Chương 113: 46-1. Embassy

The banquet was held in a long hall toward the rear of Cliffhold's inner palace. Calling it a dining hall was generous. It was more accurately a venue specifically designed for people to die with impeccable posture. The long table was draped in snow-white linen, silverware polished to a mirror finish, candelabras stacked in ascending tiers that illuminated every face with the kind of dignity usually reserved for posthumous portraits.

The tapestries covering the walls depicted battle scenes from the old king's southern campaigns—dragonfire, lances, fallen banners, all woven with meticulous detail, as if specifically designed to remind me that the Empire had always maintained an excellent tradition of sending young people to distant places to be thoroughly incinerated. Following the attendant through the doors, my first thought was that this meal was going to be expensive.

My second thought was that the more expensive something was in this place, the more reliably it tended to be lethal. Varen III was already seated at the head of the table, posture conspicuously relaxed—as if he couldn't be bothered to arrange every imperial vertebra into its designated position. One hand rested casually on the chair arm while the other turned a wine glass, listening to Chancellor Gilbert speak beside him.

Commander Galerus stood at his right rear, silent as a wall that had quietly acquired the ability to draw a sword. That type of person was profoundly unsettling—one look at him made it clear that if you misspoke tonight, you probably wouldn't get to compose your own final words. Olivia and Alvira were seated toward the front, positions that announced they were considered part of the inner circle. Lucas sat further along the outer edge, shoulders held with the controlled tension of an unsheathed blade.

Matthews sat with the immovable steadiness of a veteran who had eaten worse meals under worse emperors. Adeline's expression was perfectly composed, but her eyes were sharper than the silver knives on the table. Kuroga sat at the far end with hands folded and eyes closed, looking as if he had already preemptively recited funeral rites for the entire table and was simply waiting to see who would need them first. Jessi stood slightly behind my position, breathing lightly, behaving with suspicious thoroughness.

So thoroughly that I almost wanted to applaud. Every time you decided to behave, I knew with absolute certainty that disaster was imminent—I just didn't know whose funeral it would be. The attendant announced my name in drawn-out ceremonial tones, as if I were not a person but a new course being presented before the main meal—still slightly rare. I stepped forward and bowed.

"Your servant Cedric presents himself before Your Majesty."

"Rise." Varen III studied me for a moment, then smiled.

"This isn't a morning audience. No need to fold yourself like someone who owes the Ministry of Internal Affairs three generations of back taxes. Sit." I expressed gratitude and took my seat—close enough for the emperor to address me directly, far enough that I couldn't pretend to be furniture. The ideal distance for watching someone die with perfect visibility. Before the first course was even fully served, Varen III opened the conversation.

"You made quite a spectacle in the audience hall today." I nearly choked on air. It was delivered in the tone of a pleasant familial inquiry, with content sufficient to make a person swallow their fork.

"Your Majesty," I said, lowering my head, "that was never my intention."

"I know." He swirled the wine in his glass with casual ease.

"The most spectacular affairs are almost always caused by people who had no such intention." Several people at the table didn't laugh. The rest trapped their amusement in their throats, giving the hall the atmosphere of dying ducks exercising extreme self-control. Gilbert supplied the follow-up with characteristic frost: "Some people attract attention as a natural condition. No effort required." I very much wanted to suggest that burial would solve the problem—it was quieter underground.

But considering that underground might not actually be safer than this table, I held my tongue. Varen III showed no inclination to rush toward any main point. He proceeded as if this were genuinely a warm family dinner, asking Lucas whether the northern snow had blocked roads earlier than last year, asking Matthews if his old knee injury still predicted rain, asking Kuroga whether he continued to abstain from meat and wine.

He even turned to Adeline to inquire whether the newly assigned clerical unit could actually read human language. Each question was trivial, like an emperor who had developed a sudden whimsical interest in confirming his subordinates were still breathing. Which was precisely why the cold at the back of my neck kept intensifying. Because the truly dangerous emperors are never the ones who pound tables.

They are the ones with enough leisure to observe exactly which utensil each person plans to use before they start cutting. When he reached me, he looked over with mild curiosity.

"The new Rosa heir. Are you finding the palace agreeable?" Stolen story; please report. The question was thinner than any blade on the table.

"By Your Majesty's grace, everything is quite satisfactory."

"Quite satisfactory?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I rather thought these past few days had been productive. A family name recovered, a reputation established. A few more days and perhaps you'll even grow the rest of your courage." My teeth ached, but I bowed with perfect deference.

"Your servant has never been particularly courageous."

"That I believe." Varen III smiled with great warmth.

"Those with genuine courage don't usually survive long enough to sit in that chair." Alvira kept her eyes down, as if afraid that looking up might result in something being thrown into the royal wine glass. Olivia remained utterly composed, fingers resting against her cup, not a flicker of expression out of place. That kind of stillness was deeply unpleasant—I knew she was calculating. She was always calculating.

Jessi stood exactly where she was, motionless and silent, so well-behaved she might have been mistaken for someone who hadn't personally detonated an entire audience hall earlier. That particular performance was the worst kind—like driving in a knife and then politely wiping the blade clean. By the second course, conversation had finally migrated toward something resembling official business.

Gilbert raised matters of obstructed northern trade routes, unusual vessel sightings off the coast, and dispatches from border stations that weren't entirely clean reading. Lucas contributed brief, precise comments, pressing the words "Yansha Empire" into the table so no one could miss who was sharpening knives offshore. Matthews made a sound low in his throat.

"Those dogs from the southeast have always had keen noses." Kuroga opened his eyes.

"When dogs smell blood, they always come." The atmosphere settled a degree lower. I said nothing, simply observing that this meal was beginning to resemble the final incense before an execution. Varen III, characteristically, showed no urgency. He tapped his plate once with a silver spoon—barely audible, yet somehow ringing in everyone's skull simultaneously.

"The Yansha Empire has been restless of late," he said.

"Restless things tend to benefit from being settled." The sentence was addressed to everyone and no one in particular. It definitely wasn't meant for the food. Gilbert set down his wine glass, finally condensing the cold tension into a complete sentence.

"The Northern Reaches, coastal defense, supply lines, and the inner court—we cannot afford to disperse either forces or attention. Should the Dragon Kingdom in the south stir at this juncture, it would not serve the Empire's interests." The Dragon Kingdom in the south. Those words made something tighten in my chest, followed by the instinct that this was heading nowhere pleasant. In court settings, when someone mentions a distant land in mild dinner conversation, they're never proposing tourism.

Varen III seemed to recall that the evening's main course remained unserved. He set down his utensils and let his gaze travel the length of the table. In that instant, everyone went quiet. Even the candlelight seemed to draw itself in.

"Gentlemen and ladies," he said, tone as mild as a weather observation, "there is a matter I intend to settle before this evening concludes." The back of my neck went numb. This was the sensation I always got when my luck finally ran out—like someone politely lifting a coffin lid just enough for me to check the interior dimensions. Varen III's gaze came to rest on me.

"Cedric." I rose.

"Your servant is present."

"Now that your bloodline has been formally recognized by our word, your standing established, it is fitting that you render the Empire a service commensurate with that position." He paused, something that could charitably be called a benevolent smile touching his lips.

"The Dragon Kingdom in the south has seen unceasing conflict in recent months. Internal factions remain deadlocked. We intend to dispatch you bearing our imperial letter, to travel south as envoy and mediate the dispute on the Empire's behalf." The entire table went so quiet it might have briefly died. I stood there with the distinct impression that I was tonight's third course and the lid had just been lifted. He had phrased it beautifully. Envoy. Imperial letter. Mediate on the Empire's behalf.

Translated into plain language: You go. Don't die too quickly. Ideally, keep them occupied for us. Varen III continued, voice unhurried, every word carrying its full weight.

"If you succeed in brokering peace, that is a distinguished achievement. If you cannot—at minimum, you will give us a clear picture of how much reason and how much savagery remains among the southern nobility." Lucas's brow shifted slightly—he had grasped the real weight. Olivia raised her eyes, expression still level, but her knuckles tightened fractionally. Alvira looked directly at me, gaze cold as someone taking burial measurements. Adeline said nothing, but her silence was louder than most exclamations.

Matthews cut his meat with more force than before, as if rehearsing on behalf of someone not yet departed. Kuroga closed his eyes, apparently accepting that the world was about to contain one fewer innocent soul. Jessi made no sound. But I knew she understood. You always heard the unsaid half of every sentence. The emperor wasn't sending me south to build a distinguished career—he was sending me to occupy a distant, troublesome position so he could press the Yansha Empire's head into the mud at his leisure.

And the most elegant part was that the order was entirely legitimate, generously framed, and impossible to object to. Dispatching someone freshly recognized, newly named, and conveniently young enough to be expendable—officially called entrusting with important duty, functionally called clearing the board. Imperial statecraft could be remarkably simple. So simple it almost moved me to spontaneous hemorrhage in tribute. I swallowed the absurdity and bowed.

"Your servant…accepts the commission."

"Good." Varen III nodded like a man stamping a long-overdue document.

"I knew you would not disappoint us." That nearly made me laugh. Not disappointing him and not dying ahead of schedule were usually mutually exclusive objectives. Gilbert delivered the final stroke with characteristic mildness.

"The envoy's credentials, accompanying roster, logistical provisions, and imperial letter will be prepared within three days." Three days. The Empire wasn't even planning to be sentimental about my departure. The efficiency was so impressive I nearly wanted to commission a monument. Varen III lifted his wine glass and looked at me, eyes still smiling—thin as the first layer of ice on a winter river.

"Come then, everyone. To the Empire's newly recognized Rosa heir, and to the envoy who will shortly depart for the south." The full table raised their glasses. I raised mine. The wine caught the candlelight in the silver cup, reflecting a face still reasonably young and not yet entirely dead. Presentable enough that you might not immediately notice it had just been elegantly packaged by an emperor and addressed for southern delivery. When I drank, there was only one thought: This is excellent wine.

It would taste considerably better if it weren't being used to see me off.