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Magyaria, he had been pushing Allesandra to reconcile with her son. She had always pushed such hints aside angrily. But now . . . “You still have three decades and more to match her,” Sergei said. “Ask the historians how troubled her first several years were if you don’t already know. You can still be her, if that’s what you want. There’s plenty of time.”
    “I appreciate the sentiment.”
    “And you don’t believe me.”
    “I know what you’re going to say next, Sergei. You needn’t bother. We shouldn’t try to delude ourselves at this stage, not about anything.” She patted his hand again. “What’s my legacy to be? I’m Kraljica Allesandra, who betrayed her own child to take the Sun Throne—isn’t that what they’ll say of me? Kraljica Allesandra, who—if I were to make the Holdings whole again—would have to destroy her own offspring to do it. Kraljica Allesandra, who made a mistake backing Stor ca’Vikej and nearly plunged us into full war with the Coalition.”
    “Make sure that you don’t make another mistake with Stor’s son.” He went too far with that; the glance she shot him was as keen as the knife on his belt. He hurried to speak again. “It’s too early in the morning to be this maudlin, and neither one of us is drunk enough.”
    He was relieved to hear her laugh once through her nose, her mouth closed. “Karl’s dead. I don’t know what it is about his death that’s hit me more than all the others, but it has. I’m feeling suddenly mortal. Sergei, I haven’t seen my own son in five years; he only talks to me through you, my friend. He sits on an opposing throne. He calls me his enemy. Meanwhile, I’ve done little with the Sun Throne except to try to repair the damage the Westlanders caused.”
    “Maudlin,” Sergei repeated. “Let’s have the servants bring us some wine, so at least we have an excuse.”
    “It’s not a joke.”
    “Oh, but it is, Allesandra. It’s just not funny to us. But Cénzi no doubt finds it tremendously amusing. As for mortality—look at me.” He spread his hands wide. “I’ve been feeling it for a long time. In fact, it’s a wonder that I’m still moving at all. Compared to me, you’ve no room for complaint. You still have all your teeth. And your nose.” He tapped his own false nose with a fingernail so that it rang metallically. He saw her fighting a smile, which made him grin himself. “As for your son,” he continued, “I’ll talk to him when I’m next in Brezno. I’ve suggested this before, as you know: maybe it’s time the two of you sat down together, to see if you can come to an understanding. He does love and respect you, Allesandra, even if he won’t say it.”
    “He has a strange way of demonstrating it. How many border skirmishes have there been, and more numerous now than ever since the debacle in West Magyaria? He thought that he’d give me the Sun Throne and watch the Holdings continue to fall apart. That’s what he wanted.”
    “And instead you’ve kept the Holdings together,” Sergei answered, “which is what I’ve been trying to point out to you. The Holdings have survived, despite the fact that without your guiding presence the various countries would have broken away or let the Coalition absorb them. You very nearly brought West Magyaria back to the Holdings.”
    “And that angers my son.”
    “Perhaps,” Sergei admitted. “But it also makes Jan respect you, however grudgingly.”
    “You think so?”
    “I know so,” he told her. It was a lie, but he was used to lying and he did it convincingly.
    He could use this. He could twist it to his advantage.
    Later. For now, he patted Allesandra’s hand, and he smiled again at her. “Let me talk with Jan,” he repeated. “And we’ll see.”

     

Jan ca’Ostheim
     
    J AN WASN’T CERTAIN that he could believe the story. “She’s here in Brezno again? Are you certain ?”
    Commandant Eris cu’Bloch of the Garde Brezno nodded, stroking one