On the first official day of my reign I rose full of good intentions.  The three-day coronation rite and thirty subsequent days of holiday had been fun, but now I looked forward to learning the business of rule.  So I was suspicious when the Master of Wardrobe and his assistants appeared before breakfast with a fancy suit of parade armor.

As they lined up against the wall, each holding a segment of worked golden scales on gilded leather for my inspection, I eyed the stuff.  "Didn't I wear this for that military review of honor the other week?"

"Oh, no, Majesty, that was the enameled set."  The Master stood in front of his subordinates like a rooster before his hens.  "We would never suggest a repeat appearance so soon."

"Isn't it a bit ostentatious?"

"Accept my assurances, Majesty, armor is completely appropriate.  After all, Prince Melbras is the Warlord of the Caydish Army."

"So he is.  What does that have to do with it?"

"Why, you're to sign the treaty with him today.  And it's proper for you to be in military dress."

Since I knew nothing of the treaty there was no further argument to make.  I allowed myself to be dressed.  "Send someone to see if the apprentice magus Xalan is here yet," I ordered.  We had formed the pleasant habit of breakfasting together after the abortive escape attempt.

Xalan shaded his eyes in a pretense of awe when I came clattering out to the terrace.  "Dazzling!" he exclaimed, imitating the rhetors' florid narrative style.  "The Son of the Sun arises!"

"Stop laughing, it wasn't my idea.  What is this about a treaty with Cayd?"

"The embassy was in town for months," Xalan said.  "Negotiating with your predecessor.  No one told you the signing was today?"

"No," I grumbled.  "I suppose no one tells the King anything so that he can enjoy his coronation."  Then I looked at him.  Xalan wore that milky look I had learned to associate with mischief.  "All right, out with it.  What are you planning?"

"Invocation first," he said.  "You'll need food to ballast you."

I rattled through the formula, invoking the Sun our ancestor to bless and guard the day.  Then as the servers brought out bowls of sectioned fruit Xalan began, "You know about the old pact between us and Cayd."

"Certainly: to war on the Tiyalor and destroy the dam at Ieor.''

"Yes."  Xalan's face darkened for an instant.  The waters of the Mhesan River are important to our irrigation system, but not vital, since Averidan has three rivers.  But our neighbor Cayd has only the one.  When the Tiyalor dammed the river at Ieor they inconvenienced us, but held Cayd by the throat.  Such a subtle work would never have been conceived by the oafish lake-men.  To the magi's shame the dam had been planned and built with the geomancy of a renegade magus, one Xerlanthor.

"And we gave Cayd money and arms and food the last few years, while they did the fighting," I remembered.

"Right.  Well, it seems the magery laid by Xerlanthor makes his dam almost impossible to destroy.  And he's using his powers against the Caydish too.  They're losing.  So well take a bigger hand - send the Sisterhood of Mir-hel and the army.  That's what the pact will affirm."

"How exciting, I've always wanted to see war."  Sitting on white linen cushions with the morning Sun tinting the marble balustrade to the exact gold-pink of my peaches, it was hard to believe war was not anything but what is told of in plaiv: entertaining, exciting, but not really perilous.  "Sandcomber will be sorry to miss the trip.  The northern coasts won't be nearly as picturesque."

"Oh, you won't be going either," Xalan laughed.

"Why ever not?"

"There's a provision in the treaty especially for you."

"Now we come to it," I said.  "Is this the reason I have to be dressed to the teeth to affix my seal?"

"Surely.  Prince Melbras, after all, has a right to expect a show of honor from his future nephew."

Xalan put down his cup and hooted at the sight of my dumb-founded face.  "But my sister Siril already has a husband," I said stupidly.