“It is seldom that I dine with two princes,” she remarked.

“I’m Duke of the Western Marches,” I said, “not a prince.”

“I was referring to the House of Sawall,” she replied.

“You’ve been doing homework,” Mandor noted, “recently.”

“I’d hate to commit a breach of protocol,” she said.

“I seldom use my Chaos title at this end of things,” I explained.

“A pity,” she told me. “I find it more than a little… elegant. Aren’t you about thirtieth in the line of succession?”

I laughed.

“Even that great a distance is an exaggeration,” I said.

“No, Merle, she’s about right,” Mandor told me. “Give or take the usual few.”

“How can that be?” I asked. “The last time I looked —”

He poured a goblet of wine and offered it to Jasra. She accepted it with a smile.

“You haven’t looked recently,” Mandor said. “There have been more deaths.”

“Really? So many?”

“To Chaos,” Jasra said, raising her goblet. “Long may she wave.”

“To Chaos,” Mandor replied, raising his.

“Chaos,” I echoed, and we touched the goblets together and drank.

A number of delightful aromas came to me suddenly. Turning, I saw that the table now bore serving dishes. Jasra had turned at the same moment, and Mandor stepped forward and gestured, causing the chairs to slide back to accommodate us.

“Be seated, please, and let me serve you,” he said.

We did, and it was more than good. Several minutes passed, and apart from compliments on the soup nothing was said. I did not want to be the first with a conversational gambit, though it had occurred to me that the others might feel the same way.

Finally, Jasra cleared her throat, and we both looked at her. I was surprised that she suddenly seemed slightly nervous.