood, many of them, but even if they did not, we share a history with them. What they have done against us must be answered, and answered between equals.”
“Oh, I absolutely agree,” Geder said with a rattling nod that meant he hadn’t understood at all. The priest had his eyes half closed, but seemed to be listening to him carefully all the same. A twist of anger floated up from Dawson’s heart.
“The world has an order,” Dawson said. “My men are loyal to me, and I am loyal to the throne, and the throne is loyal to the system of the world. We are who we are, Palliako, because we have been born better. When a low man crosses me, I execute him. When a highborn man, a man of quality, crosses me, then there is the dueling field. If I were to wantonly spill noble blood on behalf of a pig keeper, even if the nobleman were of a different kingdom and the pig keeper my own vassal, it would be an abomination.”
“Let me think about that. Of course, we are more or less equals, aren’t we?” Geder said. “We’re nobles, they’re nobles. And we’ve done all this because they were scheming against Aster, who’s the highest blood in the land. We did it for him.”
We’ve done it for your foreign zealots, Dawson thought.
“I suppose so,” he said, and the priest made a small sound in his throat, like a boy who’d caught sight of a curious animal.
“You seem troubled, Lord,” the priest said, sitting forward. His gaze was on Dawson. “Is something else bothering you?”
You are a goatherd, and you have no right to question me.
“Nothing,” Dawson said, and the priest smiled.
S
eeing Clara again was like putting a burned hand in cool water. Everyone else, from the footmen to Jorey, were made of smiles and pleasure and congratulation. Dawson felt as though he were living in a dream where he was in a burning ballroom and no one else could see the flames. Clara looked at him once and put her arms around him like a mother comforting her child.
Most of the evening they lay together in her bed, his head in her lap when she sat or sharing her pillow when she lay down. The world with its idiotic gaudiness and mindless cheers—face paint on a tainted woman—faded for a time while she told him of all the small domestic crises he had missed during the brief, decisive war. One of the maids had married and left the house. A cistern had sprung a leak and had to be drained before it could be repaired. Sabiha was settling into the household, but Elisia was being difficult. She’d had a letter from the holding at Osterling Fells that the new kennels were going nicely, and would be complete before winter.
The scent of her bed and the sound of finches at the window mixed with her familiar touch, and he found himself relaxing in a way he hadn’t in weeks.