“Starikland has always been afflicted with a restless temper.” Lord Chancellor Gorodets was absently smoothing his long beard into a point, fluffing it up, then smoothing it again. “Starikland was not considered safe, Your Majesty.” When was the last time a monarch visited Starikland? Did my father ever go?”Īrch Lector Glokta grimaced. “I am set on making a grand tour of the Union.” Orso did his best to sound authoritative. The legendary wizard continued to gaze out of the window, towards the palace gardens which were just beginning to bud. Apart from those of Bayaz, down at the foot of the table. “One issue before we begin,” he said.Īll eyes turned towards him. “But in the end, no man can defeat his own bladder.”Īs the youngest in the room by some thirty years, Orso ranked his bladder among his least interesting organs. “One can win a thousand battles.” Lord Marshal Brint worried at that lady’s ring on his little finger, gazing into the middle distance as though at an opposing army.

“Out with his bladder.” There was a chorus of groans. “Where’s the surveyor general?” someone asked, nodding at an empty chair. The moment he sat they began to drag out their own chairs, wincing as old backs bent, grunting as old arses settled on hard wood, grumbling as old knees were eased under the tottering heaps of paper on the table.

But his Closed Council had no doubt heard all that before. The burden of power, the weight of a crown. “Damn thing chafes rather.” He rubbed at the sore spots it had left above his temples. “I hope no one minds if we dispense with this for now?” Orso tossed his circlet down, gold twinkling in a dusty shaft of spring sunlight as it spun around and around.

The trouble with peace book