"Whatever powers the Throne has, I'm still not seeing why I should benefit from this sudden fit of generosity." Ammas sounded waspish but in fact he felt rather abashed; whatever he thought of its current occupant he had always held a deep respect for the Malachite Throne's history. "Just for my silence? He could buy my silence more cheaply with a knife in my back, and fulfill his vow by reopening the Maathinhold."

Varallo sighed, for the first time showing real irritation. "You are a splendid cursewright, Ammas, but you have almost as bad a head for politics as your father did."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning you underestimate just what a service you provided the Throne." A fire had ignited in the Grand Chancellor's eyes, his normally cool demeanor evaporating. "Your brethren were all condemned as traitors, your father the worst of all. And with no thought of your own reward, you risked your life to cure the Emperor's youngest child, and in the process repaired a disaster of his own making. You destroyed a pack of ritual werewolves who might have done untold damage across the Anointed Realms, almost singlehandedly. Oh, and you put your traitor father to death along the way. Do you not see how you've redeemed the brethren, or at least made such a redemption possible in the Emperor's eyes? Do you not see that you did him such a great service that even the Sultan will not be able to dispute the nature of your reward?"

Ammas shook his head, uncomprehending -- or unwilling to comprehend. "I did nothing more than I was sworn to do, I never stopped doing as I was pledged -- "

"And in so doing demonstrated why your kind are needed, whatever grievances the Sultan might affect. At this moment, I would say the Emperor -- and I do not deny he can be lamentably capricious at times -- but for now I would say he considers you among his most faithful servants."

That remark made Ammas's stomach roil in horror. When he spoke his voice shook, his eyes glittering hotly as they met Varallo Thray's piercing gaze. "I will never serve the Emperor, not after my father, my mother, not after what I saw under the Curia -- "

"Oh come, Ammas, come!" Varallo scoffed. Now he was not merely irritated but incensed. "I had great respect for Senrich, but he was an idealistic fool. So he thought to limit his involvement with the coup by merely penning an argument. Yet he remained oblivious to his own position as a threat -- to your family's position as a threat. The common folk and nobles alike feared and respected him as Overseer. In his brother there was perhaps an even worse danger: a well-liked ruler with a beautiful family and a reputation for battling pirates on the high seas. No rivalry between them, no hatred to split apart your House as has too often afflicted the Deyns. If the coup had succeeded, how long would a regency have lasted before the Council and commoners alike looked elsewhere for an Emperor? Look at Somilius! Look at his children! If the Emperor had been removed from power, there would have been a Mourthia Emperor within five years. The Deyns would have been exiled or beheaded, including the Princess Carala, if she had even been born. It is why the Emperor's rage was so tremendous. And it is why he is willing to reward you now -- even placate you, if you choose to see it that way."

"Placate me," Ammas said. His mouth had gone numb, and not from the wine. "All it would take is my silence, then. I say nothing about Yvelle, or Swiftfoot, and -- "

"And you will once more be sanctioned to practice as a cursewright, free to do as you like in Munazyr." Varallo studied Ammas, leaning forward, his hands clasped at his knees. "Is it such a difficult thing for you to imagine? You are sworn to silence concerning your clients' afflictions, after all. Why not see these things as a part of her illness?"

Ammas turned from the Grand Chancellor, staring out a window to the quiet street below. In the silence that followed he could hear the chanted Sorrows, now reaching a peak as the funeral rites continued. Carala was in the Cathedral, along with Yvelle's body, and Denisius and Vos, and Silenio, and even the Emperor himself, while blocks away he struggled with this incredible temptation.

"Varallo," Ammas said slowly, "I will never be the Emperor's servant." Sinking back in his chair, he shook his head, not knowing if his father would approve or disapprove, even in light of what Senrich himself had done just on the hope he would someday see his son. "But I won't give him reason to think I am not. You have my silence. And my agreement."

Varallo Thray smiled broadly, rising from his seat and inclining his head in a faint bow. "Excellent, Ammas. In that case I have something for you." He drew from the merchant's purse on his hip a leather folder of the sort used to protect Imperial documents. "Here is a letter of credit from the Imperial treasury along with a copy of the rescission of your bounty. Any countinghouse of Tol Daether should honor it. And here also is your notice of consent. You should present it to the Argent Council as soon as you can; I do not know when I'll have the chance to send them a missive, with all that is happening in the capital right now. With that I bid you farewell. I do not know if we shall meet again, but if we do I hope to find you in a more agreeable mood. I wish you safe journey to Munazyr."

And with that the Grand Chancellor departed, leaving Ammas alone with the documents and his astonishment.

Denisius and Vos returned to the Scholar's Rest right before the dinner hour. Ammas had already spoken to the innkeeper's wife, and so a fine meal of venison steaks, greens, and sweet cheese was waiting for them on their arrival. They had set to with a will, but there was little conversation for a time.

"Why so quiet, Ammas?" Vos said, taking a long sip of ale. "Are you that grieved to be seeing the back of us?"

"No," Ammas said, shifting in his seat. "Just thinking. I had a visitor while you were gone."

"Oh? Who?"

"Varallo Thray."

Denisius and Vos gawped.

"And how did that go?" Denisius said hesitantly.

"Remarkably pleasant, all things considered. He made me an offer from the Emperor." Denisius's amazement only became greater as Ammas described the general outlines of the deal he had made, while keeping back certain details, especially the Emperor's fears the Mourthias might have supplanted him . . . mostly because Ammas considered such fears ludicrous, and didn't care to have Vos contradict him. The longer he spoke the more Vos chuckled and smirked.

"Great gods," Denisius said when Ammas had concluded. "So you're to be a legal cursewright again. I never thought to see it happen."

"Nor did I," Ammas replied, sipping his wine. A pleasant warmth had suffused his body, and he realized he was on the edge of becoming drunk. Reluctantly he exchanged his wine for water.

"The Emperor sought our silence too," Vos said. "In exchange for milord's new status."

"Who would have imagined losing his wife would put him in such a munificent frame of mind?" Denisius said acidly, and drained his mug.

"Speaking of which, I suppose I should tell you directly I won't be charging Marhollow for my services," Ammas said with a slight smile. "Consider it a favor for a friend."

"I'll do that," Denisius grinned. "But I'm sure that new fat purse of yours has something to do with it."

They all laughed at that, but Vos most of all. "I told you, didn't I, Deni? I told you Thray had some plot in mind. And now look. A cursewright restored to his position, the princess cured, Swiftfoot destroyed, a more suitable lord in line for the prefecture of Marhollow -- why, I would bet he'd have infected Carala himself if he'd known it would lead to all this."

"I doubt that," Ammas said gravely. "Losing the Empress-Consort? I don't think that was part of his plan."

"I think it was inevitable," Denisius murmured. Ammas and he had argued this from time to time, and to his surprise the cursewright had mostly come around to seeing it the same way.

"Maybe not," Vos said, refilling his tankard. "But getting a cursewright back in the Emperor's graces -- and specifically getting you in his graces, Ammas -- I imagine he's been contriving to make that happen for years."

"It wouldn't surprise me," Ammas muttered, and decided for another glass of wine after all.

They spoke of many things over dinner, but Denisius and Vos could not stay long: they had a carriage to Gallowsport waiting for them, and a ship to make. When the meal was done Denisius rose and offered his hand. Ammas took it with a smile. "It's been an education getting to know you, Ammas, and an honor. Perhaps you'll come to Marhollow sometime."

"I hope you don't need my services, Lord Marhollow, but if you ever do, you have only to write to Munazyr and I will be on the next carriage."

"Good," Denisius said. "Oh! Carala asked me to give you her regards. She was very sorry she couldn't come with us, but they're watching her like a hawk at the Palace. She wanted you to have this." Denisius drew from his tunic a small wooden box. Ammas took it curiously, but pocketed it, unsure if it might be something meant for his eyes alone.

"Safe journey to you both," he said as they departed. For a moment in his empty room he felt a terrible loneliness, a desolation such as he hadn't known since the Academies were broken and his family destroyed. A foolish sentiment; he was in a better situation than he had been in years. But nonetheless it disturbed him, and he found himself pacing restlessly as Saya rose high in the sky, its light harmless now. Gazing up at the white moon, he tugged from his pocket the box Carala had sent to him, peering into it curiously as he undid the clasp.

The ruby bracelet gleamed up at him. No other message was to be found. Ammas turned the bauble over in his fingers, looking now from the moon to the sleeping city beyond his window. For a long while he sat there, toying with the bracelet, glancing into the streets, his thoughts in a hundred places at once as he considered his newfound position.

By the time the clocks struck midnight, he realized there was really only one thought dominating his mind: he was waiting to see if Carala would visit him. That was an even more absurd notion than the pointless forlorn dolor he had felt upon seeing Denisius and Vos leave. Cursing himself for a lovestruck fool, he rose from the chair and began packing up his things. The journey to Munazyr was a long one, and he had an apprentice and a business to look after. There was nothing to be gained by lingering in this mourning city. By dawn he was on his way, sinking into a restful sleep as his carriage jostled its way south toward the Straits of Twilight.