The wax was still warm when the courier left.
Lysander watched him go down the corridor — the sealed document under his arm, the palace mark visible on the outer wrapping, the specific purposeful walk of someone who knew that the thing he was carrying mattered and had been trusted with it anyway. The sound of his footsteps faded. Then the corridor was quiet.
Doros was already clearing the sealing tools.
Priam stood at the window with his back to the room, looking at the harbor below. He had read the document twice before Doros began the seal — the complete, unhurried reading of a man who intended to live with the words and wanted to be certain they were the right ones.
He had said nothing after the second reading.
'Which means they are right,' Lysander thought. 'Or he has made peace with them. With Priam the two are sometimes the same.'
Priam turned from the window.
He said: "Good."
He went out.
Doros went back to his accounts without comment.
