Ilarion studied him for a long time in the low light.

Then he steepled his fingers, gracile, leisurely.

"If you decide to knock off the old man," he said, carefully, "you should be ready to take on his mantle. That, or to install someone in his place who will answer to you."

Lasha paused.

"If you want Cheslav dead for what he did to you, Taras, my lips are sealed. I don't blame you. No matter his intent, it was an unconscionable thing for a father to do to his son. Were I in your place, I would feel the same."

His lips smoothed into a genial gesture, abetting.

"If Aleksandr found out, he would be displeased. But there are many things that Aleksandr does not know."

Ilarion glanced down at his glass of cognac and found it nearly empty, but for amber remnants.

He was silent for some time, letting the pause steep.

He kept his eyes down, as he carelessly smoothed the flawless lapel of his robe.

"On the other hand, they say that living well is the best revenge."