That smile lit the blue eyes again. It was hard to tell if a ghost of it lingered at the corners of the full lips, but the total effect was of anything but humility. He pulled himself together, aware that Wilkins had noticed his hesitation. "So the Jursans seek to soften our just anger?" he said. "They send their surrender by one who is obviously the loveliest jewel of their misguided world." A few of the courtiers snickered dutifully. Vyrtl was annoyed; he had not meant to be funny. He glanced swiftly at the half-dozen wives present, but their expressions showed no jealousy. He decided that the empty-headed creatures had at least learned not to embarrass him publicly. "Your Illustrious Sublimity is too gracious," replied the envoy. "I regret that my message is not unqualified surrender." Vyrtl frowned. "You dare ask terms?" "I must carry out the commands laid upon me by the Council." She smiled into his eyes and made a rueful little gesture with both hands, which she allowed to fall gracefully to her sides. Vyrtl's gaze was led up and down her figure again. He forced himself to meet her glance. Rather than expressing any resentment of his appraisal, it suggested that her resistance to his demands would be merely formal. _They've sent me a clever one_, he thought, _but they will find I cannot be bought off so cheaply. Still, it can do no harm to show that Vyrtl can be the diplomat as well as a soldier._ "We are unprepared for any discussion," he said aloud. "Since we are not disposed, however, to be hasty in our judgement, you may wait upon us in the council chamber in two hours." The envoy stepped lithely aside when he rose. With some difficulty, Vyrtl kept his eyes front as he strode from the hall with Wilkins and his personal guards at his heels. He hastened to his own chambers for a bath and change of clothes. He allowed himself to be bathed, scented, and dressed in the most imperial costume he had brought from Hebryxid. Blonde Xota, his official favorite who had taken no chance of losing her place by absence from his side, admired his dazzling jewels and scarlet silks extravagantly. Vyrtl permitted her to serve him a light lunch, paying little attention to her chatter. Once, when he had taken her from the Co-ordinator of his sixth planet, he had fancied himself in love with her; now he merely amused himself guessing from day to day to whom she sold her supposed influence. He sometimes wondered if any wife he owned were innocent of spying. He rose, summoned Wilkins, and led a small procession to the council chamber. They found the necessary quota of high officers waiting. Daphne Foster was summoned. Vyrtl took his place on a dais at the head of the table, and his aide arranged the gold-stiffened ceremonial robe. The generals made little professional jokes, each striving to act as if the victory had been mostly his own doing. Even the lean Chief of Staff, Tzyfol, looked satiated. The Jursan envoy was announced.