"Is that an answer?" Tellos asked. "That does not sound like an-"

"I think!" Vyarin half-shouted, throwing an arm in front of the squatter Tellos' face, before he could finish. "I think that the best thing is for you to gather the rest of the honour guard. I will be safe here, in front of hundreds of pairs of eyes." Tellos' face soured. He looked back to Brudzkon, who caught it and returned his own.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, as I was saying . . ." Brudzkon started again with the other courtiers, seamlessly transitioning back to the conversation. Unlike his two masters, Brudzkon spoke the Apura language flawlessly, as if having been born within the palace itself. He was a slight man, of middling height, his hair less blond than those of his people and tending closer to brown. To any but the most trained of spies, he could originate from anywhere at all.

"Indeed, cousin. I have Brudzkon to watch me, if nobody else. If you take this time now to mobilize the guard, on the king's orders, we shouldn't fear any crisis at all," Vyarin said, grinning wanly. Tellos finally stormed off, as much as he can through the crowd and the watchful gazes, muttering something in his own native Ezadion, a farther march-land of the League with a language quite unlike Prozdy. Vyarin himself spoke nothing of it. With Tellos gone, Vyarin turned his attention back to Annalise. "He is an administrator and a war-leader. One of the most meritous in our history, it is said." His expression is sheepish. Perhaps it was time to broach this serious topic, and cut this charade the two shared. ". . . You don't suppose something is . . . gone wrong? Over there, regarding your father." Vyarin did everything he could not to point.