The pin’s sharp point hovered too close to Akabe’s neck for comfort. Imagine the irony if one bumbling servant accomplished what three Atean assassination attempts had not. A lingering, blood-poisoned death by gouging a vein in the king’s neck. Akabe braced himself, ready to strike away the pin if the man aimed it badly. The servant jabbed the point into the crimson mantle, missing Akabe just as a rap sounded at the door. Lord Faine entered Akabe’s attiring room and bowed, his waxed gray beard a-twitch. Safely pinned, Akabe lifted his eyebrows at his lord-counselor. “My lord. What news?” “Majesty. How did you know I have news?” The twitching beard. Akabe grinned. Was it unregal and rude to toy with one’s advisors? “I see it on your face. What news?” “Good and bad, sir.” “Bad first.” “News from General Rol in the Tracelands.
