"Conventionally considered a game in which it serves to know truth from lies, and be good at lying."

Theron smiles faintly, acknowledging the irony. "Yes, Your Majesty. I realize the problem." He hesitates a moment, then adds, quietly sincere, "But I don't think I'd be very good at bluffing right now. I'm too aware of how little I know."

The king turns away from the hero and starts cutting his steak. "Was he very convincing, Kirill, when he claimed to be a great hero?"

" - yes and no, your Majesty. He had the bearing, and he spoke very eloquently - as one accustomed to a foreign court, to be sure, but certainly as one accustomed to a court. But the details made no sense."

"Is that so? Well, tell us, hero, of your perhaps imagined deeds. Perhaps I am a better listener than Kirill, who is a pessimist and a drunk."

Facing the destruction of their homeland men are driven either to drink or to willful ignorance, and Kirill never preferred ignorance. But he laughs at the King's not quite joke, tips his glass to him, and drains it. 

"As you wish, Your Majesty. I said I'd fought archmages who pretended at divinity. I remember—or think I remember—a place called Ithos, where such a man ruled, claiming divine power. I recall speaking with generals, planning campaigns, leading armies." His voice remains quiet, thoughtful, without the confident flourish he'd used before.

"Kirill was right, though," he adds softly. "As soon as he asked me for the details—the name of the city we freed, the tactics we used—I realized those memories weren't real. They're there, but they're empty. Like stories someone else told me, not experiences I've had."

He pauses again, weighing the truth carefully. "I don't think they're lies, exactly. I believed them when I said them. But there's nothing solid beneath them, no real memory. I'm sorry if that's not helpful, Your Majesty, but it's the truth."

"I see. And you've no idea how you might be able to stop Razmir?"

"No, Your Majesty. Not yet."

"An unfortunate situation," he says to Kirill, very neutrally.

"You call me a pessimist, your Majesty, and not wrongly, but I see hope here. There are very few who could have aided us and would have chosen to; the ritual has often selected men with other unfit qualities alongside the strength to save the city. I'd sooner a cursed man than a sadistic one, or one who wants to found an Empire, or a very diligent and tactically competent vampire. We just need to figure out what he knows."

"They say never to gamble with a gambling man."

"Unless, your Majesty, the banker's men are coming for you in the morning anyway."

"Even then, no cause for foolishness."

"You can accuse me of being given to drink and pessimism, but not to foolishness, I think." He looks over at the shrine. He's not sure if it's true, that if you lie in the sight of the gods they will turn you away from their afterlives, but there is something about impending death that makes a man serious about his character. "Your majesty, I think we may have here what we most hoped for - a man who can preserve your reign and Daggermark, and whose own most important concerns lie elsewhere. I just need time."

"Famous last words, often enough."

"They're not ones I'd mind repeating before the Judge."

"You should try the steak, boy," says the King to Theron. "The green sauce has a bit of a kick to it."

Theron, who has been listening carefully to the exchange, smiles faintly and nods. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll keep that in mind."

He tries the steak, carefully, and finds he likes it. The sauce does have a kick.

"Not bad," he says grudgingly to the kid when they leave the King's chambers. "Not fantastic, either, so don't be too impressed with yourself."

Theron gives a small, rueful smile. "Trust me, I'm not. But considering I didn't accidentally commit treason over dinner, I'll take 'not bad.'"

"We're not Imperials, round here. If the King decides you're a problem he won't say you committed treason, he'll just have someone kill you." He says this like someone who considers his way distinctly more civilized.

Theron's smile fades. "Comforting." After a moment, he adds, more quietly, "How long do you think we have, before he decides?"

"Well, I've known him for twenty two years, and you can see he's not decided about me." Kirill lets them back into his room.

Theron follows Kirill into the room, relaxing a little once the door closes behind them. "Maybe," he says cautiously, "he just finds pessimism and drinking charming."