Chapter 18

Cailech was flanked by only two of his own men as he slowed his horse at the gates of the Tenterdyn estate of Felrawthy. on one side of his rode his loyal warrior Myrt, and on the other a man he now called friend: Aremys Farrow.

Despite certain misgivings, the King had decided to trust Farrow. Cailech considered himself an able judge of character and his instincts about people had rarely let him down. Lothryn had been his only error—but it had taken almost forty years of friendship to discover his mistake. His mouth twisted at the thought of Lothryn’s betrayal.

“Sire?” Aremys said, noting the expression on Cailech’s face.

“I’m all right,” the King replied. “Just wishing Lothryn were here.” He expected Myrt to agree and was surprised by the grim silence at his right. He did not miss the sly glance his warrior gave the Grenadyne.

What did that look mean?

“You don’t need him for this, my lord,” Aremys assured him. “Only you can achieve what we’re setting out to do today.”

“He had a way of making me feel calm.”

His companions remained silent. What was there to say? Aremys believed Cailech had no right to feel sorry for himself after what had been perpetrated on Lothryn, but he was hardly in a position to comment.

Myrt saw the Morgravian guard approaching. “Are you ready, sire?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Cailech replied, glancing toward his new friend, who nodded encouragement.

“Lothryn would be proud of you for this,” Aremys said.

“He would, wouldn’t he, Farrow. This is something he would applaud.”

“Then you honor him by it.”

Cailech smiled. There was gratitude in his expression and something unreadable in his eyes—sorrow perhaps? Aremys hoped so.

The guard arrived and the mercenary addressed him. “I am Aremys Farrow. You’re expecting our party, I gather?”

The guard nodded. “We are. Wait here, please.” He whistled to the gatehouse and gave a hand signal.

“You might care to bow in the presence of a king,” Aremys suggested while they waited for the gates to open He was relieved to see the man looked abashed, had worried for a moment that due respect was not going to be accorded to Cailech.

“Forgive me, sire,” the man stammered, and bowed low. Cailech and his companions exchanged satisfied glances.

An officer met them. “Welcome, your highness,” he said with appropriate respect. Then he looked toward Aremys and nodded. “Farrow,” he acknowledged.

Aremys gave his reins to the men who had arrived to take care of the horses. “Captain Bukanan, sir.

Good to see you again. This is Myrt, Second Warrior of the Mountain People.” Celimus was watching as the King of the Mountains arrived at the gate, exchanged a look with Farrow, and then jumped gracefully from his magnificent stallion. The Morgravian sovereign was surprised. For some reason he had imagined that the Razor King would be dark, stocky, and bearded, with hooded eyes and a secretive countenance. He had not expected this golden-haired warrior, tall, clean-shaven, and artless of dress. The man wore no jewelry to proclaim his royal status, and his clothes were simple and yet frustratingly elegant. Celimus would have liked to own the cloak that hung so magnificently across the broad shoulders and seemed to shimmer in the daylight. And yet for all the understatement in his presentation, the Mountain King oozed confidence. Celimus suddenly felt like a strutting peacock in his bright courtly clothes. He pulled angrily at the circlet around his head.

“I don’t think I need this,” he muttered to Jessom, who, as ever, was nearby.

“I’ll take it, sire,” the man replied, nothing in his tone to suggest that he was inwardly smirking at the insecurity one glimpse of the Mountain King had provoked in his king. “It is time,” he added.

Celimus remained silent, distracted by his thoughts. He turned from the window and strode past the Chancellor toward the main steps of Tenterdyn, where he had intended to arrange himself so the Mountain King might come cringing toward him. But there was absolutely nothing in Cailech’s demeanor to suggest he would comply with that idea. In fact, if anything, he seemed utterly assured. It was the opposite of what the Morgravian had expected, and baffling.

Celimus forced away his puzzlement, replacing it with a beautifully contrived bright expression, as he emerged to meet his fellow sovereign.

So far so good, Aremys thought as he looked toward the movement at the front of the large house, which not so long ago had been filled with the Donal family. He felt a sudden flurry of fear as he saw the King, flanked by his chancellor and various other military people, emerge from the huge main doors.

“Your majesty, King Celimus is here to greet you. May I accompany you?” Captain Bukanan offered.

Aremys thanked Shar that Celimus was playing this out according to strict protocol. It was a heartening sign that the King of Morgravia was treating his sworn enemy with courtesy and equality, although Jessom no doubt had been a guiding hand.

“Thank you, Captain,” Cailech said. He threw a final glance toward Aremys, who noted the glint in the King’s eye and read it as a combination of pleasure and mischief. He truly admired this man who walked so boldly into his enemy’s camp, unarmed and with nothing to offer but promises.

Aremys closed the gap between himself and Myrt to fall into step behind the King. He admired the superb cloak that the King had donned for this most formal of occasions. It was a pewter color, made from the softest of wool, spun repeatedly until it shone, from the coats of the shaggy polders—a rare cross between goat and sheep, found only in the mountains. Cailech’s people took good care of the two large flocks they had gathered. The animals’ long hair was impervious to moisture and felt like silk to the touch. The women of the Razors had done their king proud with this beautiful garment, which kept the natural silvery gray of the polder as its background while yarn dyed crimson and black had been woven into an eye-catching, intricate pattern along its entire length. Aremys marveled at how the clever design made the already tall man look even larger. Cailech was certainly a match for Celimus in height and looks, although the Razor King was older and more rugged than the vain southern monarch.

Myrt nudged Aremys out of his thoughts and they stepped forward for the party from the mountains to be introduced to King Celimus.

The dance of Kings had begun.

“King Cailech, welcome to Tenterdyn, our summer retreat,” Celimus said, his tone full of largesse. He noted a twisted expression flicker across Farrow’s face and wondered what it meant.

“King Celimus, it is a true honor to meet you.” To the Morgravian’s astonishment—and indeed to all who were privy to this historic meeting—Cailech bowed his head and shoulders toward his southern foe.

“Thank you for this parley.”

For once in his life Celimus was at a loss for words. He had not anticipated such graciousness from his northern foe. He was irritated further by the man’s surprisingly deep voice, which made him feel like a boy greeting his father. His stomach clenched.

Everyone waited for Celimus’s response. Finally it came. “I am intrigued, King Cailech,” he said, reaching for the right words, “by this opportunity for Morgravia. Come, we are here to talk.” He gestured for Cailech to enter the Donal estate.

Captain Bukanan, already briefed on the format for the day, returned to where Myrt stood. “I believe I must accompany you; is that correct?”

Myrt nodded. “We will return on horseback to a spot of my king’s choosing and await word of his safe return. There are others coming with us, of course.” He stopped himself from using the word “hostages.” It made little difference. Bukanan knew he was a hostage. The Captain nodded his understanding and took his leave from his king, as did Myrt from Cailech.

Inside, the party was led by their regal host to a huge chamber Aremys had not seen on his previous visit to Tenterdyn. At each end of the large space was a glorious stone fireplace and a long table stood in its center. Tapestries softened the walls, as did huge windows with bench seats and elegant shutters, each one crafted with the Donal sigil. Aremys realized that the room’s simplicity deliberately allowed the dazzling scenery of the distant Razors to do all the work of impressing visitors with the beauty of the chamber.

“I thought you would be most comfortable seeing your home from here,” Celimus said, his charm more evident now that he had taken a minute to gather his thoughts.

Cailech smiled in return. “Having never witnessed its beauty from this vantage point, I thank you for such a treat.”

The response pleased Celimus. He indicated the thin man at his side. “I took the liberty, King Cailech, of retaining only my chancellor, Maris Jessom…”

“Your majesty,” Jessom said on cue, bowing his head to the Mountain King.

“…to match your Aremys Farrow. I believed we would be most comfortable with the fewest ears.”

“I am grateful for the consideration, your highness.”

“Please, be seated,” Celimus continued. “Let us offer you some southern refreshment.” Jessom nodded toward a waiting servant, who brought drinks and wafers to the large table. Celimus gestured for Cailech to be seated at his right so the Mountain King could see the Razors through the magnificent picture windows. Aremys was offered a seat at his left.

“I will bear witness alongside the Chancellor,” Aremys said, as deferentially as he could manage, and moved to stand beside Jessom.

“As you wish, Grenadyne,” Celimus said, unfazed.

“Smart move, Farrow,” the Chancellor murmured under his breath. “You would fare well in court.”

“I don’t belong here, Jessom, and you know it,” Aremys shot back, relieved to be out of Celimus’s gaze.

“Shall we dispense with our regal titles, Cailech?” Celimus said brightly, raising his goblet.

“I thought you’d never suggest it,” the Mountain King replied, grinning and raising his own cup.

“To us, then,” Celimus said with a flourish, tapping his goblet against his guest’s and noticing the glint of humor in Cailech’s light green eyes.

“To Morgravia and the land of the Razors!” Cailech responded, and both men drained their goblets.

“Again!” Celimus called to the servant. His cheeks were suddenly flushed with the gravity of this historic moment.

“Would your father be proud of this parley?” Cailech asked as their goblets were refilled.

The Morgravian was unprepared for such a disconcerting question. “My father?” he repeated, angry at himself for doing so.

Cailech nodded and again Celimus saw amusement sparkling in the man’s eyes, although his facial expression gave nothing away.

“Er…I’m sure he would.”

“I think he would be shocked,” Cailech said.

“Why do you say that?”

“I believe he did not see such a vision of peace as you have, Celimus.” Aremys silently congratulated the King of the Mountains. With a neat twist of words, he had given Celimus credit for bringing together two enemy nations.

Celimus searched for a hint of guile behind the words but saw nothing except openness on Cailech’s rugged face. Again he was not ready for the man; such praise from the enemy was something to be savored. “I would like to think that I can bring together our realms, Cailech,” he began, warming to the vision of himself as peacemaker, “as well as Briavel.”

“Indeed. In the space of a just few days, you could achieve such an amazing feat that your jongleurs will recite great tales about it, bards will sing stirring songs of homage, and I have no doubt your artists will record the events so that future generations will understand this momentous time in Morgravia’s history.” Aremys felt Jessom shoot a warning glance his way. Cailech’s praise was honeyed, but it was in danger of sounding insincere. So far, however, Celimus was lapping it up, Aremys noticed, certain that the Morgravian King would personally commission the songs, plays, and artworks should they not arise unprompted. Wyl had told him that the man was vain, but Aremys also recalled Wyl’s warning that Celimus was clever, that behind his charm and looks was a stunningly sharp mind. Yes, Aremys thought, Cailech would have to be a bit wary.

The servant had been dismissed now. It was just the four of them.

“And tell me how you fit into all of this, Cailech,” Celimus said, leaning back in his chair.

“Quite simply, I wish us to stop being enemies. I see no reason for it other than our own stubbornness and I am offering you the hand of friendship and alliance from hereon if you wish to take it. My people will respect your boundaries utterly. There will be no further threat of raids, no incursion into your lands without your permission.”

Celimus nodded. “And what will your people gain from that?”

“Freedom of movement without harassment or threat of injury. We wish to have permission to trade freely with the people of Morgravia and Briavel. I would also suggest you sanction a delegation of your people to visit the Razor Kingdom in order to gain a greater understanding of our people, our culture, and our living standards. Perhaps you will allow a similar delegation from the Razors into Morgravia? I firmly believe that the more we can appreciate each other’s culture, the more peacefully we all will live.”

“Interesting. I am not averse to anything you have suggested, Cailech. There would have to be a governing body made up of delegates from both realms to supervise the…”—Celimus searched for the right word—“the melding of our kingdoms.”

“Of course. My thoughts entirely. But I don’t believe we could ever live as one, King Celimus,” Cailech cautioned, addressing his counterpart with highest courtesy. “Our ways are too different from yours. By the same token, there are many areas in which we are similar. I want the same things for my people as you want for yours. I want our young to be educated and literate; I want free trade so commerce can flourish between our realms; I want my people to eat and sleep well, secure in the knowledge that their own are safe no matter which borders they are moving across.” Aremys could have applauded Cailech for building his case so eloquently. He doubted Celimus could find fault with anything Cailech was presenting and it seemed the Morgravian King was paying genuine attention and not just lip service. Aremys listened as Cailech continued.

“Nevertheless, my people don’t want to be Morgravian and I know you have no intention of taking your people into the Razors. Let us agree that we are different—but will tolerate each other’s differences. We will learn to admire these subtleties that make us the people of the Razors and your people the sophisticated Morgravians.”

“Bravo,” Jessom whispered to Aremys under the guise of softly clearing his throat.

Before Celimus could respond there was a knock at the door. The King looked toward his chancellor, irritated. “See to it, Jessom,” he said unnecessarily, for Jessom was already making for the door.

The other three remained silent as the Chancellor listened to the hurriedly spoken message. He turned.

“My king, apologies for the interruption. There is an urgent missive from Queen Valentyna. Apparently you have insisted that anything arriving from Briavel be delivered to you immediately.” Celimus nodded. “Forgive me,” he said to Cailech.

“Never keep a woman waiting, Celimus—least of all a bride, and a queen at that,” Cailech responded with mischief.

Celimus laughed. “Bring the messenger in,” he ordered.

The man was permitted to enter. He bowed and moved toward Celimus. “Your highness, this was sent in haste.”

Celimus waved his hand at him, saying nothing, having already broken the wax seal. He scanned the letter. Jessom shooed the messenger out of the door. He, along with everyone else in the room, was holding his breath. Aremys had not realized how much tension had been created by Cailech’s proposition; it was only now that he saw that he had been hanging on Cailech’s every word, waiting for Celimus to agree once and for all to a formal union. This messenger could not have come at a worse time.

“Nothing wrong?” Cailech queried, his voice casual, although he glanced toward Aremys for guidance.

Aremys shook his head, glad that no one noticed the exchange.

“Farrow,” Celimus said, taking Aremys by such surprise he almost jumped.

“Yes, sire?”

“The delivery of Ylena Thirsk…”

Suddenly the King’s tone sounded cunning and his body language was sly. Aremys felt the first stirrings of alarm.

“Yes?”

“It is in hand, as agreed?”

“It is, sire,” Aremys lied, resisting the urge to tug at his collar, which suddenly felt a tad tight.

“Interesting,” Celimus said, standing. “Listen to this,” and he read Valentyna’s letter aloud.

When he finished, Aremys was convinced he could hear his heart pounding, the silence in the room was so profound. He made himself look directly at the King. “That’s right, sire,” he confirmed. “I sent a message to the Queen to release Ylena.”

Celimus frowned. “You did!”

Aremys nodded.

“You know Queen Valentyna personally?”

“Not personally, sire.”

“Well, how exactly do you know her, then?”

“I’m sorry, sire, I can’t divulge my sources. You understand that, I’m sure.” Jessom could see that his king’s ire was stoking frighteningly fast, but there could be no scene right now with Cailech quietly watching this event unfold. Jessom felt abashed that he too had been caught out by this missive. He had presumed Ylena had been brought to Tenterdyn via whatever means the mercenary had at his disposal. The fact that Queen Valentyna had become involved was something of a shock.

“Your majesty,” Jessom interrupted as gently as he could, “Ylena Thirsk is already here.”

“Here?” Celimus repeated, a storm gathering in the olive eyes.

“Yes, your majesty, she arrived just minutes before your guests. Circumstances prevented me from bringing her before you.”

The King gave his chancellor such a murderous look that even Aremys, who could not have cared less about the conniving servant, felt his blood run cold. But Aremys also realized that the King had been diverted: His wrath was directed at Jessom now, rather than himself, and he pressed that advantage.

“As we know, sire, Ylena went to Briavel. I have contacts there, and before I was attacked in Timpkenny, I sent word to follow her and keep her under observation.”

“Why, by the hairs of Shar’s arse, would you do that, Farrow, when I wanted her in Morgravia? Why not have her captured, man?”

Cailech laughed openly at the curse. “I shall have to remember that one, Celimus.” The King of Morgravia caught his famous temper, the laughter reminding him that he was being watched carefully by another sovereign.

Aremys, smoothing an innocent expression across his face, began to embellish the lie, his mind already racing toward how he might get to Wyl before anyone else to ensure that their stories coincided. If Wyl told a different tale, they were both as good as dead. “I figured that the noblewoman would be dangerous wherever I held her in Morgravia, your highness. And as I didn’t have her in my own hands, I thought it best just to have her watched. I knew I could get to her whenever I needed to so long as I knew where she was based. I also felt she was a captive of her own fears, sire. If she felt safe in Briavel, she would not leave the realm and I would not have to give further chase.”

“But when did you plan to carry out your mission for me?” Celimus asked, following the Grenadyne’s line of thought.

Good question, Aremys acknowledged silently. Again Wyl’s warning about Celimus’s sharp mind nudged him. “Immediately, sire. I was in the north, and Ylena Thirsk was presumably well south by then, which meant I didn’t have to hurry and run unnecessary risks of being discovered. I knew my people would pick up her trail and keep watch until I was ready to make my move. I didn’t expect to be carried into the Razors, sire. That was a surprise.” He glanced at Cailech, whose mouth was, as he had expected, twisted into a wry grin. “And a good thing too that I had people on task in Briavel.”

“So then what?” Celimus persisted. The mercenary began to wonder if the King was simply toying with him before calling for the death squad.

“My people are tactically placed, sire. It was simply a matter of getting word to them from the Razors.” Celimus switched his attention to his royal guest. “You were aware of this word being sent, presumably, Cailech? If Aremys is your prisoner, as he tells me, surely you didn’t give him such freedom as to pass messages out of your realm to enemy states?” It was phrased as a question, but no one could miss the challenge in the Morgravian’s words.

To his credit, Cailech did not so much as hesitate. Aremys had told him about his plan to use Ylena Thirsk as bait; he would have to trust his new friend. “I permitted him a message, yes. It was to Briavel, to a dignitary in the Queen’s court. You must remember, Celimus, that you and I were enemies until just moments ago. I would have done anything to undermine you. Allowing this man to send a message into Briavel did not disturb me. Had I known at the time that he was working on your behalf, I might not have been so generous.”

Satisfied, Celimus returned a steely gaze to Aremys.

“Anyway, Celimus, has this not achieved the outcome you wished for?” Cailech’s question surprised everyone.

“Pardon me?” the King of Morgravia managed.

The Mountain King waved a hand in mock disgust. “It’s just that we seem to be wasting time over petty details. You wanted this woman, you have her. Aremys has delivered as he said he would. Why is there a case to argue?”

There was no accounting for the moods of Celimus or the shifts in his thinking. His whole body seemed to relax as he considered Cailech’s question, and Aremys could not help but compare the two kings’

capriciousness. They made a good match.

“Why indeed, my friend?” Celimus echoed. “You are right,” he added, nodding slightly at his guest and then returning his attention to the mercenary. “Thank you, Aremys, for delivering Ylena into my hands. To be honest, I hadn’t thought you would trust me sufficiently to hand over the bait you dangled in front of my nose before you and your new employer left my realm for the safety of the Razors. After all, it was to be your insurance.” His last few words were not lost on anyone in that chamber.

Aremys took the moment to bow, covering his relief. Straightening, he said, “Your majesty, as I have explained before, I am a mercenary and always for hire. You have shown me nothing but generosity and I would have been foolhardy not to trust such a powerful monarch.” He nodded at the King. “I would like to be able to work for you often, sire. Ylena Thirsk is nothing to me. My communication to your queen simply suggested that the person to whom she offered sanctuary was your open enemy, and that she would be wise not to risk her new king’s wrath by sheltering her.”

“And it worked, by Shar!” Celimus said. “You are a cunning man, Aremys Farrow.” As are you, you snake, Aremys thought; instead he said: “I am simply a man for hire, my lord. I take opportunities where and when they present themselves. Do you still wish me to kill her, sire?”

“I think I can manage that myself if and when needed,” Celimus said, a cruel smile flitting over his mouth.

Cailech frowned but held his tongue. “So where is she?” the King continued, looking at Jessom.

“In one of the outhouses, sire. I said you would summon her at your pleasure.”

“And how is she?”

“Surprisingly feisty,” Jessom commented.

“The Thirsk girl has found some spine, has she? I shall enjoy seeing this. So will you, Cailech. Do you know of the Thirsks?”

“Only by reputation,” the Mountain King said. “This is the daughter of General Fergys Thirsk, I presume?”

“Mmm, yes, the sister of Wyl Thirsk—finally back in my care.” Celimus laughed. “Have her presented to me during this afternoon’s feast, Jessom. I should like Cailech to see how we deal with treachery in Morgravia.”

Aremys felt his blood run cold. He needed to warn Wyl. The thought that his friend would probably die again in a few hours disturbed the Grenadyne so much that he could not breathe. He loosened his collar.

“May I see her?” he said, shocked that he had spoken without thinking it through.

“Why?” Celimus looked at him sideways.

Aremys thought quickly. “She knew I was following her, sire. I just want to remind her that I always catch my prey.”

Celimus clapped. “You have a nasty streak, Grenadyne. By all means. Jessom will go with you. Get her ready for us,” he said to his chancellor.

He turned to Cailech. “Let us get some air. How about a ride—just us? That horse of yours looks splendid. I should like to try him out for myself.”

The Mountain King smiled. “Delighted. Am I to assume that we are done here? Formalities concluded?”

“Well, my friend,” Celimus replied, Cailech noting this was the second time the southern King had addressed him in this way, “I am about to be married to the most beautiful woman of our age. Aremys here has just kept his word and delivered to me the last of the Thirsks, whom I shall see die before my eyes shortly. I can’t think of anything I feel like dealing with less right now than the threat of war between our realms—which is what I presume is the alternative to an alliance?” Cailech watched his counterpart carefully as he spoke. This man had no intention of honoring a union.

What he wanted was sovereignty over Briavel and the Razor Kingdom. The marriage achieved the first, and the pretense of friendship would achieve the second. The green gazes of two powerful men met and each understood the other very clearly.

“It would mean war, yes,” Cailech finally answered, realizing what a sham this whole event had been. His thought that he could charm this man or appeal to his good sense amused him suddenly. He had been carried away by the vision of the Grenadyne, but both of them had misunderstood the main point: Celimus did not want friendship or even harmony. All the King of Morgravia wanted was absolute authority over his neighbors. Neither Cailech nor Aremys had factored in the southerner’s avarice or his self-delusion of might. They had entered into the parley like excited boys, stupidly believing that Celimus would also be seeking peace, trade, community. How innocent and how ignorant they had been. And now he was trapped. Would Celimus allow them to leave here alive? He might not care for the lives of those he held prisoner, and Aremys had delivered Ylena Thirsk early. Why? What had he to gain from that?

“That must be avoided, then,” Celimus commented. Cailech had to remember what he was referring to.

Ah yes, war. It was time to unleash his final trick then, all that stood between him and certain death at the end of this man’s sword—or more likely, that of one of the King’s henchmen. It was unlikely Celimus would dirty his hands with Mountain blood.

“King Celimus,” Cailech said, standing now to look at his enemy eye to eye. “My emissary here, Aremys Farrow, may be far too trusting, but I am not. Until now I could not be sure you would see things in a similar way to me. I had to take the precaution that your desires might differ from mine.” Aremys felt the temperature in the hall drop. The gently crackling fires at either end of the room had no effect on the cold that descended. He had to admire Celimus when the southern King barely twitched at the couched threat that now lay between the two monarchs. What had Cailech kept up his sleeve?

Celimus asked the question that burned at Aremys’s and Jessom’s lips. “Ah, further insurance, I gather.

Tell me, King Cailech, so that I understand clearly, why is it that, although you don’t trust me, neither do you fear me, even though you are on my land, in my house, under my guards’ watchful eyes?”

“Please don’t take it personally, Celimus. It’s simply the caution of a king who knows how easy it is to give trust too quickly.”

Celimus nodded indulgently as if to say he truly understood.

“There are two thousand Razor warriors currently gathered in the foothills,” Cailech said.

“Two thousand!” The number clearly took the Morgravian’s breath away.

Cailech grinned good-naturedly. “And another two thousand camped a little bit higher.” Aremys closed his eyes. He had definitely underestimated Cailech—as had Celimus.

“And what are their instructions?”

“To hit Tenterdyn with full might if my second, Myrt, does not give the all clear by nightfall.”

“Nightfall? You hadn’t factored in much time for the feast, my friend.”

“I wasn’t sure I’d make it to dinnertime.”

“Bravo, Cailech. You are a man after my own heart. You will make your rendezvous with your men.”

“Alive?”

“Alive,” and Celimus laughed, genuinely now.

Aremys felt his stomach unclench. He took what felt like his first breath in minutes.

“I hope you and Farrow will at least agree to dine with me,” the King went on.

Cailech nodded, green eyes ablaze with triumph. “And our union?”

“Begins today,” Celimus lied. “My men will be instructed that people of the Razors are no longer targets.

I will put together a delegation, to be led by Jessom here, and I suggest you do the same. They can hammer out the details of how we shall run this union. Let us clasp hands, before our two witnesses, to signify the formal alliance of our two realms.”

The King of Morgravia held out his hand and King Cailech of the Razors gripped it firmly. “To peace,” he said, although he did not believe it could happen as long as this King sat upon the southern throne.

“To peace,” Celimus echoed, privately laughing.