It was Melheret’s unfortunate task to persuade his emperor that the king of Attolia was a threat. The sinking of the Imperial fleet should have been evidence enough, but Melheret knew that men far more powerful than he were scrambling to convince the emperor that the catastrophe had been an accident, a fluke, entirely unpredictable and no fault of theirs. Certainly it could not be the result of Eugenides’s careful plans. The Attolian king’s intelligence, his ruthlessness, his cunning were going to be obscured by distance and no matter how much the ambassador tried to convince them that the new king of Attolia was dangerous, the Imperial Court was only going to hear that he was an irresponsible fool who stole the ambassador’s statue.

“Never mind,” sighed Melheret. “Never mind. Go away.”

The servant retired belowdecks to the Ambassador’s cabin where he locked the door and opened the case that held the statue of Prokip. It was a lovely thing, the god at once graceful and strong, stern but kind. Even the ragged edge where the hand had been broken off to appease the gods did not really mar its beauty. Ansel opened the porthole. It was a shame, really, but the Attolian king paid well and he was a dangerous man to cross. Ansel dropped the statue into the sea.