Free Lord of the Changing Winds by Rachel Neumeier

to you. Justly might your majesty rebuke me.”
    “Am I not the proper authority to hear such appeals?”
    “Your majesty cannot have hot-hearted young fools knifing merchants, honest or otherwise, in dark alleys.”
    “Not even if the young man in question broke my law in answer to a sly slipping of its intentions? Was that not your argument?”
    “The misuse of the law to protect dishonest dealing offended me. The boy’s honest crime, if I may call it so, offended me less. I did advise him he should rightly have come to me in the first place. It would have been a good deal easier to appeal the matter to your majesty before blood was shed. As you yourself pointed out.”
    “Mmm.” The king was still frowning.
    Ferris lowered his eyes. “I am rebuked, then,” he said, and formally, “I ask your majesty’s pardon.”
    “Ah. No. I do not rebuke you.” Iaor lifted his chin decisively. “Find out the extent of the merchant’s losses to the Linularinan merchant. I will pay him compensation for the loss of his son. Out of my own personal monies.” He paused.
    The judge, reading this pause correctly, bowed. “Perhaps your majesty will permit me to provide that compensation, as it was my decision that led to this expense.”
    The king smiled, satisfied. “You may pay half. That is only just, I think. Good.” He stood, took the older man’s arm, and turned with him toward the door. “Walk with me, esteemed sir. I do esteem your judgment, I assure you. I promise you, I have no rebuke to offer. I am glad you brought this to my attention. I am certain Eles desires nothing more than to gain a young hot-hearted fool for his command. Walk with me, if you please, and tell me about the particular intricacies of Linularinan law that allowed this Linularinan merchant to cheat—lawfully!—my honest Feierabiand tradesman.”
    The judge smiled and said, “Gladly.” He appeared resigned to the unofficial fine the king was imposing. At that, Bertaud reflected, even a sizable fine was far less to be dreaded than a royal rebuke.
    Bertaud trailed them, sighing. He knew the signs. Iaor had been drawn entirely into kingly concerns. It seemed unlikely he would find time now to ride out with hawks, no matter how tedious his companions might find the threatened intricacy of law. No, he thought, not even if Iaor’s young wife greatly desired to try her little falcon.
    The trace of jealousy—unworthy, even shameful—in that thought disturbed him at once, and Bertaud called himself to stern order and tried to fix his mind on law.
    However, they had hardly got out into the hall before the ring of quick-striding boot heels brought them all to a startled halt. The king released the judge’s arm and drew himself up. Ferris cocked his head to one side, looking curious and alarmed. Bertaud himself laid a hand on his sword, ready to draw: Generally, no one ran down the halls of the king’s house.
    However, this person proved to be a messenger—one of the king’s own couriers: a young woman with the king’s badge at her shoulder and her courier’s wand thrust through her belt. Iaor preferred young women for his couriers, a custom his father had begun; the old king had famously declared that girls rode more lightly and were more careful of their horses than boys, which, as Iaor had once commented, among other effects had ensured that the young men became at least somewhat more careful as well. But the courier-master still accepted more girls than boys for the king’s service.
    This courier’s name was Teien, daughter of Kanes. Bertaud knew that Teien was posted to the south of Tihannad; her rounds included many of the smaller villages and towns along the Nejeied River. She went to one knee and saluted the king carefully. Her breathing was fast, but not desperately so.
    “Yes?” said Iaor impatiently.
    The woman bowed her head briefly, sucked in air, and said rapidly, “Word from Minas Spring and Minas Ford, your majesty. This is