Loki's son

The knock came again.

Lexander looked at Io.

Io looked at the sleeping children.

Then she raised her voice.

“Unless something is burning, tomorrow.”

There was a pause.

“Would that include the south kitchen, Your Majesty?”

Lexander closed his eyes.

Io stared at the door.

“Is the south kitchen burning?”

“No, Your Majesty. I wanted to establish the limit.”

From the corridor came Thor’s laugh.

Lexander got up.

When he opened the door, she stood beside a deeply uncomfortable young servant with a covered tray in his hands.

“I intercepted your supper,” she said. “Apparently neither of you ate enough.”

“You made him ask that.”

“He delivered it beautifully.”

The servant looked as though he would prefer to be dismissed from existence.

Lexander took the tray.

“Thank you. You can go.”

The young man escaped.

Thor glanced past him at the room.

The chest was closed. Io sat on the carpet with Ignatius tucked against her. Seraphina slept nearby, one tiny fist pressed to her cheek.

Thor’s expression softened.

“Everyone settled?”

“For the moment.”

She nodded.

Lexander waited.

“There’s more.”

“Loki’s on the west terrace.”

“Did he ask for me?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know he wants—”

“He’s been staring at the same patch of garden for an hour. Either he’s thinking, or he’s planning to steal a shrub.”

Lexander looked over his shoulder.

Io had heard.

“Go,” she said. “Bring him something from that tray.”

Loki declined the bread.

He accepted the wine.

Then he seemed irritated with himself for having done something predictable.

Lexander leaned against the terrace wall beside him.

For a while, neither spoke.

Below them, a gardener was covering young plants against the night chill. Farther out, Aurethar lay with his head resting on his forelegs, apparently asleep.

Lexander had learned not to trust that appearance.

“How’s your throat?”

“Still attached.”

“That’s an ambitious standard for recovery.”

“It leaves room for optimism.”

The bruises were darker now.

Lexander looked away from them.

“Thor sent you,” Loki said.

“She claims you’re considering a shrubbery theft.”

“Only if the council refuses to fund my research.”

Another silence settled.

This one was less comfortable.

At last Lexander said, “I remember dying.”

Loki’s fingers tightened around the cup.

“Not all of it,” Lexander continued. “Enough.”

“Yes.”

“At the station, when I saw him…”

“I know.”

Lexander turned the bread in his hands.

The memory had returned twice since they came home. Once while washing. Once when a door slammed unexpectedly behind him.

Each time, his body had believed it before his mind caught up.

“I don’t know how to separate that from the man who stood beside the wagon.”

“Don’t separate it entirely.”

He looked at Loki.

“He threatened you. He hurt you. He was helping transport prisoners.” Loki’s voice had roughened. “You don’t owe him trust because he’s my son.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“No?”

“I was going to ask whether you still hope he’ll stop.”

Loki stared into the garden.

For a long time, Lexander thought he would not answer.

Then he said, “Yes.”

The word was quiet.

Almost angry.

Lexander nodded.

Loki looked at him sharply.

“That’s all?”

“What would you like me to say?”

“Something reassuring and unbearably royal.”

“I’m short of those tonight.”

“Good.”

Lexander rested his elbows on the stone.

“If he comes for my family, I’ll fight him.”

“I know.”

“If there’s a chance to stop that happening, I’d rather take it.”

Loki’s shoulders lowered a fraction.

Below them, the gardener finished covering the plants and carried his empty basket away.

“Next time,” Lexander said, “try a conversation that doesn’t begin with insulting his chains.”

Loki gave a humorless laugh.

“Yes. That was poorly judged.”

“You think?”

“I’ve been told I can be provocative.”

“By whom?”

“Survivors.”

Despite himself, Lexander smiled.

He broke the bread in half and offered it again.

This time, Loki took it.

The magistrate did not flee.

That surprised everyone.

He was found in his own house three days later, indignantly demanding to know why the Watch had arrived before breakfast.

His name was Veylan. He had served for eleven years, collected a comfortable salary, and signed more than eighty transport warrants in the previous six months.

Atreyu brought the first stack into the study himself.

Lexander looked at the thickness of it.

“All of these?”

“Not all for Surtr’s people. Some are ordinary transfers between courts.”

“And the others?”

“We’re checking.”

Mara placed a second bundle beside the first.

“He claims his deputy prepared the documents.”

“Did the deputy?”

“Yes.”

“Did he sign them?”

“Yes.”

Lexander sat back.

Io picked up the warrant used to hold Runa and Halven.

The seal had seemed so solid at the customs station.

Royal authority pressed neatly into wax.

“Does he understand what happened to them?” she asked.

“He says he had no knowledge of mistreatment.”

“He signed permission to move people whose names he didn’t know.”

Atreyu nodded.

“We’ve suspended his authority and secured the court records. The deputy is in custody. There are payments neither of them can explain.”

Loki stood beside the window.

“Perhaps the coins wandered in.”

Lexander barely heard him.

He was looking at the space where the prisoners’ names should have been.

“Let Veylan answer the charges in court,” he said. “And send copies of these to every provincial office. No more accepting descriptions in place of names. No more sending someone across a border without a receiving court confirming it.”

Io lowered the paper.

“Both sides of the border.”

Lexander met her eyes.

“Yes.”

The first meeting about the union began with an argument over seating.

Lexander arrived to find two senior officials standing behind the same chair.

Neither would sit.

Neither would move.

Io paused beside him.

“An encouraging beginning.”

“Perhaps they’re sharing.”

One of the men bowed.

“Your Majesties. We were clarifying precedence.”

“Clarify it over there,” Io said, pointing to two empty seats.

Both men moved.

Thor, stationed by the doors, looked disappointed.

The table held representatives from both kingdoms: treasurers, judges, provincial governors, city officers, and two merchants invited to explain what the current arrangements actually cost people.

Alden had sent an adviser with records of his own border agreements.

Lexander had expected the merchants to be intimidated.

One of them was.

The other had brought receipts.

By the end of the first hour, everyone wished she had brought fewer.

“This shipment,” she said, laying down another page, “paid a road duty on departure, a crossing toll at the bridge, an entry duty on the opposite bank, and a market assessment when it reached Concordia.”

“The market assessment maintains the market,” one treasurer said.

“Then what does the entry duty maintain?”

“Administration.”

“Of the entry duty?”

Lexander looked down before anyone could see his expression.

Io did not bother.

The woman continued.

“I can pay people to make cloth, or I can pay people to write down that I moved cloth. At present, the second group is growing faster.”

That ended the discussion of whether reform was necessary.

It did not end the discussion of who would pay for it.

By midday, Lexander understood why his predecessors had occasionally preferred wars.

At least the enemy usually admitted to obstructing him.

A provincial governor opposed common road patrols because they would interfere with local authority.

A judge objected to shared warrants because the courts used different forms.

One treasurer wanted six months to calculate the loss from removing duplicate tolls.

The other suggested a year.

Io set down her pen.

“We found two abducted people at a border station because one captain took the trouble to question a document. Their captors expected our offices to spend longer arguing than the wagon spent waiting.”

The room quieted.

She placed Runa’s warrant in the center of the table.

“This worked.”

Nobody reached for it.

Lexander leaned forward.

“We need one process for moving prisoners. Names. Charges. A court willing to receive them. A record their families can find.”

“Your Majesty,” the judge said carefully, “emergency circumstances sometimes—”

“Then write an emergency process that can be examined afterward.”

“And if a local officer refuses a lawful transfer?”

“Give him someone he can ask,” Io said. “Quickly. That captain was prepared to risk his post rather than hand over two people he believed were in danger. He should have had better support.”

The governor who had opposed shared patrols looked down at the warrant.

“What happened to the prisoners?”

“They’re here,” Lexander said. “Recovering.”

“And the officer who signed this?”

“Will face charges.”

“Despite his position?”

Lexander regarded him.

“He will face additional charges because we trusted him with that position.”

The governor sat back.

When discussion resumed, it was slower.

More useful.