All through the day, that imperative had driven Coronadas Ascuasenya. And Cor had to be the one to do the talking; she’d made that clear to Svir. After all the years, there might still be a bond from those first days on the barge. Tatja might be willing to listen, and to see out of the trap into which she had fallen. We have to tell Tatja. The thought was easier than the deed. For what seemed hours, Cor stood near the back of Tatja’s command post, waiting for some break in Marget’s schedule. The queen was managing a war … and now that she had Jolle, she had no need for her pets. “—and you can be sure we understand all this, Observer Reynolt. I have no desire to hold your hands under my direct control.” The Tatja that spoke was the Tatja of old: composed, persuasive, tactful. She had made no attempt to use her ostensible position as the absolute ruler of all the Continent to overawe the Doomsdayman confronting her. And every bit of her diplomacy would be required to mollify the angry Doomsday priest.
