Barquiel sighs. "Much as this has been enlightening, you are- no offense meant, child- perhaps not the most relevant party for such a conversation. You shall attend, of course, but- we need the Dauphine, at the very least; at best, all the peers of the realm, though slim chance of that if we truly desire secrecy." He folds the letter back up and returns it to her. "You're an odd one, and no mistake, but you gave me my sister's murderer, and I owe you no small debt for it. If you think this is the best course, I'll abide it." He eyes her. "For now."

"I believe you may find I am more relevant than I appear," she says, making the letter vanish back into its hiding place. "I have a number of useful talents." She shrugs. "We shall see."

"Of course," she assures him, smiling very slightly.

"Uncle," Ysandre greets him calmly as he arrives, closing her book. "It's good to see you too."

He raises an eyebrow. "Don't take that tone with me, girl, you're not the Queen yet." But it is said fondly; they both speak in jest, and both know it.

"He's known as the Duc of helpful excuses," Barquiel says dryly. "Sarafiel, where did you vanish to? Don't tell me you actually left with the servants, after all this."

"I'm right here," she says, amused, stepping out of the corner where she has been quietly impersonating a shadow.

Ysandre inclines her head politely to Sarafiel, then looks back at the Duc. "What is the meaning of this, Uncle?"

"There's a tale you should hear," he tells her, clearly unbothered by her cool regard. "I myself am inclined to give it some weight. The source has, shall we say, provided me with valuable information before."

She looks at him in exasperation, barely tempered with fondness. "I suspect I know what information, then," she murmurs. "If I did not know why- well." She turns to Sarafiel and considers her, with a clarity of regard uncanny in one her age. "So. You are the one who found my mother's murderers, then." Her gaze sharpens. "And bore your news to my uncle the Duc, rather than the throne. Why come you here now?"

Wordlessly she reads it. The blood drains from her face, leaving her like to a marble statue. Only her eyes continue to blaze. "You charge Isidore D'Aiglemore, leader of the Allies of Camlach, and Melisande Shahrizai, both heroes of the realm, with this terrible crime?" She regards the letter, expressionless. "Tell me, then, how you came by this letter."

"I stole it from its messenger, and let him think it had been swept away in a river crossing. It is absolutely necessary to be as secret as possible about this. Melisande Shahrizai is... an extremely subtle person. I would not be nearly as worried about thirty thousand invading Skaldi did they not have Melisande advising their leader. The moment she knows she is opposed, she will find some way to deal with her opposition."

"Ah, Elua!" she sighs. "You're telling the truth, aren't you." It was not a question. She is silent a moment, accepting the truth of it, resolve hardening her face. "How, then, do we handle the lady Shahrizai? If she is, as you say, as subtle as all that."

"It may be best to wait until the invasion appears before trying to arrest her. That way, she will have less time to change the invasion plan if she escapes, and it will be obvious to everyone that there is something to blame her for, even if they may not all agree that she is to blame. And since it is too late to halt the invasion merely by locking her up, there is no loss in waiting. If it were solely up to me, I would wait until d'Aiglemort was about to let the Skaldi through the passes or had already done so, find him, show him that letter, and convince him to challenge Waldemar Selig to single combat in search of revenge. But I expect you have better resources to draw on." She pauses, then adds, "Your future husband, for example."

Ysandre goes very still. "That... was an excuse," she says slowly. "Not a conversation." Her eyes narrow. "And by what measure is it too late to stop this invasion? Autumn is already here; they would not invade in winter, surely."

"It is too late for arresting Melisande to stop the invasion by itself," she clarifies. "I judge that the only way to prevent them from trying to invade us at all would be to kill Waldemar Selig; he is too eager to be persuaded away, and long past the point where he might be daunted by the loss of one ally or the knowledge that we are expecting him. That is why my plan would be to inform d'Aiglemort of the double betrayal at the last moment. There would not be enough time left for Melisande to learn of his new knowledge and interfere with whatever he chose to do about it, and Waldemar Selig would be close enough for d'Aiglemort to fight while his anger was still fresh."

"Waldemar Selig is merely one among thousands," Ysandre points out. "You yourself have said as much. Even should d'Aiglemort win such a challenge, still we shall have thirty thousand Skaldi on our doorstep, eager to enslave and slaughter our people. What gain in this? It is our duty and our privilege to protect our subjects. Not- willfully endanger them."

"The Skaldi are not naturally inclined to make war as a single united army," Sarafiel explains. "Selig has convinced them to try it, and he has read books about how such armies are made and maintained and used. But he has no successor who shares his knowledge or his reputation. They see him as a legendary hero; 'Selig' means 'Blessed'. Remove him, and the army fractures instantly, leaderless and ignorant. Do it early enough, and the worst our country will suffer is an unusually large raid. I would assassinate him myself if I could do it without first having to cross miles of snowy Skaldi wilderness."

"Forgive the question, but you seem suspiciously well informed," Ysandre says tightly. "How do we know this is no trap?

"I am well informed because I am good at finding things out," she says. "Apart from all the messengers I followed, I also arranged to be captured in a raid and ransomed under a false name a few months later. The Skaldi say all manner of things around a house-slave who does not appear to speak two words of their language. You can, of course, choose to believe I am laying a trap. If you do, I would like the letter back so I can use it when the time is right. It would be inconvenient to have to work without it."

"Well, damned if you aren't efficient," Barquiel says bemusedly.