that at this point in the story, I made several very interesting and incoherent noises, followed – perhaps – by a blank expression and then some numb-faced drooling.
S omeone was talking. ". . . I cannot interfere with the rules of Crystallia, Bastille."
I fuzzed back into consciousness. Bastille had released me from her unprovoked, unregistered h u g and moved on to speak with her father. The room had cleared out consid erably, though there was still a number of people standing at the perimeter of the room, curiously watching our little group.
"I know, Father," Bastille said. "I must face their repri mand, as is my duty to the order."
"That's my girl," the king said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "But don't take what they say too harshly. The world is far less intense a place than the knights sometimes make it out to be."
Draulin raised her eyebrow at this. Looking at them – the king in his blue-and-gold r obes, Draulin in her silvery armor – they actually seemed to fit together.
I still felt sorry for Bastille. No wonder she's so uptight , l thought. Royalty on one side, hard-line knig h t on the other . That would be like trying to grow up pressed between two boulders.
"Brig," Grandpa Smedry said. "We need to speak about what the Council is planning to do."
The king turned. "You're too late, I'm afraid, Le avenworth. Our minds are all but made up. You'll have your vote, but I doubt it will make a difference."
"How could you even consider giving up Mokia?" G randpa Smedry asked.
"To save lives, my friend." The king spoke the words in a wearied voice, and I could almost see the burdens he was carrying. "It is not a pleasant choice to make, but if it stops the war..."
"You can't honestly expect them to keep their promises. H ighlighting Heinleins, man! This is insanity."
The king shook his head. "I will not be the king who was offered peace and who passed it by, Leavenworth. I will not be a warmonger. If there is a chance at reconcilia tion . . . But we should speak of this someplace outside the public eye. Let us retire to my sitting room."
My grandfather nodded curtly, then stepped to the side and waved me over. "What do you think?" he asked quietly as I approached.
I shrugged. "He seems sincere."
"Brig is nothing if no t sincere," Grandpa Smedry whis pered. "He is a passionate man; those Librarians must have done some clever talking to bring him to this point. Still, he's not the only vote on the Council."
"But he's the king, isn't he?"
"He's the High King," Grandpa Smedry said, raising a finger. "He is our foremost leader but Nalhalla isn't the only kingdom in our coalition. There are thirteen kings, queens, and dignitaries like myself who sit on that Council.
If we can persuade enough of them to vote against this treaty, then we might be able to kill it."
I nodded. "What can I do to help?" Mokia couldn't fall. I would see that it didn't.
"I'll speak with Brig," Grandpa Smedry said. "You go see if you can track down your cousin Folsom. I put him in charge of Smedry affairs here in Nalhalla. He might have some i nsight about this whole mess."
"Okay."
Grandpa Smedry fished in one of the pockets of his tuxedo jacket. "Here, you might want this back." He held out a single Lens with no coloring or tint to it. It glowed radiantly to my Oculator's eyes, more powerfully than any I'd ever seen except for the Translator's Lenses.
I'd almost forgotten about it. I'd discovered the Lens in t h e Library of Alexandr i a at the tomb of Al catraz the First, but hadn't been able to determine what it did. I'd given it over to my grandfather for inspection.
"Did you figure out what it does?" I asked, taking it f rom him.
He nodded eagerly. "There were lots of tests I had to do. I meant to tell you yesterday but, well . . ."
"You're late."
"Exactly!" Grandpa Smedry said. “ Anyway, this is a very useful Lens. Useful indeed. Almost mythical. Couldn't b elieve it myself, had to test the thing three times