Jorani took a close look at her and rang the bell. Greta appeared soon after. "Bring some hot tea for your mistress," Jorani said. "And something to eat?"

Ilsabet nodded gratefully.

Jorani settled in the chair that faced hers. "I would wait to discuss some matters with you, Ilsabet, but I don't think time will mend your grief."

"You're going to tell me that I should go on with my life, or some other platitude?"

"Only that your hatred is misdirected. None of this was Baron Peto's fault; it was fate."

"It was the rebel I let live who warned Peto," Ilsabet blurted.

"No, some slip of a girl no older than you stole through the lines and heard your father and I planning the move. But even that isn't important. If Dark hadn't crossed the border to warn Peto, someone else would have done so. You are not responsible, believe me."

Ilsabet remembered the 'slip of a girl*. She'd judged the girl to be as harmless as Peto judged her to be. No use confessing her tragic stupidity to Jorani. He'd blame fate, not her.

"The point I am making is that most Kislovans welcome Baron Peto's victory," Jorani continued. "And if you oppose him so openly, you will not have the support of your people, or of his."

"Why should I care. I'll never rule."

"Fate combined with a certain bit of strategy and luck has a way of making the impossible real. You're the only one of his children who inherited his intelligence. Use it well and in time perhaps…"

She looked at him incredulously. She had never even considered that possibility. "What would you advise I do until then, swear my allegiance?"

"No. Be civil, even cordial to him, but never swear. He'll respect you that much more for your pride."