The God-Touched Man

Chapter One

No one knew where the smell came from. It was pungent, like old sweat and sour milk, faint but unmistakable, and it wafted through the halls of the Ministry of Home Defense on the breezes generated by doors opening and closing. It had struck Piercy in the face when he arrived that morning, then faded into the background. But when he entered his immediate superior’s office, the draft from the door stirred it up again and made him hastily scrabble for his fine linen handkerchief.

Surely someone must be able to do something about that noxious odor, he said, dabbing his watery eyes. Though I realize I have been saying as much for the best part of six years, so my assertion probably means nothing.

The latest theory is that it’s imaginary, Levin Karastis said. He pushed his window open farther, letting in the fresh smell of the lilacs blooming in a hedge between the Ministry and Horseshoe Road. That being associated with the government has driven us all mad.

I was unaware there was such a thing as an olfactory hallucination. There would seem to be no cure for it, then.

You should ask that magician friend of yours, that Lorantis fellow. Isn’t he supposed to be some kind of genius?

Evon Lorantis is, in fact, the best kind of genius, which is to say his magical prowess supports him and his family comfortably and puts him beyond the reach of our budget. And I have asked him to put his prodigious mind to the problem previously. After many hours for which he did not bill me, he suggested we burn the place to the ground and start anew. I declined to present this solution to the ministers.

He wouldn’t be the first to want to set the damned place on fire. Karastis fanned the air with his hand, trying to draw more of the delicately scented air indoors. Well, if there’s nothing for it, we just have to endure. Have a seat.

Piercy sat in the rickety, spindle-legged chair that rocked as if all its legs were different lengths and regarded his superior. Karastis sat behind his desk and leaned back, making his own chair squeak. He was a nearly spherical man with a round, balding head and thick fingers who gave the impression of being jovially incompetent. It was an image he’d taken pains to cultivate, concealing his keen intellect and cunning nature. He had been Piercy’s immediate supervisor for six years and had taught him half of what he knew about being other than what he seemed. The rest Piercy had learned from following Evon Lorantis through seven years at Houndston School. The world saw Piercy as a fop and a dandy, which suited him as well as Karastis’s incompetent exterior suited him.

Guess why I’ve called you here today, Karastis said. He interlaced his fingers and extended his arms to make his joints pop. Piercy shuddered. The sound never failed to make his skin crawl.

You intend to give me the promotion I have been so long and unjustly denied, he said.

Close.

"The Ministry is promoting you and I am to be your aide-de-camp, or whatever it is one calls a personal assistant that sounds more respectable than ‘personal assistant.’"

I haven’t sinned so greatly against the Gods as to deserve either of those things. Guess again.

You intend to assign me to protect a lovely young woman of appropriate age who will appreciate my skills in an appropriate and socially acceptable manner.

"You have sinned against the Gods so greatly you don’t deserve that. Piercy, I’m sorry to tell you that you and I will no longer be working together."

The bottom fell out of Piercy’s stomach. You—the Ministry is terminating my employment.

No, not at all. The Ministry’s very pleased with your work. It’s been five years, but no one has forgotten your role in the defeat of the Despot. Since that time, you’ve continued to demonstrate quick thinking and keen analysis in all your assignments. And more to the point, you’ve developed a public persona that’s enough at odds with your true self that no one outside this Ministry—hah, and quite a few within it—believes you to be anything but a frivolous man about town whose ability to charm those of the fairer sex is legendary.

And yet I’m to—legendary, did you say?

Pay attention, Piercy. You’re being transferred to the Foreign Office.

Astonishment robbed Piercy of his well-bred manners. "I’m what?"

Tedoratis requested you personally.

I cannot believe Wilfreya Tedoratis knows my name, let alone considers me worthy to work in the Foreign Office. I understand the application examination has reduced strong men and women to weeping puddles of tortured humanity.

Not something you need to worry about. The transfer’s already been approved. You’ll start tomorrow.

That’s abrupt.

Tedoratis is a decisive lady. She’ll keep you hopping like the elegant little grasshopper you are.

I— Piercy realized he’d crushed his handkerchief into a ball and stuffed it carelessly into his frock coat pocket. This is better than a promotion, Levin.

I know. Karastis leaned forward and extended his hand. I won’t say I’m happy to see you go, Piercy, but with the war over and our neighbors rebuilding their countries, the Foreign Office is where the action is. You deserve it.

Thank you. Piercy shook his no-longer-superior’s hand. I’ll drop by occasionally, shall I?

And I expect to see you at the club now and then. Good luck.

Outside, sheltered from view by the hedge of flowering lilacs, Piercy settled his gray top hat, shifted his grip on the hawk-headed walking stick that concealed any number of surprises, and paused before stepping out into Horseshoe Road. It was better than a promotion. The Foreign Office handled all aspects of Dalanine’s relations with its neighbors, most of whom had been at least in part occupied by the Despot and were only just regaining a measure of self-governance as the tyrant’s rule gradually fell apart. To the uninformed observer, the Foreign Office was all about parties and receptions and the glittering lives of the wealthy and connected, but its true nature involved clandestine affairs and meetings in dark alleys and, in a word, spying. Piercy Faranter, man of two identities, would fit in perfectly.

He left Horseshoe Road for Prince Boulevard, where stores fronted with plate glass displayed the finest wares from all over the country and a few others besides. Piercy slowed to examine a mustard-colored waistcoat that would perfectly coordinate with his second-best evening frock coat. He didn’t exactly need a new waistcoat, but reason not the need, eh?

Out of habit he focused briefly on the reflection of the street behind him. He’d only once or twice caught someone following him this way, but there was no sense letting down one’s guard. He strolled along the Boulevard, holding his walking stick so it didn’t swing. It was unlikely anyone observing him would guess its weight simply by the way it hung, but Piercy never liked giving up an advantage, however small it might be.

He turned onto a side street lined with birch trees competing with the houses to see who could reach the sky first. The tall, narrow houses with their brightly colored front doors stood close together, separated by spaces so small surely nothing could fit into those cracks. The builders might just as well have given the houses communal walls, for all the privacy those gaps afforded.

He took the stairs of the third house on the right two at a time, rapped on the red door with the hawk head of his cane, then pushed the door open without waiting for an invitation. Evon? he called out, removing his hat. If you are not home, then you are shamefully lax in your security measures. I might have been a thief.

No answer. The door on the right leading to the dining room was closed. The door to Evon’s study stood ajar. Evon? Piercy said, pushing the door open further.

Evon Lorantis sat in his swivel chair, facing the door. He raised one finger to his lips, signaling silence. Piercy glanced around the room. It was in its usual state of creative disorder, one bookcase haphazardly filled with books, the other crammed with an assortment of objects Evon used in his research. He refused to organize anything, saying chaos created inspiration. A stuffed lamb lay on the floor at Evon’s feet next to a crumpled red blanket with fraying edges.

Evon inclined his head toward the closet door, which was also ajar. Piercy looked in that direction in time to see a tow-headed child emerge from the closet at a run.

Evon swiveled and flicked up his hands. "Desini cucurri!" he said, and the child, laughing, fell forward to land on her stomach. She rolled onto her back and kicked her legs, which were as rigid as if they’d been strapped together. Evon got out of his chair and lifted the little girl by both her feet, swinging her as if she were a bell with her dress falling down over her face, then caught her and sat back in the chair with her on his lap. "Sepera," he said, running a hand down her legs, and her knees unlocked.

I was under the impression Mistress Gavranter had you working on something to do with ambient cooling, Piercy said, but this is strangely domestic.

Wisty has the day off, and Kerensa is busy on campus, Evon said, so I’m working from home today. Though you can see not a lot of work is getting done.

The little girl squirmed off her father’s lap and ran to Piercy, flinging herself at his legs and gripping them so tightly she might have been a mobile desini cucurri. Livian, my sweet, Piercy said, bending to pick her up, and how many hearts have you captivated this week?

Piercy! Livian exclaimed. Want your hat!

You may have it with my blessing, Piercy said, dropping it onto her head where it promptly fell over her eyes. It suits you better than it does me.

Livian, show Piercy what you can do, Evon said.

Livian shoved the hat to the back of her head and pressed a couple of chubby fingers together. "Presadi," she enunciated, and a glitteringly iridescent bubble about two inches in diameter appeared in the air between them. Livian grabbed it and hugged it to her chest; it compressed, but didn’t pop.

Impressive, Piercy said, looking at Evon, who had the smug look of a parent who knows his child is brilliant.

I’m not plotting out her future career yet, but she shows promise, he said. Or she might be content to make unbreakable soap bubbles for the rest of her life. Right now I’ve got a stack of the things in a box in her room. They make excellent toys.

I would congratulate you on your frugality had I not seen the enormous dollhouse you purchased for her three weeks ago, Piercy said. I was almost convinced to set up house in it myself.

Evon mock-scowled at him. She needed something her stuffed toys could use to stage raids on Murakot’s castle, he said. Though I’m not sure what to make of the fact that she’s named all of them Carall. Possibly because she can’t pronounce Wystylth.

I must say, Lore, your children will have the most unusual childhoods.

But exciting, you must admit.

Decidedly that.

The front door opened. Where are my two favorite people? Kerensa called out.

"Mama!" Livian said, and struggled to get down, thrusting the bubble at Piercy. He lowered her to the floor and she ran out of the room, arms outstretched.

Oof! All right, sweetheart, you know Mama can’t lift you. Kerensa pushed the door open, walking awkwardly with Livian clamped to her left leg. Her enormous belly threw her further off-balance, and she smiled gratefully at Piercy when he put his hand on her elbow for support. "I see my three favorite people are here," she said.

I’m honored to be part of that group, my dear, Piercy said.

You’re back early, Evon said, advancing to kiss his wife and remove their child from her leg. Livian made a noise of protest, and Evon took her by the feet and dangled her upside down again, bouncing her until she giggled.

That can’t be healthy for her, Evon, Kerensa said, smoothing her dress over her stomach and sighing.

It never hurt me, he pointed out, but he set Livian gently on the floor. Are you feeling well?

I feel fine, she said. Tired, but that’s because I’ve been running around campus all day. Three more days, and it will all be over.

And four more days and we’ll be on the coach for Inveros and a well-deserved holiday, Evon said.

"And we will all respectfully address you as Mistress Lorantis," Piercy said.

I admit it sounds strange to me, Kerensa said. I don’t think anyone else in Elkenhound even considered going to university, let alone for the advanced degree. Livian, sweetheart, let’s go have your dinner and then a nap.

Don’t want it!

A nap for me and the baby. You can keep us company if you want. Piercy, are you joining us for dinner?

I would be happy to, my dear. Piercy swept up his hat from where it had fallen from Livian’s head. If it’s not an imposition.

Of course not! I’ll be back as soon as Livian is A-S-L-E-E-P. She took Livian by the hand and let the girl drag her out of the room.

Lore, almost you convince me to become a family man, Piercy said. He moved a stack of old newspapers to the floor, dusted the seat of the chair thus revealed, and sat.

I told you I’d stop nagging you about settling down, Evon said, resuming his seat in the swivel chair, but I think you’ve just given me tacit permission to do so.

I did no such thing. And I’m not even thirty yet. I am hardly in my dotage, dear fellow.

You’re one of the lone holdouts of our class at Houndston. Do you really expect me to believe you’re content with a series of flirtations?

You forgot to add ‘meaningless’ to your criticism, Evon.

Evon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. That was thoughtless. I’m sorry.

I appreciate your concern, I truly do. And if I ever meet a woman with as much grace and character as Kerensa, I promise to sweep her off her feet before she can object to my carefree and whimsical manners.

All right. I swear it’s the last time I’ll bring it up. But I’m curious about what brings you here in the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be at your office?

Ah, Piercy said. He tried to keep a serious demeanor, but a slow smile made its way across his face. I am, in fact, no longer employed by Home Defense.

Piercy! They didn’t fire you, did they?

Not at all. I’ve been transferred to the Foreign Office.

Evon looked as stunned as Piercy had felt when Karastis delivered the news. That’s fantastic, Piercy! Congratulations!

Thank you, dear fellow. I admit to no small pleasure at this development myself.

What will you be doing?

I have no idea, but I can’t imagine any of it will be boring. Wilfreya Tedoratis asked for me personally, Evon. Who knows what that could mean for my career?

Again, I’m impressed. Do you suppose she wants you as her personal assistant?

Or whatever it is one calls a personal assistant that sounds more respectable than ‘personal assistant.’ That had occurred to me, yes, but I do not intend to begin counting the eggs I do not have in my basket. Not that I have ever come within a mile of a chicken that was not baked, broiled, roasted, or fried.

Then I’ll anticipate for you. Evon stood and bowed in the direction of the door. Shall we see if dinner is served? Coincidentally, I believe it’s roast chicken.

That sounds delicious, Piercy said, rising to follow him. But I believe every meal is more delicious when it is prepared by someone else.

Chapter Two

"Faranter!"

Piercy closed his eyes and ground his back teeth together. He summoned his most charming smile and went down the narrow hall to push open the door at its end. Yes, Miss Tedoratis? he said.

Wilfreya Tedoratis waved a sheet of paper at him. I need these things done before tonight’s gala. See to it, will you? And bring me a cup of tea. Milk, no sugar.

Of course, Miss Tedoratis. Piercy took the sheet of paper and bowed, then closed the door gently behind him. Instead of going to the great room for tea, he went back into the tiny room he’d been given for an office, its walls papered over in narrow blue stripes that peeled at the ceiling. He sat down on the edge of his desk rather than go to the trouble of worming his way between desk and wall to sit in his chair. It wasn’t much of a chair, being old and wobbly, but he was intimately familiar with the thing after nearly two weeks of doing not much more than sitting in it.

Two weeks of being Wilfreya Tedoratis’s errand runner. Two weeks of delivering messages too sensitive to be given to the post, two weeks of picking up orders, many of which were Tedoratis’s personal business and not that of the Foreign Office. Two weeks of fetching tea—he didn’t actually need to be told how to make it, because she always took it the same way, milk, no sugar. It had nearly put him off tea entirely.

The Foreign Office had its headquarters in a delicate fairy castle that stood immediately adjacent to the Dalanese palace, all white spires and towers like spun sugar. It had formerly been a residence for some royal sister or cousin, but security during the years of the war had meant housing the entire royal family within the much more defensible palace, and no one had wanted to live in the little castle when the restrictions were relaxed. Wilfreya Tedoratis had turned it into a secondary reception hall, and now most evenings it glowed with light as foreign dignitaries and Dalanine’s most prominent citizens passed within its golden doors. Foreign dignitaries, prominent citizens, and Piercy Faranter, conversing with the wealthy and noble and demonstrating his dancing skills to appreciative young ladies. He’d thought.

The first hint he’d had that things were nothing like what he’d expected was walking through the glorious entry chamber of the spun-sugar palace. The hall smelled of nothing but clean air and roses. Its red velvet carpets, gleaming brass fittings, and the crystal chandelier that lit the whole place more brightly than noonday were exactly as he’d imagined. What he hadn’t imagined was being directed to a door that led to corridors identical to those of the Ministry of Home Defense, minus the smell.

He’d discovered a warren of claustrophobic hallways and tiny offices, most of them occupied by busy people doing mysterious things with paper, then stumbled on a slightly larger room where the teapots lived, and just as he was afraid his memory wouldn’t be good enough to take him back out again, he’d come upon Tedoratis’s office. It wasn’t much bigger than the others, but had a window through which the back of the palace was visible. Piercy’s office barely had light fixtures, though at least they were magically-lit bulbs and not old-fashioned gas lamps.

Nothing about this assignment was what he’d expected. He hadn’t attended a single social event, hadn’t even been asked to sit in on a meeting in which they discussed the future of Dalanine’s relations with its neighbors. He was nothing but the best-dressed errand boy in Matra.

He glanced over the paper and ground his teeth again. Collect message from contact in Southolm. Return books to library. Pick up—

Oh, no, Piercy said. No. I have my limits. He realized he’d crushed the paper in his hand, began to flatten it out, then swore and crushed it again. In seconds he was down the hall, thrusting open the door, and saying with some vehemence, Miss Tedoratis, I will not—

Tedoratis looked up inquiringly. Beside her, Halen Johalter, deputy minister of the Foreign Office, broke off whatever he was saying and raised his eyebrows at the interruption. Piercy swallowed hard.

Miss Tedoratis, he repeated. Then, more firmly, he said, I have done my best to satisfy your instructions, however unrelated to my position they were. I have said nothing about how I believe my talents are being wasted. But when those instructions include my purchasing a large assortment of chocolates to be delivered in the Princess’s name to her current inamorato, I must with some vehemence protest. I am not an errand runner, Miss Tedoratis, and if you were led to believe that is my greatest talent, I apologize for the misunderstanding, but if that is all I will ever be in the Foreign Office, I must regretfully tender my resignation.

Tedoratis leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her. Resignation, eh? You think you know better than I do what your responsibilities should be?

I do not pretend to understand the workings of this department. I am, however, acutely conscious of my own capabilities, and I am certain they extend far beyond making a perfect cup of tea, milk, no sugar.

Tedoratis eyed Johalter. What’s the date, Halen?

Don’t rub it in, Frey. Johalter dug in his trousers pocket and came up with a couple of silver coins he slapped into Tedoratis’s outstretched hand. Tedoratis closed her fingers over them and smiled at Piercy, amusement lighting her eyes.

Piercy Faranter, you do not disappoint, she said. Twelve days exactly. Any sooner than that, and I would have known you were too impatient for this position; any later, and I’d have known you were too subservient. Have a seat.

I beg your pardon? Piercy said.

Sit down, Faranter, you passed the test, Johalter said. I wagered you’d hold out for another three days. This is why you should never gamble with Frey; she never wagers where she knows she’ll lose.

You were testing me? Piercy said. He fumbled behind him for a chair and sat, unable to take his eyes off Tedoratis’s smile.

A stellar reputation is all very well, Tedoratis said, but this office doesn’t deal in fantasy, it deals in fact. And while you may be an excellent swordsman, a brilliant strategist, and capable of charming the birds off the trees, to succeed in the Foreign Office you must also have extraordinary patience and just the right balance of humility and confidence. You are accustomed to standing out, but sometimes we will want you to blend in. You’ll need to be able to carry out orders for which you see no reason—though that won’t happen often, because our agents are expected to operate independently, which means knowing all the details of an assignment and how it affects the larger picture.

She stood and extended her hand. Mr. Faranter, she said, welcome to the Foreign Office.

Piercy, still in a daze, shook her hand. Thank you, he said. Does this mean I will no longer occupy that oversized hatbox masquerading as an office?

No, I’m afraid that’s yours, Tedoratis said. Don’t worry, you won’t be spending much time in it anymore. What do you know of modern Santerre?

"Modern Santerre? Ah…conquered by the Despot in the late war, overthrew the occupying forces thanks to the efforts of a strong resistance movement. I’m afraid I know little of their recent history—I’m more familiar with their past."

You’ll need to know more than that. Off to the library, Faranter, and to the newspaper offices. I want you intimately familiar with the recent history of Santerre, its current politics, its culture, and especially the royal family. Be prepared to report to me in the Helibater Room the morning after tomorrow.

Of course, Miss Tedoratis. A real assignment! Research, yes, but with the promise of something grander, because Piercy had no doubt Tedoratis knew all about Santerre already and was preparing him for something that required the same knowledge. Thank you.

Don’t thank me for giving you work, Tedoratis said, but she was smiling again. And don’t enter my office so explosively again. You’re only allowed one burst of righteous indignation and you’ve had yours.

Certainly, Miss Tedoratis. Of course not. Piercy closed her door carefully behind him and walked at a normal pace back to his tiny office, shut the door, and allowed himself a moment of silent cheering. Finally he could do the work he’d been promised! He gathered up his coat, matching hat, and stick and managed not to dance all the way out of the building. Library, then newspaper. This was going to be a marvelous day.

The Helibater Room, with its cream-colored walls and maple wainscoting, looked more like a drawing room plucked out of a hundred-year-old mansion than…Piercy’s imagination, fettered by how muggy the air was and how close he was to breaking into a sweat, failed at this point. He swallowed hard and resisted the urge to straighten his already perfectly-tied cravat.

Santerre was one of Dalanine’s closest allies, he said, until the Despot’s occupation of the country. The Santerran government applied to Dalanine for military aid when the Despot’s armies invaded, but… How blunt could he be, here?

He looked out over the assembled men and women who ran the Foreign Office and swallowed again. Tedoratis had implied he would be meeting with her personally; she hadn’t said the entire department staff would be there as well. He didn’t know what Tedoratis would think if he blurted out Dalanine dithered about sending the troops until it was too late, let alone to these eight strangers, any of whom might well be among the ditherers. There was some disagreement as to what form that aid might take, and the Despot moved with rather more alacrity than expected, so we were unable to assist Santerre in their fight.

Very diplomatic of you, said a portly man sitting about halfway down the table, whose shining surface imperfectly reflected the lamp hung low above it. Go on.

Dalanine was not prepared to declare war on the Despot, Piercy said, swallowing We were too timid to defend our allies, but covertly sent arms and other material aid to the resistance movement that sprang up after the invasion. These men and women fought against the satraps installed by the Despot to rule, until—

Now he really didn’t know what to say. He knew why the Despot had stopped maintaining his conquests, because Piercy had been involved in the discovery of the ancient parasitic entity that had taken over the Despot, as well as its ultimate destruction by Evon, Kerensa, and four legendary heroes. Tedoratis might know the truth, but if the rest didn’t, he didn’t want to be the one who revealed the secret.

Until a year before the Despot’s defeat, when Dalanine finally went to war against him and joined forces with the Santerrans. After that, it took the Santerrans three years to overthrow the last of the Despot’s satraps— not accepting our help, because they justifiably resented us for essentially allowing the Despot to conquer them— and since that time they have been rebuilding their country.

Thank you, Mr. Faranter, you may have a seat, Tedoratis said. Five days ago we received word the Santerrans are finally sending a delegation to discuss relations between our countries. I’m sure you all know how important this is. We made mistakes—

Who is the ‘we’ in that sentence, Frey? asked a woman seated near Piercy.

There’s no sense dwelling on the past, Tedoratis said. The faction within the government that caviled at the idea of involving Dalanine in what they believed was nothing to do with us no longer has power, and the fact remains that whoever was at the helm, it was Dalanine that acted. Therefore, it is Dalanine who is obliged to extend the hand of friendship and hope not to have it bitten off. We will be polite, ladies and gentlemen, we will be generous, and we will behave in a manner that will encourage Santerre to once again open diplomatic relations with our country—all without admitting to blame in the events of the late war.

That’s giving up a lot, the same woman said.

We need their trade, Aurela, and we need them as a buffer between ourselves and Varanis, one of the men said. He had a long, drooping mustache completely at odds with current fashion; it made Piercy’s upper lip itch just looking at it.

Not that much of a buffer, Aurela said. And I don’t like the idea of bowing to them as if they were our superior.

We can afford to pay lip service to the idea that they’re condescending to us in sending their ambassador and her retinue, said Tedoratis. Especially since the ambassador is the queen’s own sister, Princess Jendaya Hathakuni.

The men and women around the table began murmuring. Unexpected, said Mustache. And indicative of a certain frame of mind.

"They’ll expect us to believe it’s a mark of respect for us, but it’s really demanding we give them respect or they’ll withdraw from negotiations," Aurela said irritably.

Precisely, Tedoratis said. But there’s more. Halen?

Johalter stood up from his seat at the far end of the table. The Santerrans don’t trust us, and with good reason, he said. Ostensibly this embassy is to reestablish diplomatic relations between our countries, and some of that will probably happen. But its real purpose is to investigate our government to discover any hidden agendas we might be pursuing. To that end, the Santerrans are sending their princess incognito, as a member of the ambassadorial retinue. She’ll be disguised as one of the ‘princess’s’ ladies-in-waiting and in that guise will be investigating us. So we’ll want to be sure she sees us at our best.

I take it you know which of the ladies she is, said Aurela.

We do. She’s going by the name Ayane Caligwe and is purportedly a member of a minor noble house, though an old one—Mr. Faranter, what can you tell us about Santerre’s nobles?

Sir, Piercy said, standing again, Santerre’s ruling class was descended from invaders from Libeka, across the southern sea, who took control of the nation some five hundred years ago. Most of their descendants were executed during the Despot’s conquest. The current ruling class comprises the remnants of those noble families, as well as resistance fighters who were given positions in the government by the Queen when she regained her throne. While these men and women are honored because they were willing to give their lives for their country, there remains a deep-seated respect for those who can trace their lineage undiluted to the conquerors. The current ruling house is one of these.

‘Caligwe’ will require careful handling, Joralter said, but naturally we can’t single her out, because we want the Santerrans to think we believe their ruse. So we’ll be giving personal attention to each member of the ambassadorial party. This means we will be pulling agents off other responsibilities to provide this attention.

That is a lot of manpower, Mustache said.

But worth it, Tedoratis said. It’s not overstating things to say this is now the most important responsibility the Foreign Office is tasked with. You’ll be receiving individual instructions for your departments in the coming days, particularly for those personally assigned to the ambassador’s retinue. The Santerran delegation will arrive in ten days. Good luck, and may the Gods bless us all. Mr. Faranter, a word?

Piercy stood and waited while the rest of the men and women filed out. He clasped his hands behind his back to still them and maintained what he hoped was an alert and helpful demeanor. When the room was empty but for him and Tedoratis, his superior said, Sit. Piercy sat.

You performed well, Tedoratis said, taking a chair adjacent to his. But you probably realize I didn’t ask you here just to repeat what most of those people already know.

I had hoped so, yes.

Indeed. Tedoratis leaned forward. I’m assigning you to the princess. The real princess, not the woman the Santerrans are sending to fool us. Caligwe.

You are?