I shrugged mentally. It seemed that it would come down to the same thing in Random’s mind, since he would see Dalt as the military force Luke would turn to to recover the throne. So I said, “Oh,” and went on eating.

There were no new facts to be had beyond this, and nothing to clarify Random’s thinking any further, so we lapsed into small talk while I considered my position once again. It still came down to a feeling that urgent action was necessary and uncertainty as to what form it should take. My course was determined in an unexpected fashion sometime during dessert.

A courtier named Randel — tall, thin, dark, and generally smiling — came into the room. I knew something was up because he was not smiling and he was moving faster than usual. He swept us with his gaze, fixed upon Vialle, advanced quickly and cleared his throat.

“M’lady Majesty…?” he began.

Vialle turned her head slightly in his direction:

“Yes, Randel?” she said. “What is it?”

“The delegation from Begma has just arrived,” he answered, “and I find myself without instructions as to the nature of their welcome and any special arrangements that would be suitable.”

“Oh dear,” Vialle said, laying aside her fork. “They weren’t due until the day after tomorrow, when Random will be back. He’s the one they’ll be wanting to complain to. What have you done with them?”

“I seated them in the Yellow Room,” he replied, “and told them I would go and announce their arrival.”

She nodded.

“How many of them are there?”

“The prime minister, Orkuz,” he said, “his secretary, Nayda — who is also his daughter — and another daughter, Coral. There are also four servants — two men and two women.”

“Go and inform the household staff, and be sure that appropriate quarters are made ready for them,” she directed, “and alert the kitchen. They may not have had lunch.”