Far across the Unseen Sea, Tesset sat on the plush window seat in the Merchant Prince of Zarin’s office, watching his employer pace a rut into the fine silk rug.
“Whitefall’s an idiot if he thinks this is going to work,” Sara muttered around the pipe she clenched between her teeth. “Compromises don’t work with men like Banage.”
“It’s my impression that he doesn’t have much choice,” Tesset said. “Council and Court must stand together or face mutual destruction.”
“Which is exactly why it won’t work,” Sara said, walking faster. “Mutual destruction loses its teeth when one party is willing to die for his beliefs.”
Tesset leaned against the window. “If the Merchant Prince is showing any lack of judgment, Sara, it’s not trying to compromise with Banage, but inviting you to attend.”
Sara shot him a look that would have frozen the Whitefall River. Tesset settled his shoulders against the cool glass and stared back.
“There’s no point in leaving me out of things,” she said, resuming her pacing. “Whitefall may fancy himself the shadow king of the world, but this is as much my Council as it is his. He can’t make a decision involving wizard matters without my say-so, and Banage knows it. Etmon won’t agree to anything without me there for him to gloat over.” She puffed on her pipe, adding more smoke to the haze that already filled the room. “This is ridiculous. I got back from the desert not an hour ago. I don’t have time for this farce. Not if Alber wants his miracle, anyway.”
Tesset started to comment, but a soft sound outside the door caught his attention. “Well,” he said, “here’s your chance to tell him so yourself.”
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the door opened and Alber Whitefall swept into the room. He was dressed in full regalia, with the white suit and golden medals of the Merchant Prince of Zarin as well as the maroon sash of the Council of Thrones, which the prince’s valet was still attempting to tie as he followed his harried master through the doorway.
Tesset smiled approvingly. A clever move, playing to Banage’s pride by greeting him with full honors as an equal. But Whitefall was a subtle, clever man, and Tesset never got tired of watching him maneuver. Pity he was spirit deaf. With the right training, he could have made a dangerous fighter.
“Banage is on his way,” Whitefall said, holding out his arm so the valet could fasten his cufflinks. “Remember, let me do the talking. If you antagonize him, he’ll just leave.”
“It’s what he’s going to do anyway,” Sara said, blowing an enormous puff of smoke at the ceiling.
Whitefall smiled. “We’ll see. Our dear Rector is about to run out of options.”
Sara eyed him curiously, but the Merchant Prince’s face was all politeness as he glanced at the enormous clock on the wall. “Time to take our places.”
He turned and walked out of the room, valet trailing in his wake. Sara followed, handing her pipe to Tesset, who tamped it out and placed it carefully in his pocket.
They walked through the citadel and into the large room at its heart, the Council Hearing Chamber. The chamber was empty this late in the evening, and Tesset got the feeling Whitefall had planned it that way. Another clever move. He was robbing Banage of his audience, hoping that the lack of witnesses would help the Rector compromise his principles. Tesset wasn’t sure if that hope would pan out, but Whitefall was wise to seize whatever advantage he could.
They took their places, Whitefall at the head table, Sara beside him with Tesset standing at her back. Moments after the valet had finished pinning the final length of gold braid to Whitefall’s shoulder, the doors at the opposite end of the chamber opened and Banage swept in. The Rector was in full regalia as well, the red robes of his order smothered beneath the heavy chain of his office. The enormous rings on his fingers glowed brighter than the lamps on the walls as he strode proudly across the polished marble to the table that had been prepared for him, but he did not sit. Instead, he stood, hands crossed at his waist, and waited.
Tesset bit back a smile. Banage had come ready to fight. This might prove more interesting than he’d hoped. For a moment, the two parties simply stared at each other, and then Whitefall made an almost imperceptible gesture with his fingers. The servants took their cue, closing the chamber door with a soft crack, leaving the three most powerful people in Zarin alone.
“So,” Whitefall began politely. “Would it be a waste of my breath to ask you to sit?”
“It would,” Banage answered, his blue eyes flicking from Sara to the Merchant Prince. “Let’s not dance about, Whitefall. What do you want?”