The story so far: Adon Santinetta and Crown Prince Lorens, accompanied by Princess Carena and Lord Bardonnel, make a state visit to Satele, where they encounter a mob at the dock. After reaching the palace, they attend a welcoming luncheon that quickly turns political.

One // Two // Three // Four // Five

On a balcony overlooking the Grand Ballroom, a small orchestra played traditional dance tunes. Below them, a few dozen couples in fashionable finery whirled on the dance floor to the lively music. These twirling dancers were the early arrivals who had already passed through a receiving line near the main doors.

As was the custom, the royals of both kingdoms met and briefly chatted with the nobility of Satele and a few ambassadors and visiting aristocrats from Angeva, Aertella, and Neva. Standing beside her brother, Princess Carena Ankara, wearing a form-fitting dress of purple silk, a bold gorget of shining gold, and wide golden bracelets, had already refused multiple requests to dance, despite desiring to do just that. Crown Prince Lorens had sternly told her she must fulfill her duty to greet the guests before even thinking about dancing.

Watching his two cousins, Adon felt a kind of paternal pride at how they were conducting themselves. He had never doubted that Lorens would act properly and honorably among his peers in Satele, but Carena’s calm decorum had shocked him. The carriage ride through the mob scared her, Adon mused, as he brushed a speck off his black dress uniform jacket. She has experienced real danger, and now she is listening to her brother. She realizes this visit is no lark. It’s deadly serious.

The receiving line lasted less than an hour, and Carena walked to the dance floor on the arm of a young Aertellan count. As Adon watched her, an older gentleman, his hair more gray than black, tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned his head to see who it was, his face lit up with joyous surprise. He grabbed the older man in a fierce hug, laughing.

“Uncle Luko!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were in Delphino! You don’t know how happy I am to see you! This makes the entire trip worthwhile!”

They slapped each other on the back, uncaring what others around them thought. Luko Marini, Adon’s mother’s youngest brother, a man fifteen years his senior, was a judge noted for his fairness and wisdom even among the Marinis, who prized such qualities. Of all his mother’s relatives, Adon got along best with Luko, who was warm and engaging, but who also saw the world realistically and spoke frankly about it without being either superior or apathetic.

“How is my sister, Adonis?” Luko asked when they had moved to a quiet alcove farther from the orchestra.

“Very well, uncle!” Adon replied. “She is still healthy and energetic. My father recently retired, so they are doing a little traveling, and he still takes her to all the palace dinners, balls, and entertainments that they are invited to. Though at sixty-two, she doesn’t stay as late as she used to! My parents plan to visit my sisters and their children on a regular basis, too, come spring.”

“Good, good!” Luko said, pleased. “Liandra was always the best of us! I’m happy she got away from all this.” He leaned his head toward the mostly Satelen crowd. “I think she was always more Margonnian than Satelen.”

“She lives a good life in Palisade,” Adon agreed. “She enjoys being close to the palace but feels blessed that she rarely has to deal with any of its nonsense—and now even less often since my father left the king’s service.”

Luko smiled, finishing his nephew’s sentence. “Relatively unscathed.”

Adon nodded thoughtfully. “I’m new to the job, but I can already see that it tests one’s mettle and honor with depressing regularity.”

“It’s good you recognize that. Your character will be tested here.”

“Oh, it already has been!” When his uncle lifted a curious eyebrow, Adon explained succinctly, “Corado Marinacci offered me a deal on ‘overstock arms’ after lunch—in Princess Grania’s presence!”

“Ah,” Luko said, understanding immediately. He stood quietly for a long moment before meeting Adon’s eyes, having made a decision. “Let’s get a breath of fresh air on the balcony.”

Not waiting for Adon to reply, he walked away, heading for the magnificent curved marble staircase with gilt banisters on the room’s far side. Glancing around him as he followed, Adon felt eyes on him and his uncle, but he could not spot who they belonged to. The stairs deposited them on a mezzanine floor covered with plush, golden-colored carpeting, with couches, chairs, and low tables grouped to overlook the ballroom or out toward the harbor. Another staircase on their right led upward to the third floor. Only a few scattered couples, talking quietly or watching the dancing below, had withdrawn to this hushed retreat. Ignoring them, Luko turned immediately to his left and strode to the far end, where he opened a multi-paned door onto a spacious but empty balcony, one of several jutting from the palace’s higher floors.

Once he shut the door behind Adon, and they leaned against the railing, he said, “We can talk freely out here. Besides, it was getting warm in there.”

“We were watched,” Adon said.

The corners of his uncle’s mouth curled slightly. “Of course, we were,” he said, sighing. He did not appear particularly concerned, as if Adon had remarked that the sky was blue. “Perhaps that is your second lesson after dealing with Lord Marinacci. Someone is always watching you here. Spies and informers are everywhere—nobles, guards, maids, cooks, gardeners, couriers. One must operate as if everyone is corrupt, everyone has chosen a side, which they believe is the only way to get ahead. Trust no one but those you know are trustworthy.”

Adon nodded, staring out into the harbor, watching a trawler’s lights creep up the inner harbor, which was rising with the tide. The trawler was already fighting the land breeze. The part of his mind that still considered himself a captain wondered if she would make it to her berth, as he asked, “What about the Crown Princess? Can she be trusted?”

“Yes,” Luko said unequivocally. “She’s about the only one in this hornet’s nest that can be trusted! I fear for her and wish I could help her somehow. But I have yet to think of anything.”

Adon felt a wave of relief wash over him at his uncle’s words. Deep inside, he had wanted to trust Grania, seeing nothing in her that would raise any suspicion. Luko’s forthright support of the Crown Princess bolstered his confidence in his ability to judge character.

After a pause long enough to signal a new subject, he said, “My understanding is that the court is split evenly, with the Vallerois, Marinis, and Santinettas on one side, and the Marinaccis, Andalos, and Bacalars on the other. It appears to be a stalemate.”

“Generally, yes, you are correct,” Luko said, nodding. He pulled out a pipe and began pressing tobacco from a pouch into its bowl. He noticed Adon watching him, his expression surprised. “I picked up the habit when I started judging the hard cases here in Delphino. It helps me think.” Then he laughed at himself. “I have no means to light the confounded thing out here!” He dumped the tobacco back into his pouch and returned it and the pipe to his jacket pocket.

“As to the stalemate,” he continued, doubt suffusing his voice, “the Andalos are still in play, as they always are, and the Bacalars are unstable partners at the best of times, always pushing radical policies and outlandish schemes. All this means that the Marinaccis make up the bulk of the opposition, and they are fine with that. They know the other two will fall in line once their plan succeeds.”

“You think it will succeed, then?” Adon asked, concerned.

“It will—someday, maybe soon. Mirando is old and growing frail, and his power is slipping by the day. He’s desperate to marry the princess off and solidify the succession, but that play is doomed to failure. Grania wants no part of it, and sadly, there are no Valleroi males strong enough to handle the throne, much less the Crown Princess!”

“Can’t the loyal families do something to thwart the Marinacci plan?”

His uncle shrugged. “We would first have to know what it is.” He chuckled. “You’d think we would have a firmer idea of what Corado is devising, but we know precious little. Of course, we see the rioters on the streets—all paid with Marinacci silver—but we are convinced they are a mere diversion. I think he wants us looking out there,” he indicated the city beyond the palace walls with a wave of his hand, “to convince us that the people call for change, when the real insurrection is happening covertly in there.” He cast a thumb over his shoulder toward the ballroom.

A quiet minute passed, after which Adon asked, “Do you think Lord Andalo will negotiate in good faith with Lord Bardonnel tomorrow? Should I warn our trade minister about his leanings? I would not want Margonne, even unwittingly, to support the opposition.”

Luko responded immediately. “You probably should, although I suspect he and the Crown Prince already know where our trade minister stands. Why Mirando appointed an Andalo to that position completely escapes me.”

“A bone to placate the other side?”

“Perhaps,” the older man said, shrugging again, “but I suspect something more sinister, like blackmail or an under-the-table trade.”

Adon grunted. “From what I’ve learned in just one day, the sinister option seems more likely.”

“What do you sailors say? ‘You’re getting your sea-legs?’”

“Aye, uncle,” Adon replied, chagrined, “and I don’t like the feeling!”

“Speaking of feelings, the cold has chilled my fingers,” Luko said, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Let’s return inside.” He pushed himself off the railing, and the sudden movement saved him. A small bolt struck the stone rail where he had been leaning and caromed wildly, hitting Adon’s upper arm with a glancing blow, then spinning toward the wall behind them.

Adon reacted instinctively, ducking closer to the wall and scooping up the mangled bolt, shouting for his uncle to get inside. As Luko jerked the door open, another bolt shivered one of the door’s upper mullions, shattering a few panes of glass and showering the two men with shards. Scrambling inside, they hurried away from the windows and returned to the grand staircase, where, looking back, they saw no one pursuing them. They checked themselves for injuries, but neither had sustained any, aside from a few minor glass cuts on their hands. Realizing he still held the blunted bolt in his hand, Adon slipped it into his pocket.

No one had witnessed the attack, though a few had heard the glass shatter and seen them running. Even those who had noticed soon turned back to the conversations the disturbance had so rudely interrupted. No one seemed concerned.

Walking as calmly down the stairs as he could, Adon spotted Lorens, catching his eye. When they reached the ballroom floor, he steered his uncle over to the Crown Prince. Out of the earshot of others, he related to Lorens what had happened on the balcony, showing him the scaled-down crossbow bolt.

“The shots came from one of the higher balconies,” he concluded, “but I had no time to see the shooter. This was nothing other than an attempt on my uncle’s life! Lorens, the situation here is deteriorating quickly. We should think about leaving before we get caught in the crossfire like I almost did!”

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A note:

Satele had a particular problem with political assassinations, a recourse almost unknown in Margonne, Angeva, and Aertella. Even the Princedom of Neva, with its piratical origins, had far fewer political killings than Satele. It was probably a remnant of its early dueling culture, in which offenses among the nobility were “solved” through personal combat. Inevitably, such duels led to feuds, in which the duelists’ families often eagerly took part. A favorite tactic was ambush or other form of clandestine murder, which was sometimes contracted out to hired swords. Almost immediately, this widespread practice entered the political realm. At the time of Adon’s visit, High Judge Luko Marini had survived at least three attempts on his life.

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