Gaius smiled. “The envelope contains routine mail and one letter to Aquitaine, informing him of my intention to adopt him legally and appoint him my heir.”

Tavi’s eyebrows shot up. “If Kalare gets wind of that, and believes it, you think it will push him to act before Aquitaine solidifies his claim to the throne.”

“He’ll react,” Gaius agreed. “But I’m not certain as to the manner of his reaction. He’s slightly mad, and it makes him difficult to predict. Which is why I want as many eyes and ears as I can spare in the south. Make sure you keep my coin with you at all times.”

“I understand, sire,” Tavi said, touching the old silver bull hung on the chain around his neck. He paused as a bitter taste of memory poisoned his mouth. “And Gaele?”

“Should this succeed, she will have outlived her usefulness to the Crown,” Gaius said in a voice as quiet and hard as stone.

“Yes, sire,” Tavi said, bowing. “What about Fade, sire?”

Gaius’s expression darkened an almost-imperceptible shade. “What about him?”

“He’s been with me since… since I can remember. I assumed that…”

“No,” Gaius said in a tone that brooked no dissent. “I have work for Fade to do as well.”

Tavi met Gaius’s uncompromising eyes for a long and silent moment. Then he nodded slightly in acquiescence. “Yes, sire.”

“Then let’s waste no more time.” Gaius rose. “Oh,” he said in a tone of afterthought. “Are you by any chance sleeping with the Marat Ambassador, Tavi?”

Tavi felt his mouth drop open again. His cheeks heated up so much that he thought they might actually, literally, burst into flame. “Urn, sire…”

“You understand the consequences, I assume. Neither of you has furycraft that would prevent conception. And believe me when I say that paternity complicates one’s life immensely.”

Tavi wished desperately that the earth would open up, swallow him whole, and smash him into a parchment-thick blob. “We, uh. We aren’t doing that,” Tavi said. “There are, uh, well, other. Things. That aren’t…”