Ammas stared at him. Vos flushed, but at least found the wherewithal to look him in the eye. "Were you," the cursewright said at last, flatly, though his eyes blazed. "And were you there when my cousin was put to the sword? When Silenio killed my uncle in his famous duel?"

"I was," Vos said softly. "It was no duel. Silenio killed Lady Hyrsith first, while the Lord Mourthia was engaged with resisting the siege. A small force of soldiers broke into Shattercrown. Before we could even think to take her prisoner, the Prince struck her down. The Lord Mourthia came down with his personal guard and lunged for the Prince. Silenio claims the killing blow, but his was not the only sword that struck your uncle."

"Was yours one of them too, Vos?"

Vos shook his head. "I was attending to Lady Hyrsith. The Prince's behavior had unnerved me for a while. He cowered in his quarters on the siege vessel while our Captain led the landing at the harbor, dying as she did so. I suppose he thought killing the Lord Mourthia and his wife would make up for that disgrace, and so had no compunction as to how he went about it."

"I see." Still Ammas's voice was neutral, his face unreadable. "And my cousin Jan? How did he go about that?"

"Ammas -- "

"You came to confess to me, Vos. Confess all."

Vos swallowed hard. "The boy was overcome with grief, kneeling over his mother. Silenio slit his throat."

Such was the story Ammas had heard for many years. The rest of it he had guessed or heard other rumors, but having it confirmed by an eyewitness didn't make him feel much better about it. "How pleased the Emperor must have been," he said.

"He was not pleased at all."

Ammas quirked his head, frowning.

"Your name is an ancient one, Ammas. The Emperor hated to see it extinguished. The Kerrells are loyal but unimaginative and bring little to the Malachite Throne. I believe his Majesty would have much preferred to send Jan to be raised by another family, or even in the Chalcedony Palace itself, and emerge as a grown man loyal to the Throne."

Ammas pondered that for a while, wondering if that would have been more or less tolerable to bear. A Jan who despised him as a traitor would still be a Jan who was alive and who might someday be open to reconciliation. Shaking his head Ammas bent down and plucked up a scatter of pebbles and grass, tossing them over the side of the hill, not looking at Vos. "So what is it you want? My forgiveness? Absolution from the gods?"

"I only want you to know my history. It's not a secret, and I would rather you hear it from me if we're to travel the roads together."

"All right, you've told me. And?"

"I have not told you all."

Ammas said nothing but waved for Vos to continue, his gesture none too patient.

"I have tried to conduct myself honorably, Ammas. I have not always succeeded, gods know. What I saw from the Prince was anything but. I requested a transfer when we left Losris Nadak."

At that, Ammas could not hide his surprise. Anything but a promotion or a transfer to one of Perseun's commands would have been seen as a step down -- and a slap in Silenio's face. "I'm shocked that you were given such leeway."

"Under normal circumstances, I would agree. But I was far from the only veteran of Losris Nadak to request such a thing. I'm sure you hate the Emperor and for good reasons, but he has not held power for forty years by treating his soldiers poorly, and he knew Silenio had tarnished his own honor and those of his men. It's why he keeps him close to Talinara now, I think. He has his father's brutality but none of his other gifts."

Ammas nodded stiffly. There was no point denying Somilius Deyn knew how to wield and maintain his power, whatever his numerous failures as a human being. "Well, you were at the siege. You knew enough to get out of a bad situation. Why you feel the need to tell me -- "

"I was also at the Silverlamp Theatre."

Ammas stared at him, at a total loss for words. The cursewright's face had gone ghostly white.

Vos looked as unhappy as Ammas had ever seen him, though the emotional weather of Denisius's servant was far from foremost in his mind just now. "I was stationed in the capital while waiting for my transfer to the Marhollow cohort to be approved. The nobles who attended the theatre -- they did not go willingly. The Emperor's household guard took command of those soldiers stationed in the city, to escort or arrest any nobles who refused to heed the Emperor's summons."

"So you saw it happen too," Ammas said in a hoarse whisper.

"I did."

Ammas looked away, staring at Munazyr. At that moment he wished he had never left it; that he had been blind drunk at the Four Winds when the Princess Carala came calling. These were old ghosts he had no wish to stir up, no more than the restless skeletons beneath the city. Suddenly he rounded on Vos, furious. "Why do you come to me with this? Why do you trouble me with things that happened before those two nobles were even born? Haven't we dug up enough graves?"

"Because I have come to respect you," Vos said evenly, meeting Ammas's blazing eyes. "Not just for what you did in those damned tunnels. For swearing an oath to a woman you have every reason to want vengeance on. The Mourthia name may be dirt on this side of the Straits, but you've shown more honor than any I've seen from the House of Deyn . . . or Gallis, for that matter." Vos took a step closer to Ammas, joining him in staring down at the distant city. "If nothing else, I want you to know that I understand the truth of the last few decades than my master. Or his bride to be. Were it up to me, the whole House of Deyn would have been put to the sword long ago."

"They are not all deserving of that, I think," Ammas said, the barest of smiles on his lips.

"Maybe not," Vos said. "So am I deserving of the same chance as Carala?"

The Nythelian soldier held out one hand, a hesitation in his face.

At long last Ammas took it, shaking it firmly, clasping his free hand over Vos's fingers. "If I were to nurse a personal vendetta against every soldier who followed Somilius Deyn's orders, I would be in war both unending and hopeless." The thin smile slowly warmed, though a terrible sadness lingered in Ammas's eyes. "I saw you fight beneath Munazyr. I would also rather have you at my side than at my throat."

Vos's relief was palpable. As the two men stood apart, he slipped a hand into a pouch at his side and pulled out a pair of rieldo cigars. Ammas's smile broadened as he took one. They savored the smoke for a time before Vos spoke again. "How Silenio has survived all these years is beyond me," he said, studying the cityscape and farmland below.

Ammas shrugged. "The old bastard likes keeping his children nervous, and at swords' points when he can manage it. Why do you think he's never named an heir?"

Vos scoffed. "Perseun will succeed him. There's no other serious contender. But as long as the possibility of a civil war keeps the nobles on edge, it suits his purposes, and keeps the assassin's knives in their sheathes."

"Unless those assassins come from the Sultan."

"After the Yellow Death, I doubt the Sultan will lay a finger on the Anointed Realms for at least a century." Vos puffed away reflectively.

"You know, Vos, I think I'm going to regret giving you a chance. It's not healthy for me to be traveling with someone with whom I can actually argue politics."

Vos chuckled appreciatively. "Likewise. Some of my opinions make Lord Marhollow look as though he's bitten into a lemon. I think, by the way, that he is well enough to travel, though I defer to your expertise on it."

"How good of you," Ammas said drily. As Vos began climbing down the hill, Ammas called after him. "You do know you risk the hangman by aiding me, don't you? Just failing to report someone like me to the nearest constabulary is grounds for imprisonment."

Vos smiled crookedly over his shoulder. "Do you really think you're the first refugee from the arcane fellowships I've aided, Ammas?"

Leaving the cursewright to ponder that, he returned to the monastery. Ammas took his time, lingering at the hilltop, but found little pleasure in it or his smoke. The beauty of the view and the flavor of rieldo seemed to have entirely bled away once he began thinking of the Silverlamp Theatre and what he had seen there. It stunned him to think he and Vos had been there at the same time. Not quite as pleasant a reminiscence as Senrich sentencing him to three days in the stocks, Ammas supposed. With a final look at Munazyr, stowing the half-smoked cigar in his belt, he turned his back on his adopted city for now, unsure when he would see it again.