Free Sethra Lavode (Viscount of Adrilankha) by Steven Brust

irksome to her, as it required cajoling of persons and shuffling of papers, and as, moreover, she wasn’t used to it. To judge by the color of the Orb, she spent most of her day in a state of constant annoyance, with occasional moments of melancholy.
    All this was known, by some means, by Kâna and his cousin, and, in particular, the resignation of the annoying Tiassa was exactly on schedule, according to their plan. The trap for Tazendra had been laid and was ready to be sprung on an instant, which trap would also, as a secondary result, make certain of the troublesome Lyorn Aerich. The plans for the invasion by the islanders was progressing, a means had been found to neutralize the Necromancer (and, even more important, the Orb), a stratagem had been found that would render useless the foul Eastern magic that had been so effectually employed against them, and, now, the necessary break had been made between Her Majesty and Khaavren. All was going well, as far as they knew.
    And, even had they somehow been able to observe Her Majesty at the critical moment, they would not have been able to guess that her precipitate action might threaten their carefully laid schemes—that, indeed, this simple action, by itself, provided the knife that would cut the snarls and knots of the intricate tapestry they had woven.
    And the beginning of this unraveling, that is the first loosening of joints that permitted a seepage of water into the carefully constructed vessel (if the reader will permit us to mix metaphors in mid-stream before the tapestry is even hung), was accompanied by the harsh metallic sound caused by the pen striking the wall at the sixth hour after noon.
    The pen had begun life some forty years ago as one of the interiorwing feathers of a stunted lichbird, or that kind which is called a wader in some part of the Empire. The owner of this feather was a young boy who sometimes cut purses on Lower Kieron Road, sometimes begged on the Twisty Way, and sometimes ran errands for Lessor & Daughters, Bronze- and Tin-smiths, on Cliffside Street. He had found the feather, discarded, from the pluckings of the bird, which had been intended for a meal served by a local wine-merchant, and at once recognized its usefulness, wherefore he solemnly presented it to Lessor, who, with equal solemnity, presented him with a bright copper penny.
    Lessor also recognized the perfect splendor of this feather, and at once took it back into his shop, where he made a pen of it, had it covered in bronze, and then prominently displayed it, with a small plaque indicating its price. There it remained for many years, along with whistles, touch-it glass housings, knockers, and other samples of his wares. When the Empress entered the city, in a rare burst of loyalty, he inscribed upon it, “To Her Majesty, From Her Devoted Servant Lessor & Daughters, Number 4 Cliffside Street, Adrilankha,” and had it sent to her, for which he received a polite note written by one of Her Majesty’s scriveners.
    It was, to be sure, an eminently successful pen, rarely splotching, fitting her fingers splendidly, and capable of holding sufficient ink for nearly a full line of Her Majesty’s fine, elegant hand. Indeed, Zerika’s decision to throw the pen across the room as if it were a dart and the wall an enemy had nothing whatever to do with the characteristics of the pen itself, but, rather, with the amount of time she had spent using it, which was, in her Imperial opinion, far too much of late.
    The construction of the Palace had begun, and, indeed, progressed to the point where she expected to be able to live and work there within only a few years, but there was still a great deal left to decide upon it, and she was frequently interrupted by designers and architects who would ply her with questions that they could not take it upon their heads to answer. The more weighty question of securing the Empire—which meant securing the agreement of all the Houses that she was, in