Shadows Past (2008)

(The third book in the Borderlands series)

A novel by Lorna Freeman

To Jean B. Andrews. Miss you, Mom.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are the usual suspects of my writing group—Teresa, Eileen, David, Trai, Chris. Thank you for keeping the light on for your wayward member. I’d also like to thank Jennie and Anne for their support, which went way over and beyond the call of duty.

One

I was awakened by thunder. Peeling my eyes open, I stared at the darkened ceiling, muzzily thinking that the autumn rains had finally arrived. Part of me winced the autumn rains had finally arrived. Part of me winced because we were due to leave town soon and rain meant traveling roads turned into rivers of mud. But another part of me was fascinated with the flash and boom of a thunderstorm—as long as I wasn’t outside during the flashing and booming—and I gave thought to going to a window to watch the show. I then gave thought to staying very still to keep my head from exploding.

Yesterday was my Nameday, the anniversary of when my parents stood before the tiny congregation that comprised the church where I grew up and announced to all who would hear that they had gifted me with the name of Rabbit. Their fourth son and seventh child, I figured that by the time they got to me my ma and da had just run out of names (my youngest sister did get the slightly better one of Sparrow). My ma had always insisted that she named me so because I was fast and could hide in plain sight; however, I didn’t think I was doing much moving or hiding as a babe in arms.

For the most part, it wasn’t so bad. There was the occasional “hop to it” quip, but that was army humor. I got more razzing because of my sartorial style, but I figured envy was rampant even among horse soldiers. And last evening, clothes envy and bad jokes were set aside as I celebrated my Naming with my mates and senior officers from the garrison, several aristos and their armsmen, a mountain cat Faena, a dark elf enchanter, the royal guard, the Lord Commander of the Royal Guard and Royal Army, the king of Iversterre, and anyone else who cared to join us in the common room of Freston’s old posting inn. It had become very merry as the night went on, with calls to the innkeeper for more tankards and goblets, and calls to the musicians for livelier music. After a while, the tables and chairs had been pushed back and we danced with the local lasses, because the king’s court was a bachelor one and the one highborn lady who had been with us had left with her brother and uncle for their home the previous day. But that was all right as most of us didn’t know any court dances anyway, and those who did were very amenable to the more vigorous romping of the common folk. I remembered the Enchanter Wyln, his eyes aflame as he gracefully stepped by with one of the innkeeper’s numerous relations, the woman’s own eyes wide with dazed shock at finding herself dancing with the dark elf. Then, King Jusson’s partner was just as stunned, as was Laurel Faena’s. Especially Laurel’s—though the mountain cat’s dance partner kept running her hand through his fur, which was growing in thick and heavy for the winter.

Still, dancing kings, elves, and cats didn’t stop people from joining in until the merriment spilled into the inn’s courtyard, and then into the street—not so much because I was such a popular fellow, but because Jusson was buying drinks for all in celebration of his cousin and heir who had turned one year older.

It was also because we’d all been destroyed and lived to tell of it.

The thunder sounded again and my eyes, which had drifted shut, sprang open once more. Judging by the embers in the fireplace, it hadn’t been that long since we’d staggered up to the bedchamber. While not as spacious as the one I had at the king’s former residence across town, the room was big enough to cram four rather elderly beds into it, along with a rickety washstand and three army footlockers, which were shoved against one wall. Jusson had much nicer furnishings—he was king of a large, prosperous kingdom after all—but they were stored in a nearby warehouse as he’d hired the inn as is. By the fireplace’s scant light, I could see Laurel and my two personal guards, Jeffen and Arlis, sprawled on their beds, each under a tangle of sheets and blankets. The large cat gave a whiffling snort at the noise and Jeff didn’t stop snoring. But Arlis thrust back his covers and got up, and I realized what I’d taken for thunder was someone pounding on the door. Squinting against my throbbing head, I cautiously rose onto my elbow as Arlis unbarred and snatched the door open, the snarl on his goateed face just discernible. It disappeared quickly as he jumped to attention.

“Heed captain!” he croaked.

Laurel gave a low growl and pulled a pillow over his head. However, Jeff, showing a finely developed sense of self-preservation, leapt up from his bed almost before Arlis finished croaking. But then, so did I, with both feet together, my spine straight, my shoulders back, desperately hoping that whatever was in my stomach would remain there.

Captain Suiden had been my commanding officer for the more than five years I’d been in the Freston Mountain Patrol. The Mountain Patrol was the lowest of the low in a garrison filled with the inept, the disgraced, the suspect, and the patronless. We actually had to fight bandits in the mountains—unlike the King’s Road patrollers, whose duties consisted of escorting merchants’ caravans and looking good for the locals. Despite his lowly posting, Suiden was a good captain who took good care of his men, and he had more than a few times gotten us out of very sticky situations surprisingly whole. However, goodness had nothing to do with the faint smile the captain gave as he stepped into the room, neatly dressed in his army uniform. He held a single candlestick, its light flickering over the faded clan markings on his dark face—relics of his former life as the crown prince of Tural. But the candlelight also left other parts of his face in shadow and his green eyes glowed in the darkness.

“Go back to bed, guardsmen,” Suiden said softly to Jeff and Arlis. He turned those green, glowing eyes on me and my spine stiffened more while the butterflies on my headboard fluttered. “Lieutenant, you’re with me.”

Suiden wasn’t my captain any longer, as I’d been co-opted by Jusson into the King’s Own. But I wasn’t about to tell him no—I too had a finely developed sense of self-preservation. As Arlis and Jeff collapsed back onto their beds, I stepped into my slippers and shuffled over to my footlocker to get my uniform.

“We don’t have time for you to dress,” Suiden said, watching the butterflies watch him. “Put on one of your robes.”

I made a turn for my robe, which was hung from a hook on the wall, and went past the beds and their once again slumbering occupants. Or maybe not so slumbering. I caught the gleam of Arlis’ eyes in the light thrown off by Suiden’s candle, and in the washstand’s mirror I could see the pale oval of Jeff’s face turned to me. I said nothing, sliding my arms into my robe and fastening it before returning back to my bed for the feather and boot knife I’d stashed under my pillow. Putting both in my robe’s pocket, I then took the plain ash-wood staff from where it leaned against the wall next to my bed. The butterflies flitted up but Suiden gave them a slight bow.

“If you would please remain here, Sraene, I need Rabbit alone.”

The butterflies landed back on the headboard and I felt the weight of their stares as I followed the captain out of the room. I reached back to shut the door behind me but was beaten to it by one of the royal guards standing on each side. Before it closed, I could see that Laurel had removed the pillow from his head to watch us leave, his amber eyes reflecting the fireplace light.

“With me, Lieutenant,” Suiden repeated, and turned, quickly walking down the hallway. And despite my alcohol-induced malaise, I was right on his heels. Though there was the occasional night candle in a wall sconce (proof that prosperity—or a rich royal guest—had returned to the inn), only the captain’s candle illuminated the long dark stretches in between. Well, there was another light. The truth rune on my palm shone softly in the gloom. As did the symbols of air and water on one side of the rune, and fire and earth on the other. Still, the faint glow wasn’t enough to navigate the hallway, and I wasn’t about to try to make it brighter. I hadn’t done any talent work for the last couple of weeks—I was wary of what might happen.

We hurried by Jusson’s unguarded chamber; the king was up and about, then. But before I could decide whether I wanted to ask where he was, we reached the inn’s grand and sweeping front stair (another tribute to better times). Sheltering his candle flame with a cupped hand, Suiden ran lightly down it. Setting my back teeth, I once more followed, seeing the telltale royal guards standing at one of the four private parlors. They both jumped to attention, one flinging the door open. At the same time, the common room door also opened and three teamsters walked out. They stopped and gaped, while beyond them in the common room the noise died down.

Though much of the night and a lot of the early morning had been spent in wine, dance, and song, the common room showed no evidence of last night’s bacchanal. The floor was swept, a modest fire burned in the fireplace, and the tables and chairs were back in their accustomed places with those who labored for their bread filling the seats as they ate their first meal of the day—including two men who were seated at a table near the door. One wore the outfit of a royal messenger while the other’s short tunic sported an unfamiliar device: a running stag of faded brown against a sky blue field. Each had his attention on the piled plate in front of him, both shoveling in food as if they’d not eaten for days.

I didn’t blame them. I too had eaten the inn’s cooking.

However, the rest of the room’s occupants were gawking, taking in my waist- length braid, mussed from bed, my ash-wood staff, and my robe in blues, purples, and greens with matching slippers (I was suddenly very glad that the butterflies had remained upstairs). A few showed stunned expressions in response to my early-morning splendor, vivid even in the predawn dimness of the foyer. Most, though, wore the same wide-eyed stare I’d seen for several days, one that had nothing to do with my appearance and everything to do with the happenings of the previous couple of weeks.

One of the teamsters took in a deep breath. “I didn’t believe it,” he said to his friends. “Not for a wagonload of gold did I believe it. But it’s true.”

Frowning, I opened my mouth to ask him what was true.

“Lieutenant,” Suiden said.

Closing my mouth, I followed Suiden into the private room. Once more the guard shut the door behind us and I stood wincing in the light.

Like my bedchamber, the parlor was a little shabby. At one end of the room were a somewhat threadbare settee, two worn stuffed chairs, and a scarred, low table. They were balanced on the other side of the parlor by a battered dining table circled by straight-back wood chairs. The drapes covering the windows showed signs of careful darning, as did the faded tapestries on the walls, and both the wood floor and the rug had burn spots where sparks had popped out of the fireplace. But the room was ruthlessly clean, the furniture glowing with the patina of age and polish. A couple of days ago there was a wreath of fall grasses and leaves over the mantelpiece. It was now gone as Harvestide, the celebration of the last harvest of the year, had just passed with all the crops safely gathered in. I supposed in a month or so Festival decorations would take the wreath’s place; right now there were only two candlesticks on the mantel. There were also candles in the wall sconces and in other candlesticks scattered about the room—again supplied by the king—filling the air with the scent of beeswax. An ambitious fire burned in the fireplace; the king’s majordomo, Cais, stood at the hearth tending the flames. Turning, Cais give me an assessing look and, adjusting the fireplace screen and placing the poker in its stand, he slipped out of the room.

“Good morning, Rabbit,” Jusson said.

I looked away from the closing door to the dining table, where the king sat in one of the five chairs. Bright-eyed, Jusson did not look as though he’d been carousing the small hours away. Then, he was near as old as my da and he didn’t look that either. Instead he appeared my age. Tall and slender, with a mass of black hair, winged eyebrows, and tilted eyes with a gold ring etched around each black iris, he also looked like a dark elf from one of the Border coastal city- states. His raiment was austerely elegant, as was the simple gold circlet upon his head, yet somehow he managed not to clash with the shabby parlor.

That couldn’t be said of the man lounging beside Jusson. Unlike his king or his fellow officer, Captain Javes of the Freston garrison, King’s Road Patrol (South) was as close to a fop as one could get and still be in uniform. His golden blond hair was curled and pomaded, a quiz glass hung by a black ribbon around his neck, a jaunty cap with both his rank insignia and a sleek feather was on the back of his chair. As Javes’ father was the head of Iversterre’s merchants’ guild and his mother was a member of the powerful trade consortium the Qarant, I figured he could afford to dress any way he damn well pleased. As he was part of the king’s inner circle, he could get away with it.

Javes gave me a vacuous smile, not quite hiding the wolf lurking behind the silly ass. “Hallo, Rabbit. Smashing party last night, what?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. I bowed carefully. “Your Majesty.”

“You look as though you had a smashing time,” Jusson said as Suiden seated himself at the table. The king pointed at the empty chair directly opposite him. “Sit. Before you keel over.”

Very conscious of my unshaven scruffiness—and the vapors of past tankards of ale that swirled around me—I gingerly sat, propping my staff against my chair. Empty plates were scattered on the table, bearing evidence of breakfast, and my stomach cringed at the thought of food. Also on the table were two dispatch pouches—one with the royal seal, the other displaying the same running stag symbol I saw on the tunic of the man in the common room. The dispatches themselves were split open and stacked together in front of Jusson and I eyed them, mildly curious. Then, realizing a certain lack, I glanced around the room. Thadro, the king’s lord commander, was missing. Usually Thadro stood at Jusson’s back—though he recently had to vie with the Enchanter Wyln for the honor. But the dark elf was also absent. I had started to ask their whereabouts when the door opened and the lord commander himself came in. Tall, broad-shouldered, and looking like the head of the royal guards and army should, Thadro also showed no signs of last night’s festivities. I struggled to stand as he strode to the table, Javes and Suiden rising with me, but he waved us down as he sat in the last vacant chair on the king’s right-hand side.

“All set, Your Majesty,” he said. “I’ve given both your messages to carry back.”

Jusson nodded, but before he could say anything, the door reopened and Cais reentered, followed by the innkeeper. She stumped over to the table and plunked down a tray holding a covered plate and a large teapot with steam rising from its spout. My stomach cringed again in protest, but my nose twitched. As I said, I’d eaten the inn’s cooking. Sliding the plate and teapot off the tray in front of me, she whipped the cover off the plate, revealing an egg concoction gently folded over cheese and mushrooms, golden brown potatoes, a stack of flatcakes with butter, and a small pot of hot syrup from a local farmer’s sugar orchard. I inhaled and, almost without volition, smiled.

“Huh,” the innkeeper said. With the tray dangling from one large hand, she folded her massive arms across her ample bosom. “Is this what you’d turn my boy into?”

Startled, I looked up. “Mistress Inga?” I asked.

One of the many victims of the fraudulent doings of the town’s leading citizens, Freston’s old posting inn had for years been closed and shuttered. Recently, though, the inn had opened once again, this time catering to the local citizenry with clean rooms, good food, and cheap rates. It probably would’ve continued indefinitely as the low-cost alternative to Freston’s other inn, the Hart’s Leap, except for Jusson’s discovery of the fraud and his subsequent removal of his entire household to the inn. Mistress Inga had seemed to take the royal occupancy in stride and last night she had calmly gazed out at my Nameday celebration from behind the bar, grimly benevolent as she kept us supplied with ale, hot mulled wine, and choice spirits. Now, however, all goodwill was gone as she glared down at me. My hands curled around my plate in case she tried to take it back.

“Five years as a horse soldier in the Mountain Patrol, Sra Inga,” Suiden said. “He’s also fought at His Majesty’s side during the spring rebellion in Iversly.”

A trio of serving lasses had slipped into the room behind the innkeeper and one now began rapidly clearing off the empty crockery while the other two waited with more plates, cups and saucers, steaming teapots, cream, honey, a pitcher of hot milk, and a plate of hot apple tarts. As soon as the old was cleared, Cais helped them set the table with the new, though Jusson didn’t wait for his majordomo to serve him. He snatched a tart from the platter, juggling it briefly before dropping it onto his plate. Thadro quickly followed suit.

“Not to mention his fighting in Elanwryfindyll during the contretemps at the Fyrst’s court,” Javes added. He politely waited until after the king and lord commander to snatch his own pastry and, picking up the creamer, he poured the contents over it. “Very handy with his fists too. Just ask Magus Kareste.”

I had fought my old master when I’d returned to the Border last spring. But that was because the mage had flipped over into the dark arts and was doing his best to take me with him. I wondered, though, what Kareste had to do with the innkeeper.

“I’d heard about that,” Thadro said. He broke open the tart’s crust with his fork, breathing in its fragrant steam. “Three solid blows to the jaw, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Suiden said before I could respond. He was also busy with a pastry, though he took the time to nudge his cup towards Cais as the majordomo picked up a teapot. “Do not let his appearance fool you, Sra Inga,” Suiden said to the innkeeper. “Lieutenant Rabbit is a very capable soldier. And those who misjudged him have learned otherwise, to their detriment.”

I blinked. Not only did I fight wicked sorcerers with my mere fists, but all of a sudden I was the scourge of evildoers everywhere. “Uhm—”

“But even beyond Lieutenant Rabbit’s recent experiences, Mistress Inga,” Javes said, “he was in the Mountain Patrol for five years, fighting bandits and whatnot, and him just a boy when he joined. As Captain Suiden kept him safe, I’m sure the good captain will also keep your son safe.”

I blinked again, then carefully blanked my face. While Suiden was wildly successful in bringing most of his lads back alive from our assorted skirmishes, safe was not a word I would’ve associated with my time in the army.

“Huh,” Inga said again, eyeing my braid and robe. She then aimed her narrowed gaze at the table before nodding at the three serving girls. They all bobbed a curtsey—whether at Jusson or at the innkeeper was uncertain—and scurried out. Inga picked up a second teapot and poured me a cup as Cais hadn’t worked over my way yet. “When do you leave, Your Majesty?” she asked.

“Four days,” Jusson said, his voice wistful as he took a bite of his apple tart.

“I see.” Putting the teapot down, Inga stepped back and gave a small curtsey—no more than a slight bending of her knees. “We will talk about my boy then,” she said and, without waiting for royal permission, turned and stumped out of the parlor. As the door shut behind her, Cais circled around the table and, picking up a folded napkin, shook it out and laid it across my lap. I didn’t need the hint; I already had my fork in hand even as I kept my gaze on the four before me.

“Your Majesty?” I asked. “Sirs? If I may ask, what’s going on?”

“We need a cook for the troop,” Suiden said, his voice thick from the pastry, “and we’ve been talking to Sra Inga about her youngest joining the Royal Army. He baked these tarts.”

The Mountain Patrol’s old cook, Trooper Basel, had been murdered during the same rebellion that I’d fought alongside the king. Basel had been a master craftsman, able to turn the meanest field rations and the most meager forage into feasts. But the cooks at the inn—all Mistress Inga’s sons—were God-inspired when it came to their art, and my eyes narrowed in thought. I was no longer attached to the Mountain Patrol, but as both Suiden’s and Javes’ troops were going with us when the king left Freston, there was no reason I couldn’t just happen to be present during mealtimes.

“Oh.” I took a bite of the folded egg mixture. “Oh,” I said again, this time sighing. I forked up some cheese and mushrooms. “Do you need me to talk with Mistress Inga?”

“Not now,” Jusson said. Washing down the last of his pastry with tea, the king picked up one of several dispatches in front of him. “We got you up for another reason. I’ve received word from the Qarant. They’ve agreed to act as intermediary between us and Tural.”

Despite the crown prince sitting at our breakfast table, there had not been any diplomatic ties between Iversterre and the Turalian Empire for several months—which was inconvenient, as Jusson had a long list of pressing issues he wanted to discuss with His Glory the amir. I too had a list, though not as long as Jusson’s. In fact, mine just contained one name: Slevoic.

I stopped midchew, lowering my fork. “When do we set sail, Your Majesty?”

“Not certain,” Jusson said. “Even though the Qarant have agreed, there are still things to work out—including whether anyone from Iversterre will be included in the delegation.”

I frowned. “But—”

“While on occasion the Qarant agree to involve themselves in affairs of state,” Javes said, “they are first and foremost merchants.” He gave me his bugger- me silly smile. “They want to make sure that their acts of diplomacy do not upset any applecarts, what?”

“Yes,” Suiden said. “Especially their own.”

Javes’ smile merely broadened. “The most important cart of all, my dear captain.”

“So we just wait, twiddling our thumbs?” I caught the looks on my superior officers’ faces. “Sirs?”

My superior officers’ faces didn’t change, but Jusson did lift a brow. “You consider the work we’ve done here an exercise in futility, Rabbit?”

I felt my own face heat a little. “No, sire. Not at all—”

“Or perhaps you believe that we’re being foolish because we don’t charge pell-mell into a land not ours to look for someone who may or may not be there?”

My face heated more. “No, sire,” I said again.

“Or who would probably do a bunk the moment we did charge in,” Thadro added. “If he hasn’t already.”

“That too,” Jusson agreed.

“Yes, sire,” I said. I picked up my fork again, figuring food was better in my mouth than my foot was. “Does Laurel or Wyln know about the Qarant’s agreement?”

“No,” Jusson said. “I’ve just received the dispatch and haven’t had time to tell the Faena cat. Nor have I informed Lord Wyln, though he was here when it arrived.”

I kept silent as I cut into the stack of flatcakes, wondering at the secrecy.

“I told him that I needed to speak with you in private.” Using his own fork to pick up the remaining crumbs from his plate, Jusson gave a slight shrug. “And I do, but not because of this. In fact, I will ask Lord Wyln and the Faena cat if the Borderlands wish the Qarant to represent them also, which would allow us to make sure that we are all working towards the same ends. The last thing needed is for another kingdom to blunder in where we seek to tread lightly.”

“A kingdom with its own goals and agendas, sire,” Thadro said.

A faint line appeared between Jusson’s brows. “Pox rot it, yes. Goals and agendas we still know nothing about. Lord Wyln and Master Laurel must practice being inscrutable in front of their mirrors each morning.”

While the enchanter and the Faena did keep their thoughts close, I didn’t think either was working towards the demise of the kingdom. “Laurel did say that he wanted the same thing as you, sire,” I said, swallowing. “Iversterre strong and stable.”

“No,” Jusson said. Picking up his teacup again, he considered me over its rim. “It’s not Iversterre he wants strong. It’s you.”

That was very true. But Laurel knew I was thrice sworn to the throne, and even a fourth sworn to Jusson himself and the cat had acknowledged that to interfere with those oaths would be harmful to all involved. Even so, it was obvious that Jusson’s reservations about Laurel Faena continued unabated—and I wondered if he also had reservations about me, as I was as tightly bound to the Faena through covenant, rune, and feather as I was to the king with my quadruple oaths. Just as I was also tightly bound to the Enchanter Wyln who named me cyhn. But I knew where my first allegiance lay.

“I am yours, sire,” I said, lowering my fork once more.

Jusson’s face eased. “I don’t doubt it, cousin,” he said, his voice gentling. “Believe that I never doubted it. We haven’t had a chance to see each other much with all the bustle of the past two weeks. How are you doing?”

Nameday and Harvestide celebrations notwithstanding, we had been very busy. But then, dealing with the aftermath of hell breaking loose was a time- consuming task.

Jusson had come to Freston to meet me, Laurel, Wyln, and Captains Suiden and Javes and their troop units as we all returned from the Border—one stop among many in his progression through Iversterre after the failed rebellion of last spring. He’d expected to attend a few social functions, hold an audience or two, and generally remind everyone that he was king and they were citizens of his kingdom, before sweeping off to his next destination with me and the rest firmly in hand. What he got was another grab at the throne. This time, instead of ambitious nobles eager for their aristocratic arses to warm the royal seat cushions, the pretenders were His Honor Gawell, mayor of Freston and Ednoth, the head of the local merchants’ guild. It would’ve been laughable—and easily squelched—if it weren’t for the fact that Gawell and Ednoth had allied themselves with a very familiar enemy and the person on my short list: Slevoic ibn Dru.

It had been the House of Dru behind the spring rebellion, fomenting unrest among Jusson’s aristos and fanning the already wildly burning royal aspirations of my cousin, Lord Teram ibn Flavan. But when the coup failed, Cousin Teram imprisoned, Dru dissolved and its members outlawed, Lord Gherat of Dru and his kinsman Slevoic ran for the Border—where they made a try for the throne of His Elfin Grace, Loran the Fyrst of Elanwryfindyll. When that attempt had failed, Lord Gherat and most of his cohorts had been captured. We’d thought that Slevoic had perished in the enchanted forest surrounding the Fyrst’s castle, but during the fight with Gawell and Ednoth we discovered that the Vicious had once more escaped to another country—one that was part of the Turalian Empire. From his new lair, he’d made contact with the corrupt mayor and merchant for another try at toppling King Jusson’s House—and at destroying me.

And he very nearly succeeded. But that was because Gawell and Ednoth had summoned a demon. A demon that had raised walking corpses and infected the town with a killing madness. A demon that stalked me through my dreams, seeking a way into my soul. My soul, where the dying had been hid, away from the ravening, devouring demon. It had become very crowded in there.

I lowered my gaze from the concern I saw in not only Jusson’s face, but also Suiden’s, Javes’, and, to my surprise, Thadro’s. I wasn’t ready to spill my guts to my king and senior officers. I didn’t know what would come out.

“I’m all right, Your Majesty,” I said, tracing with a finger the wood grain on the table.

“I see,” Jusson murmured. He put his cup down on the saucer with a sharp click. “Well, I received two dispatches. The first one was about the Qarant delegation. The second one, though, was a complete surprise.”

I looked up as the king paused.

“It was an offer of marriage,” Jusson said. “For you.”

Two

I was born in the Border, a loose and contentious affiliation of the fae and the fantastic north of the kingdom of Iversterre. Once the People were spread down to the southern seas in a network of city-states, small fiefdoms, territories, factions, tribes, and clans, all busily engaged in the fae pastimes of treachery, double cross, and betrayal. Then humans arrived en masse and immediately began their own favorite pastime of push, until the People found themselves shoved to the edges of what was once all theirs. That annoyed them so much that when Iversterre began another war of acquisition, the People finally united and came against the human kingdom with enough force to shatter the Royal Army in just one battle.

But short wars and long animosity between the People and humans hadn’t deterred my parents, Lady Hilga eso Flavan and Lord Rafe ibn Chause, from moving to the Border. Settling in a back province, they changed their names to Lark and Two Trees, turned farmers and weavers, and bore eight children in between crops, believing all the while that if they didn’t bother their fae neighbors, their neighbors wouldn’t bother them. And they were right, but only because they had the good fortune to settle in Dragoness Moraina’s territory. The dragoness was firmly against any violence she herself didn’t start and she immediately put her taloned foot down—right on the first person who tried to work up a mob against us.

Honored Moraina’s favor made for a calm life for my family. Well, as calm as possible while sharing territory with a dragoness, large cats, wolves, faeries, river otters, badgers, competing deer herds, philosophical boars, forest and water sprites, all sorts of birds, gnomes, dwarves, monks, priests, shamans, bards, mages, and other cantankerous folk. About the only race we didn’t have were elves, but they occasionally would travel through. (Whenever they appeared, my brothers and sisters and I were confined to the farm until they left. Elves did not like humans—and had very creative ways of showing it.) With all the diversity, any gathering of two was an argument in the making. Three was a fight.

Except for mages. One mage was a minor war all by himself.

Surrounded by so much liveliness, I hadn’t paid much attention to my ma and da’s tales of Iversterre. They were of the dim, distant once upon a time of my parents’ past, complete with unfamiliar names and places. I had known that my parents had left privilege, rank, and wealth to take up a much harder life in an unpredictable and many times hostile land, but I’d assumed it was a deliberate choice, not one forced upon them. I also figured that the memory of them in their homeland had faded—and even if it hadn’t, no one would care about the offspring of a younger son and a long-gone daughter, no matter their Houses. So, when I fled my corrupt master, I had no qualms about running to the human kingdom where I became what I thought no one would expect: a horse soldier in the Royal Army of King Jusson IV.

It had taken me five years to discover that my coming to Iversterre had set off clarion calls blaring all the way up to the king. And now my ma and da’s past was casting long shadows into my future.

Shadows that were taking the shape of a bride.

I could hear the trill of a bird heralding the coming dawn, but it was nearly lost in the sound of quickening traffic in the streets. Jusson’s stay at the inn had brought an expanding renewal to the poorer section of town and, beyond the bird and traffic, I could also hear increasing clangs, thuds, rattles, and shouts as the owners of long-closed shops and other businesses briskly prepared for when the Eastgate would once more be open to merchants’ trains and other opportunities that traveled the King’s Road. But that was all outside. Inside the parlor there was silence. Jusson’s eyes glinted as I tried to find both my wits and voice.

“What do you know of the House of Mearden, cousin?” he asked.

I was still on the marriage part. I closed my mouth only to have it fall open again. “What?”

“Ah.” The glint became more pronounced. “You know nothing, then.”

“Either Rabbit’s parents didn’t speak about why they left Iversterre, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, “or he paid little attention. He hadn’t known they’d been forced to leave Iversterre until Vice Admiral Havram ibn Chause mentioned it during our voyage to the Border last spring.”

True. And I’d been very surprised when Uncle Havram had said how he had told my da’s and his eldest brother, Lord Maceal of Chause, not to let my parents be driven out of Iversterre. But that was nothing compared to my shock now.

“Who?” I asked, catching up to Mearden.

“I see,” Jusson said to Suiden. The king watched Cais pour more tea into his cup, then sat up, reaching for the honey and milk. “It’s a long and not very edifying story, Rabbit, in which no one shines,” he said. “But it does have all the stuff of high- drama: star-crossed lovers, ambitious Houses, ruthless rulers.”

I finally arrived at the same place everyone else was in the conversation. “Rulers?” I asked, my eyes wide on the king.

Jusson gave a sharp-edged smile. “Not me, Cousin. Our mother the queen was alive and very well then.” Holding his teacup, he leaned back and took a sip. “Haven’t you wondered why, out of all the Great Houses, I chose you as my heir? As has been said again and again, there are plenty of other, less controversial choices.”

Actually, I hadn’t. When Jusson had latched onto me there were a lot more pressing things happening at the time—assassination attempts, the rebellion, plus the threat of another devastating war with the Border. And hovering over all of that was the fact that Iversterre itself had changed. Claiming God’s holy right, the humans had come and thrust the fae out, but living where the People had once lived, where fae bones and ashes were mixed in the very soil, had caused Iversterre’s citizenry to become the very thing they’d declared anathema. It had made Jusson’s progression through his kingdom interesting with stonings, hangings and burnings, and other forms of rampant hysteria.

But though I’d not listened much to my parents’ tales of growing up in Iversterre, I did know about our family’s close relationship to the king. “My lines to the House of Iver, sire,” I said.

“Which are very impressive,” Jusson agreed. “Thirty-two on Chause’s side and forty on Flavan’s. There are duplicates, but take them away and you still have sixty-four—much more than anyone else. What would’ve happened, though, if your parents hadn’t married each other? If Hilga eso Flavan had not become Hilga Flavan e Chause?”

The idea of my parents not being together was like trying to imagine rain falling up. It was impossible. I stared blank-faced at Jusson while my hand went to the ash-wood staff leaning against my chair.

Captain Javes took pity on me. “Another House would’ve acquired those lines, Rabbit. Or at least the ones they didn’t already have.”

“It would’ve also meant that Chause would not have had Flavan’s,” Thadro said. “The Houses maneuver not only for their own advantage, but to deny others the same.”

Jusson nodded. “All Houses, Cousin, including the royal one. Marriages between nobles have to be approved by the throne and many times permission has been denied because of the potentially dangerous concentration of lines in one House. Our mother the queen was not happy when she found out that Rafe and Hilga had secretly wed. And she became even more unhappy when she also discovered that Hilga was already with child.”

My grip tightened on the staff while my other hand crept to my robe pocket where the feather and knife were as I realized what Jusson had just revealed—not about the timing of my eldest sister’s conception. That was minor, to be put away and mulled over in private. But why my parents left Iversterre . . . “Who was my mother supposed to marry?” I asked hoarsely, veering away from the quagmire of my da and pregnant ma fleeing an angry queen.

“It was the scandal of the year,” Jusson said. “I was still in the navy and had been a-sea fighting pirates and keeping Tural from encroaching on our waters. I remember returning to jokes on the docks, songs in the taverns, street-players’ dramas in the squares, and whispers behind gloved hands and painted fans at balls and soirees about how Lady Hilga had jilted Idwal of Mearden in favor of her lover, Rafe ibn Chause. However, in breaking her troth, Lady Hilga not only incurred our mother’s considerable wrath, but she also caused Mearden to suffer serious harm in both the loss of her very substantial dowry and of the lines that would’ve allowed Mearden to rise from a middling House to a Great one.” Jusson tapped the dispatches before him. “They have now asked that harm be redressed. By you, Cousin.”

“But I don’t have anything.” While a grandson of one Great House, a nephew of another, and cousin and heir of the king, all I had was my soldier’s pay. And I didn’t think what savings I’d managed to put aside would appease Mearden, no matter how middling their House.

“Yes, you do,” Jusson contradicted. “You have all those lines. And they have a marriageable daughter.”

“Welcome to the aristocracy, Rabbit,” Javes murmured into my stunned silence.

“I don’t even know her,” I began, panic setting in.

Jusson smiled. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Bloody everything, I should think!”

“It didn’t with my parents,” Jusson said. “They’d met only twice before their wedding.”

“They did?” Suiden asked, his green eyes bright. “When I married I had to wait until the wedding itself. For each of my three wives.”

Jusson, Javes, Thadro, and I all paused, sliding looks at the captain.

Suiden’s eyes grew brighter. “Political marriages, Your Majesty. Ones the amir has long since dissolved.”

“You terrify me, Captain Prince,” Jusson said. “Do not worry, Rabbit. When the time comes, I shall require that you take only one wife.”

“You’ll require, Your Majesty?” I squeaked.

“Of course.” A winged brow rose. “Unless you have a calling for Holy Orders and wish to enter the Church—?”

A knock on the door sounded over my gasps for breath. Jusson, frowning, gestured at Cais and the majordomo opened it to reveal Freston’s garrison commander. I wheeled my panicked stare to Commander Ebner and he checked at the door.

“Are we too soon, Your Majesty?” Ebner asked. “Should we come back?”

“No,” Jusson sighed, his frown easing as he glanced at the lightening gloom outside the window. “It’s time for my day to start.”

The garrison commander entered the parlor, followed by various folks all in some official form or another, including the Keeper of the King’s Peace and the town doyen. Ebner looked tired—even a little haggard—and I figured he was getting scant rest in all the activity. His gaze was naturally fixed on Jusson and the senior officers, but Peacekeeper Chadde and Doyen Dyfrig both cast glances at me. Chadde gave me a calm nod, the newly etched truth run on her hand softly glowing in the increasingly unnecessary candlelight. Dyfrig’s young-again face wore a distant expression, his stare shuttered. However, it was the same one he’d been giving me the past several days and I easily ignored it, just as I ignored the looks of wide-eyed awe on the others’ faces.

“We will talk again later, Rabbit,” Jusson said, reclaiming my attention. His eyes dropped to my half-eaten food. “I’ll have Mistress Inga prepare you another plate.”

I searched for something, anything to say, but my mind was blank. “Sire,” I began anyway.

“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant,” Thadro, Ebner, and Suiden all said at the same time, while Javes lifted his brows at me.

“Yes, sirs,” I murmured, yielding. With a bow at Jusson, I exited the parlor, vaguely acknowledging greetings as I passed by others still streaming into the room. I must’ve climbed the stairs, for I found myself at my bedchamber door. My nighttime guards were gone and I gave my door what I thought was a normal push, but it flew open and hit the wall with a loud thud. The room was filled with light, with candles and a renewed fire crackling in the fireplace augmenting the gray predawn sky showing through the opened shutters.

It was also a room filled with people. My roommates must not have lingered in bed after I’d left with Suiden; Jeff was shaved, Arlis’ goatee trimmed and oiled, and both dressed in their blue and white royal guard uniforms, while Laurel’s tawny pelt was smoothed and all his beads and feathers were attached. They stood with the Enchanter Wyln at the fireplace, the butterflies lined up on the mantelpiece, all turning at my crashing entrance, Arlis looking impatient, Jeff in midgesture as if he were in the middle of a long explanation.

“Is everything all right, my lord?”

I looked to see Finn at the rickety washstand, his round head and diminutive frame closely resembling Cais’—which was not surprising as he was the majordomo’s nephew. The servant had been busy: our beds were made and he was now about to pour hot steaming water from a copper can into a ewer. A stack of fresh towels rested on the cracked countertop on one side of the bowl, while on the other side was my shaving kit, and over on my made bed was my own uniform carefully laid out.

“No,” I said. “Everything’s not all right.”

“Did the dispatches contain bad news, Two Trees’son?” Wyln asked from the fireplace.

“No,” I said again. I stalked to my bed and flung myself down, not caring that I was crushing my starched and pressed tabard. Outside, a bird trilled. It sounded like the same damned one I heard downstairs. I scowled at the window, feeling persecuted.

“Why are you so upset, then?” Laurel asked.

I transferred my glare to the cat, but he calmly stared back, his tail idly waving as he waited. Sighing, I slumped down.

“I’m doomed.”

Three

We left Freston four days later. It was an impressive leave-taking. We started in the town’s main square at first light, all of us who were going mounted on our horses, our colors waving in the morning breeze. The troopers from the garrison were also a-horse in glittering armored ranks while town watchmen stood at attention in oiled leathers, short swords at their sides, with townspeople crowded into the leftover spaces. Each and every one had their faces turned to the steps of the town hall where Jusson went through the ceremony of turning the town over to the interim government—which, until a new governor was appointed, consisted of Commander Ebner and a few of the local gentry. (While the former town officials hadn’t been involved in the mayor and head merchant’s sorcery and rebellion, they had been steeped in enough malfeasance that Jusson suggested that all should retire from public life. For their health. And for their health, they agreed.)

The usual speeches were happening about the dawn of a new era with peace and prosperity around the corner, and my attention drifted. The square still showed signs of the desperate battle we’d fought there a short time before. There was fire damage on many of the buildings, the square’s paving stones were cracked and broken traps for the unwary, and the church . . . Doyen Dyfrig, along with a couple of other doyens and a gaggle of church clerks from the town of Cosdale to the south, had purified the inside, but the outside remained battered and scarred, the blasted-open double doors still off their hinges. They were propped up against each other with twined boughs of hazel and rowan fastened to their frames to ward off any malign influences that might wander by.

And though innocuous-looking in the bright morning light, I still found myself casting glances at the small side street that led from the square to the charnel house. Dyfrig and his fellow churchmen had also descended upon the small stone building, but last I’d reluctantly seen, it too remained in a state of disrepair. I reckoned that there was no rush to fix it as it’d be a long time before any of the townsfolk would use it to again house their dead.

Adjusting my cloak against the fall chill, I returned my gaze to Jusson. Despite the king’s stated intention, we hadn’t spoken again about my proposed nuptials. I didn’t know if that was by design or happenstance; the last few days had been busy for everyone, including me. As I was acting as the lord commander’s second, the logistics of royal travel fell into my lap and I was swamped with baggage trains, duty rotas, and other items of interest. I wasn’t too busy to worry, though, when Thadro told me our destination:

Mearden.

“A loyal subject of the realm has invited His Majesty to his home,” Thadro had said, his blue-gray eyes bright. “Of course we’re going.”

As he was my commanding officer, I pressed my lips firmly together to hold back the words clamoring to get out. But I hadn’t been so reticent with Wyln and Laurel. The morning the offer had arrived, they listened intently as I repeated what the king said about my mother’s broken troth and the demand for redress.

“Interesting,” Laurel said when I’d finished.

“Glad you think so,” I said, still sitting on the bed, crushing my uniform. The butterflies had moved from the mantelpiece to my shoulder, but for the first time their weight didn’t connect me to the earth. Then, I hadn’t been feeling connected to much of anything for a while.

“It is interesting,” Wyln said. “Eorl Idwal may have been good enough for your mother; you as the heir of Jusson Iver’son can look much higher for a wife.”

“That’s also very comforting, honored Cyhn,” I muttered. I glanced at Jeff and Arlis, standing a little apart. There was a slight frown on Arlis’ face, which I supposed was an improvement over the blank expression he’d wore over the past couple of weeks. However, I’d expected Jeff to make my immediate life lively with snickers and comments, but he too was silent, his face unreadable.

“It should be, Two Trees’son,” Wyln said, reclaiming my attention. “As should be the fact that, as the Fyrst’s declared son, you have access to all lineages allied with His Grace.”

During the same journey to the Border last spring, Loran the Fyrst discovered not only that Jusson was his many times great-grandson, but also that I was closely related to the dark elf king. Next I knew, I was annexed by His Grace and handed over to his brother-in-law Wyln for fosterage. But this was the first I heard about the Fyrst being interested in my potential descendants.

My spine stiffened. “But I’m human!” I blurted.

Wyln gave a gentle smile, his eyes bright with flames. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

“Wouldn’t Rabbit’s marriage also have to be presented to the Dark Elves Council?” Laurel asked Wyln.

“As His Grace is the Oldest One of the Gaderian á Doerc Oelfs, all his family alliances have to be approved,” Wyln agreed. “Just as my marriage was approved by the Gaderian, His Grace, the temple priests, my cyhn, and my parents.”

I remained silent—partly out of dazed shock of the list of hoops Wyln had to jump through to get married, but mostly because the enchanter’s wife and children had been killed in the first wave of wars between human and fae. While that had been several centuries ago, elves had different ideas than the shorter- lived races on what constituted the recent past, especially when that past included the despised human kingdom. (The northern elfin clans still read their death rolls from the wars on their holy days.) From comments Wyln had made from time to time, his grief was sharp and fresh.

There was nothing of grief and loss, however, in Wyln’s amused expression.

“Joining is too important to leave to those least likely to be objective,” Laurel said, once more stepping into my silence. “When the time is appropriate, my sisters will choose my mate.”

I found my voice. “Your sisters,” I said.

“Yes,” Laurel said absently. He ran a claw through the fur on his chin, his shifting ears causing his wood beads to clack. “Since you are important to both the Border and Iversterre, I wouldn’t be surprised if the High Council would also want a say in any proposed union.”

I closed my eyes, thinking that maybe if I ran away and joined a traveling menagerie, no one would find me.

“True,” Wyln agreed once more. “Something to discuss with Iver’son.”

Now, four days later, I glanced at Wyln sitting on his horse beside me in the square, the sword he wielded in the demon fight worn across his back. If he or Laurel had managed to speak with Jusson, neither had told me about it. The fire enchanter looked pensive as he listened to the king. At first I thought he was engrossed in Jusson’s speech; then I realized that he too was surveying the square. As was Laurel, standing next to my horse. The cat’s eyes were aimed at the bottom of the town hall steps where he had been killed by a crossbow quarrel. It was also where he had returned from the dead.

Then, a whole lot of folks had been killed and then resurrected. Including my old troop mate. At that thought, I turned my head to where Jeff sat on his horse behind me—and met a gaze that was as shuttered as any Doyen Dyfrig had given me over the last week. I frowned.

“What’s wrong—”

There was a blare of trumpets and, breaking off, I faced forward again to see Jusson, done with speechifying, descend the steps to mount his horse, his armor and thin gold circlet of his battle helm ablaze in the sunlight. His standard bearers whipped out in front of him and, with the king’s banner held high, the column began to move. Exiting the square through facing rows of the mounted troopers presenting arms, we went on a procession through Freston to let the cheering crowds get a good look at us. It was a long column, full of pomp and pageantry as we wound our way through the town to the newly reopened Eastgate, where, through the miracle of side streets, the garrison commander Ebner, Peacekeeper Chadde, the newly appointed town elders, garrison soldiers, and watchmen awaited us. There were a few symbolic bricks in the gateway waiting removal and a familiar portable altar was set up by the gate with an equally familiar chest. But it wasn’t presided over by Dyfrig. He had left before daybreak in a much smaller procession, the town doyen-turned-mage going to meet with the senior clergy at the Patriarch’s See in the Royal City, accompanied by a sizable contingent of Own as he carried not only the artifacts and devices found in the sorcerous mayor’s possession to be given into the keeping of the See, but also a casket of cursed gold and jewels to be delivered into the keeping of the Banson River at an appropriately deep spot. Mistress Gwynedd was included in the entourage, in the hopes that the same senior clergy could help the broken- minded street player—and if they couldn’t, at least keep her safe from further demonic incursions.

However, Mayor Gawell and Master Ednoth did not go with Doyen Dyfrig to either the Royal City’s See or dungeons. They remained in Freston—at least, parts of them did. After one of the swiftest trials I’d ever witnessed, Jusson had their heads nailed over the Kings-gate that they committed so much fraud to build.

Thadro gave the signal and we halted. One of the Cosdale doyens, in full vestments, stepped to the fore and opened the chest revealing the implements of blessing, and I settled myself down for another round of talking, this time in the form of prayers. The wind, still snapping our pennants and flags, gave a tentative tug on my braid, but I ignored it, keeping my attention on the doyen.

“Lord Rabbit.”

I turned from the makeshift altar to see a mountain masquerading as a man standing by my stirrup. Next to him was a slender boy. The boy glowed—pale blond hair, luminous gray eyes, delicate rose-tinted skin—which contrasted sharply with his rough trousers, boots, thick shirt, and heavy coat. A wide-brimmed hat on his head and a tasseled scarf wound around his neck completed his outfit and I blinked at the vision of beauty dressed for hard traveling.

“I’m Flavio, me lord,” the man said, “and this is my brother, Bertram. Captain Suiden spoke with Mam about our Bertie joining the army.”

“Mistress Inga is his mother?” I asked, startled. While I had no problem with the man-mountain claiming the innkeeper as his dam, I had a hard time imagining the fey creature by his side springing from the same stock.

Flavio grinned. “Aye. He takes after Dad.”

My eyes went back to Bertram, now trying to imagine Mistress Inga with a husband that looked like him. I bit my lip as I succeeded. “I see,” I said weakly.

“Mam agreed to let Bertie go with you.”

“Oh,” I said. “Good. That’s great.” I shifted in my saddle and pointed back to the Mountain Patrol at the end of the column. “Captain Suiden is over there—”

“No, me lord,” Flavio said. “She agreed to let him go with you.”

My arm froze in midpoint. “What?”

Flavio’s gaze drifted to the feather in my braid before going to the butterflies on my shoulders. “She said that if anyone could show Bertie how to get on in the army, it would be you.”

“She did, did she?” I waited a beat, then frowned when I didn’t hear any snickering comments and I turned to find both Jeff’s and Arlis’ distant expressions had become ones of abject pleading—as had the Royal Guards’ beyond them. They had all eaten the inn’s cooking. Seeking guidance, I looked ahead at Thadro, but the lord commander’s attention was focused on the Cosdale doyen, who was in the middle of a prayer blessing portals and thresholds. I looked back at Bertie, and he glowed up at me, painful hope on his face.

“I’m sure Prince Suiden would understand, Two Trees’son,” Wyln murmured while Laurel gave a rumble of agreement. Two more of the inn’s satisfied customers.

Maybe I could work out something where Bertram would be permanently on loan to the Mountain Patrol. And then Suiden wouldn’t flay me—much—for taking his cook. “All right,” I sighed.

Flavio grinned. “Thank you, me lord. Ye won’t regret it.” He signaled and the crowd opened up to let more hulking men through. One was carrying a huge trunk, another leading a sturdy mountain pony, and the rest were toting large baskets. Bertram scrambled up on the pony, his eyes shining with excitement.

“The carts are over there,” I said, waving a hand. Though the baggage train had also left before daybreak along with most of the royal household, a few servants driving lightly loaded carts were traveling with us, just in case Jusson broke a bootlace while out on the road.

The one carrying the trunk nodded and changed directions. Those with the baskets, though, continued towards us—and suddenly on the breeze wafted enticing smells. I forgot about unexpected cooks and annoyed captains, and inhaled. Deeply.

“Something to tide you over until your next meal, me lord,” Flavio said. He didn’t wait for my response—which was just as well as I was too busy salivating—but went to his brother, towering over both boy and pony. “Now, you mind His Lordship, Bertie. Do what he tells you. Understand?”

Bertram nodded, his face turning serious.

“And remember what Mam said about strong drink and bad companions.”

Bertram nodded again.

“Change your smalls every day, make sure your bed-sheets are aired, always wear your hat outside in the sun—”

I listened with half an ear to the litany of motherly advice as I was trying to see what was in the baskets. My hands were occupied with staff and shield, but others’ were relatively unencumbered; Jeff, Arlis, and Laurel each took one, as did some of the Own. Even Wyln had a basket. He opened it and I inhaled again.

“Lieutenant.”

My gaze snapped up to meet the lord commander’s. He’d turned around in his saddle, his eyes frosty. But before he could say anything more, the crowd gave a fullthroated roar and I looked beyond him to see workmen carrying off the rest of the bricks. The Cosdale doyen walked over the now fully opened gateway and lifted up a chalice of wine. Still praying, he poured the wine over the gate’s threshold.

“Very civilized,” Wyln said. He’d stopped inspecting the basket’s contents to watch the ceremony at the gate. “We use blood.” He caught my horrified look and added soothingly, “Consecrated animals or condemned criminals, Two Trees’son. Usually. Though in troubled times, sometimes a prince of the realm is chosen—”

Right. I raised my gaze to Thadro, but the lord commander had turned again and was facing forward. Apparently the wine was our exit cue, for the banner men started forward and the rest of us followed. The trumpets once more sounded, the people started to shout and cheer, and from the town square the church bells began to ring. Still praying, the Cosdale doyen dipped a sprig of hyssop into a bowl of blessed water and splashed us as we passed by him.

“Bye, Bertie,” Flavio shouted over the clamor. “Me lord. Godspeed.”

I blinked back at the mountain, then down at Bertie, trotting beside me on his pony, his face glowing as if he were going on the adventure of a lifetime. I bit back an oath. In the careful ranking of the column, I’d just allowed an innkeeper’s son to ride in front of the king’s royal guard, several lords of the realm, and two troop units, one led by a prince. Add to it that same prince’s reaction when he found out his cook was given into my care and I figured that the journey was going to be filled with all sorts of excitement.

“And so it begins,” Laurel said, his ears pushed forward, his face lifted up to the rising sun.

“So it does,” Wyln said, his face also lifted, his eyes once more pensive. “I wonder what this beginning will bring us?”

I remained silent, thinking that while I didn’t know about beginnings, a part of my life had just ended. We were out the Eastgate and were moving down the King’s Road, leaving Freston and the clamor of our leave-taking behind us. I looked about. I’d never seen the road from this vantage, as the gate had been closed the entire time I’d been posted at the garrison. I turned to look back at the town that had been my home and refuge for over five years. It too seemed strange from the new perspective; ephemeral in the rising sun, as if it all would vanish like some half-remembered dream in the morning light. The road curved and I could see that the last of the aristos and their armsmen had exited and the King’s Road patrol was now moving out from under the shadow of the gate. Only Captain Suiden and the Mountain Patrol were left, and by the increasingly distant sounds, it seemed that the townsfolk were cheering them as loudly as they’d cheered the king. I started to face forward again but my eye caught something and I looked down. We’d ridden through the Cosdale doyen’s offering of wine, tracking it out onto the road. I could see hoof and Laurel’s paw prints with the blessed wine glistening dark red against the dirt. It looked an awful lot like blood.

Four

Mearden was on the kingdom’s western coast where the Artole River flowed into the sea. Measuring the distance on Jusson’s maps, I’d figured that, between the royal baggage train and a column that stretched from here to eternity, it would take us over three weeks to reach it. I was wrong. It took us a fortnight. Jusson, proving that he had a constitution and backside made of steel, started our journey each day just after daybreak, setting a ground-eating pace with only one short pause for midday meal, and continuing until just before sunset when we’d stop for the night. It was as hard a slog as any I’d done patrolling the mountains above Freston, and each night I fell into my cot and lay unmoving until I was rousted by wake-up the following morning.

The first day, we had crested the mountain pass out of Freston’s valley and were well into our descent towards Cosdale when, as the long shadows threatened to turn to dusk, Thadro finally signaled and we turned off the road to a large clearing in the mountain’s forest. There we were met by the king’s majordomo Cais and his legion of servants, and there I learned the difference between being a soldier in His Majesty’s Royal Army versus riding with His Majesty himself. Instead of the usual bivouac with the troopers doing the bivouacking, we rode into a camp already set up with tents pitched in neat rows, cook fires burning, latrine ditches dug. And in the middle of it all stood the royal pavilion, brightly lit inside and out, pennants flying from its roof in the evening breeze. The standard bearers at the head of our column immediately dismounted and, going to the king’s tent, planted the king’s colors in front, just in case there was any doubt whose it was. Jusson and Thadro, also dismounting, followed close behind them and disappeared inside the tent’s flaps.

They weren’t the only ones who broke away from the column. Bertram, his pony having matched our war-horses step for step along the steep and winding road, slid down from his saddle and hurried over to where Jusson’s head cook was simultaneously overseeing his minions stirring cook pots and tending something a roasting on a spit. By the light of the fire, I could see Cook step aside, his face respectful. Someone else who’d eaten at the inn.

Neither Jusson nor Suiden had said anything about Bertram and his pony when we stopped at noon to eat. (Both did appropriate a food basket.) I figured that Thadro had told Jusson, for the king showed no surprise at the boy’s presence. Still, even with Jusson and Suiden’s seeming calm acceptance of Bertram’s unexpected attachment to me, I figured it was probably wise to play least in sight for a while, and I dismounted some distance away from the cook fires and their light. Before I could take a step, though, a miniature mob made up of Mountain and King’s Road patrollers emerged out of the falling gloom—the soldiers who’d been assigned to the royal baggage guard detail. One moved to the fore; it was Ryson. Even in the deepening shadows, I could see lines of strain carving his face.

“Rabbit,” Ryson said, his voice urgent. He waved at the others. “Tell them I didn’t know. Tell them I didn’t know that Slevoic had survived.”

One of Suiden’s Mountain Patrollers, Ryson was a decent soldier in battle. Off the battlefield he was a disaster. He was infamous, in a garrison full of infamy, for spying and bearing tales, for avoiding soap and water, and for having less sense than a defective sheep. He had also been one of Slevoic’s toadies and last spring he found himself facing charges of conspiracy and treason when the Vicious’ plots had been uncovered. Fortunately for Ryson, it was more politically expedient for Jusson to slap him on the wrist and return him to Captain Suiden than it was to turn him into an extremely painful example. It also helped that no one believed Slevoic had actually told him anything of importance. Then, a lot of folks—including my personal guard Arlis—claimed that the Vicious kept his treasonous schemes close.

Though sheep-biting stupid, Ryson realized how close he’d come to court- martial and the gibbet, and even before we’d returned to Freston he had been busy proving that a weasel could change his ways. (There were rumors of his having actually bathed. In water. With soap.) When I fought Magus Kareste and Slevoic in His Grace Loran’s enchanted forest, Ryson had chased his former mentor-for-bad as Slevoic tried to escape through the trees (not a wise move as the Vicious, a budding fire mage, had set fire to them earlier). Now, several months later, as I stood in another tree-ringed clearing and looked into Ryson’s anxious face, I clearly remembered Slevoic’s long, drawn-out scream—and the blood on the Vicious’ dragon-skin hauberk that Ryson had brought back. Both could’ve been easily faked, true, but I also remembered the twisting scar that ran from Slevoic’s eye to mouth when I last saw him through the cloudy mirror in the sorcerer’s lair.

I shifted my gaze to the group of people behind Ryson. It had grown and now included royal guards, aristos’ armsmen, and even some of the king’s servants and groomers. “He didn’t know, lads,” I said.

“He looked dead,” Ryson said. “He was sprawled on the ground with blood everywhere. And the trees—” He wetted his lips. “Maybe I should’ve checked closer, but I didn’t think it a good idea to hang about.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I agreed. Confronted with the forest’s rage, Wyln, His Grace Loran, and even Laurel refused to venture into it until things calmed down. I glanced around for the fire enchanter and the mountain cat, but they had disappeared into the controlled chaos of the still arriving column. I faced again the listening mob. “The Vicious managed to fool everybody, but he didn’t get away unmarked.” I measured the distance from eye to mouth with my fingers. “His pretty looks are spoiled; he has a scar from here to here.”

“Something to match his personality,” one of the troopers quipped, and a couple snickered. The rest of the patrollers, though, looked troubled and even the royal guard and some of the armsmen appeared uneasy. Slevoic alive, even if scarred, was much more worrisome than Slevoic dead. However, Arlis showed no expression at all and Jeff seemed more interested in what was happening with Cook and Bertram.

“See, even Rabbit says I didn’t know,” Ryson said. “I did not help Slevoic fake his death. I did not help him escape. And I’m not in contact with him now—” He suddenly stopped, his gaze tracking something—or someone—behind me. Then he too became very interested in the simmering pots. “Oh, look. Food’s almost ready.” He started towards the cook fires, nonchalance writ large in each step. “Since we’ve an early start tomorrow, maybe they’ll let us eat now.”

The others, seeing what Ryson saw, were already melting away, some ambling towards the cook fires, others simply fading into the falling night. The back of my neck tingling, I turned to see Suiden, Javes, and Groskin ride by, their eyes gleaming dragon green, wolf yellow, and panther gold in the twilight as they watched the rapidly disappearing crowd. They then switched their unwinking stare to me. I held my breath, waiting, but they didn’t stop. Letting out a long sigh, I started towards the pickets, hoping that by the time I got there, the captains and lieutenant would be gone.

“You never said anything about Slevoic’s scar,” Jeff said.

I glanced at Jeff, surprised that he had actually spoken to me, without my saying anything first. I then realized what he said. “I did too tell you—”

“No,” Jeff said. “You did not. Sir.”

Scowling at Jeff, I caught Arlis’ expression. Instead of the frown he’d been giving me and the world, he looked troubled. “You didn’t, Rabbit,” he said.

I paused. Maybe I hadn’t said anything about Slevoic’s scarring. Then I hadn’t been particularly chatty about much of anything. And, just like with the king, I had no desire to start now. I shrugged at Jeff. “I guess I thought the condition of the Vicious’ face wasn’t all that important.”

“I guess not,” Jeff said, and turning smartly, walked off. Arlis hesitated a moment, then with an unreadable glance at Jeff, headed back to the cook pots, leaving me alone with my horse. With another shrug, I continued to the pickets before returning to where folks were lining up for dinner.

Later, full and damn pleased about it, I slipped from the dwindling cook fires and found my own way to my tent. Pausing only to undress, I crawled into my cot and quickly fell asleep, not stirring until the dark of early morning when I awoke to the rumble of the baggage train leaving for our next campsite. I lay there, drowsily watching the shadows cast upon my tent walls by the lanterns hanging from the departing carts, when I became aware of an unfamiliar sound. Abruptly wide-awake, I rose up on my elbow and, ignoring the stirring butterflies, I scanned the tent, picking out the unalarming shapes of Jeff, Arlis, and Laurel. But there, at the foot of my cot—Unable to see, I reluctantly formed a small fire sphere, casting it aloft to dimly illuminate the tent. It was Bertram. He had somehow squeezed a pallet into the tent and now lay on it, wrapped in a welter of thick blankets. The flames shone on his pale blond hair and gently flushed skin, his light breathing a counterpoint to Arlis’ deeper breaths and Jeff’s and Laurel’s snoring. Letting the sphere wink out, I lay down once more and allowed myself to be lulled back to sleep by the sounds of their slumber. I did not surface again until the clarion call of wake-up, pushing back my blankets with a sigh of relief that for another night my dreams had remained ordinary and even a little dull.

Five

“So that’s Mearden,” Wyln said. “Impressive.” Having just rounded a bend in the road, Jusson, with a fine sense of the dramatic, paused the column. The day was cold and blustery and the butterflies and I huddled into my cloak as gray clouds scudded against the sky, pushed by winds that mixed the smell of the fall rains following us out of the north with the chill salty tang of the sea as I gazed at our journey’s end.

The Marcher Lords’ keeps and fortified manors dotted the northern marches; grim fortresses of dark stone that were built to repel attackers and withstand sieges. Mearden’s castle was also built to withstand attack, but it was made of light, near rose-colored granite that glowed in the intermittent sunshine. Majestic towers soared over the enclosing crenellated wall, and even from our distant vantage point, I could trace the intricate masonry that reminded me of the delicate beauty of elf design. Seated on a tor that overlooked the Artole River on its northern side and the sea to the west, the castle also gazed down on now harvested fields and orchards to the south and east, while a dense forest encircled the base of the rise before flowing northwest, straddling both sides of the river. The trees stopped before the Artole flowed into the sea, giving us a glimpse of Mearden’s busy port, the masts of the oceangoing ships bristling against the backdrop of shimmering water.

It appeared a very rich and prosperous place, and I wasn’t surprised that Flavan had been willing to give a daughter to so middling a House.

After allowing us time to gawk, Jusson set forth again and we entered the forest, Bertram’s pony trotting next to my much bigger charger, his pony’s hooves a counterpoint of muffled taps in a carpet of fallen leaves against the duller thuds of my and the rest of the column war-horses. It was fast approaching winter and mostly bare branches formed a canopy over us. But though it was light and airy now, I reckoned by late spring the forest would be darkly shadowed—with plenty of places for ambush. As I wondered at my thoughts of sneak attacks, I found myself checking behind tree trunks as we passed, more than halfway expecting to find someone looking back. Wyln was also looking around, while Laurel, pacing by my horse’s head, had his ears pushed forward as he scanned the trees.

“It feels almost like the forest at Elanwryfindyll,” Wyln murmured, a line between his brows.

“Yes,” Laurel rumbled. “Perhaps there’s an old circle or sacred pool, long forgotten.”

Wyln shook his head, the lines between his brows deepening. “It doesn’t feel that old or that forgotten.”

The fire enchanter was right; whatever was among the trees was very immediate. The presence increased as we went deeper into the trees and my spine tightened. Up ahead I could see tension in Jusson’s and Thadro’s shoulders, the lord commander’s hand resting on his sword. After stirring restlessly on my shoulder, the butterflies erupted into flight, winging to fly in front of the banner men riding ahead of us. Our vanguard had lowered their standards to keep them from tangling with the tree branches, but they held the poles like lances, their heads turning as they too scanned their surroundings. I glanced behind me to see that the royal guards were doing the same, their expressions more perplexed than worried. Beside me, Bertram’s eyes were opened wide and even Jeff and Arlis had lost their distant expressions as they stared about.

“We are watched,” Jeff said softly, forgetting that he wasn’t talking to me. “But by what?”

Whatever it was, it let us pass unmolested and, when we emerged out of the trees into cleared land, the feeling faded. The road, having been gently rising since we’d left the Artole, now became a switchback as it climbed the tor. But that didn’t slow us down. The horses, sensing that we were nearing the end (or at least, nearing warm stalls, curry combs, and hay) quickened their pace and it wasn’t long before we reached the top. There was a shout from the watchtower, the portcullis rose with a rattle, and, without slowing, we passed through the gate into the bailey of the castle. A few moments later we entered the second gate into the interior courtyard and were immediately swarmed by groomers and servants. A man, richly if soberly dressed in a dark green velvet robe and matching leggings, separated himself from the mob and swept a bow, doffing his feathered hat.

“Welcome, Your Majesty, to Mearden.”

“Thank you, Idwal,” Jusson said.

I stared, surprised. After Jusson’s tale of blighted hopes, I had expected the Lord of Mearden to have a crabbed and bitter appearance. But my mother’s former betrothed was a tall, barrel-chested man, with mingled gray and sandy-brown hair, a short, trim beard, and laugh lines fanning out from hazel eyes. He was smiling now as he straightened and indicated a small woman who flitted to his side. “May I present my wife, Lady Margriet.”

My surprise increased. While I’d been able to deduce that having a marriageable daughter meant that Lord Idwal had eventually wed, I’d vaguely assumed that his wife would be safely plain and somewhat soured from being his second choice. Lady Margriet was neither. She had a vivacious, heart-shaped face and dark brown eyes, and though tiny compared to her husband’s burly frame, she made up for her smallness of stature by her striking deep red gown and matching rubies that encircled her neck, dangled from her ears, were sprinkled on the gold mesh snood snug over her thick brunette hair, and even sparkled on her slippers (Mearden was truly a very prosperous place). She too was smiling as she curtseyed.

“Your Majesty, my lords, and gracious sirs,” she said, her voice a warm contralto. “You are very welcome to our home.” With a rustle of her skirts, she rose again and stood in the shelter of her husband’s body, vivid as a jeweled bird against his darker garb. I raised my gaze to the castle’s main tower, my heart thumping as I wondered what awaited me inside. Maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be as bad as I’d feared.

I was snatched out of my speculative hopes by a thump on my leg. Shifting in my saddle, I looked down to see Jeff scowling back up at me. I did my own scowl but before I could ask what his effing problem was, he jerked his head towards the king. Shifting once more, I discovered that not only had Jusson and the rest dismounted, but except for the royal baggage train that was still snaking its way up the steep road, the rest of the column had entered the inner court. Suiden and Javes stood with the king and Thadro, Wyln, and Laurel. The aristos’ armsmen had not come with us; they were being quartered in the harbor town. But the King’s Own and Freston troopers were staying at the castle and, except for Jusson’s present guard, they were now being led off to whatever served as Mearden’s barracks. Lieutenant Groskin, going with them to see them settled, gave me a frowning glance over his shoulder. The last of the horses were also being taken away to the stables, and at my horse’s head stood a groomer, patiently waiting. My face heating, I quickly scrambled down.

Jusson grinned. “And this is our cousin, Lieutenant Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan.”

I bowed. “Grace to you, Lord Mearden.”

Lord Idwal’s gaze traveled over my braid, feather, and staff, lingering a moment on the butterflies once more snuggled into my cloak, their brilliant wings peeking out about my collar. “Well met, Lord Rabbit,” he said, his face diplomatically blank. Lady Margriet echoed him, giving me an awed look.

There was a slight stir among the remaining King’s Own and Bertram’s luminous presence appeared at my side.

“Your page, Lord Rabbit?” Lady Margriet tentatively ventured.

“No,” Jusson said before I could. “His cook.”

“Cook,” Idwal repeated, his speculative gaze going to Bertram. Lady Margriet’s awed expression deepened.

Jusson’s grin widened a moment before he reclaimed Idwal’s attention “Tell me, do you have sentries in the forest? When we rode through, it felt as though we were being observed, but no one came forth to either challenge us or identify themselves.”

This time it was Lady Margriet’s face that went blank, but Lord Idwal easily nodded. “Ah,” he said. “That’s the Watcher.”

“Is it?” Jusson asked. “And what is a watcher?”

“Legend has it that if Mearden is threatened, the Watcher would defend it,” Idwal said. “For a long while we thought it was just a legend. Then, about the time of my grandfather, reports arose about a presence in the forest—not hostile, just there. Watching.”

“Your grandfather, Idwal?” Thadro asked, his blue-gray eyes curious. “Was this before or after the Border War?”

“Around the same time,” Idwal said as he allowed his gaze to drift again, this time over Laurel and Wyln. “Not everyone senses it. Just those more sensitive to atmosphere, as it were—” His gaze had traveled to Javes and Suiden and started to move on, but it snapped back and Idwal broke off, staring. “Prince Suiden?”

Suiden bowed army-style, his hand over his heart. “Grace to you, Lord Idwal.”

Jusson’s brow lifted. “You two know each other?” he asked.

“We used to trade when I was still in Tural, Your Majesty,” Suiden said.

“I had heard that you’d come to Iversterre and joined the Royal Army, Your Highness,” Idwal said, wide-eyed. “I’d also heard that you’d changed into a dragon—”

Suiden’s emerald green eyes were bright as he suddenly grinned, showing way too many teeth. “Yes.”

Lady Margriet drew closer to her husband’s side, who put a protective arm around her.

“Don’t worry, Your Lordship,” Javes murmured, his own eyes wolf yellow. “He’s safe. For the most part.”

Idwal’s arm tightened around Lady Margriet, while his other hand rested on his belt—near the hilt of his jeweled dagger. Then he must’ve realized what he was doing, for he dropped his hand, though his arm remained around his wife. His smile reappeared, somewhat strained around the edges. “Well, the wise man spoke profoundly on the folly of standing about in the cold. Please, everyone, come in. Hot drinks and warm hearths await us. As do your other guests, Your Majesty.”

The warm flush of my embarrassment fading, I fell in behind Thadro, so neither he nor Jusson saw my start of surprise at Idwal’s comment about additional royal guests. However, Suiden and Javes did. As did Wyln and Laurel. I braced myself, expecting reprimands for not paying attention to the royal plans and maneuvers.

“I say, smart move, Rabbit,” Javes said softly. “Make Mearden believe you’re a mooncalf so he’ll look elsewhere for a husband for his daughter. Doubt His Majesty will go for it, though. Wouldn’t want all and sundry to think his cousin and heir is touched in the upper works, what?”

“I don’t think Rabbit was acting, Javes,” Suiden said. “Unfortunately.”

I heard a very faint snicker from Jeff and the heat returned to my face.

“Then obviously he needs instruction on wooing the gentle maid,” Wyln said. “Something that he apparently didn’t learn on the family farm—which is surprising as I understand his father was quite accomplished.”

“It must’ve been all the manure he kicked while behind a plough, Sro Wyln,” Suiden said.

“Very likely, Your Highness,” Wyln agreed. He cast me a glance, the flames bright in his eyes. “Well, at least he doesn’t have hay in his hair and cow muck on his boots.”

There was a louder snicker and I fought a scowl.

“True,” Laurel said, entering the fray. “Rabbit has cleaned up well—and there are the butterflies and the braid. Perhaps the gaffes of so pretty a suitor will be overlooked.”

My face once more burning, I followed Jusson, Thadro, and our hosts up the stairs to the castle’s main entrance. Like many keeps, these were made of wood so that if an invading force made it into the inner courtyard, they could be fired, making it difficult to breach the castle itself. But the ones I’d seen were utilitarian affairs, with plain planks almost roughly nailed together. Mearden’s were much more finished, the varnished wood decorated with brightly painted carvings of birds, flowers, and leaves. Wyln allowed his slender fingers to brush the tops of the banister’s newels shaped as individual trees.

“Interesting,” he said.

“Yes,” Laurel said, his eyes on the coat of arms carved into the lintel over the iron-strapped double front doors. It was the same as had been on the messenger’s short tunic and the dispatch pouch eighteen days and a lifetime ago in Freston: a running stag against a sky blue field. However, the carving was much larger, allowing us to see more details, such as the fact that the stag was not a faded light brown as I first thought, but white with eyes the color of midnight. Laurel rumbled, his tail twitching as we passed underneath it and entered the vestibule. Divided from the vestibule by carved screens decorated with cavorting fauna, including what looked like a unicorn and a dragon, was the castle’s great hall—and I stopped and stared, not caring that it made me look the provincial farm boy the others had called me. But then, they also stopped, Javes raising his quiz glass.

Again like its Marcher counterparts, the hall was of heroic proportions. It held the obligatory high-backed chairs for my lord and my lady, unlit torches in wall brackets, and long tables pushed against the stone walls, showing that, also like its northern cousins, it doubled as a dining hall. However, instead of the dark, smoky caverns of the north, Mearden’s great hall was as magnificent as its exterior, from the high, arched windows with their clear glass centers outlined with panes of red and green, to the beaten cross beams of the lofty ceiling, to the glinting weaponry interspersed with colorful tapestries hanging on the walls. There was a sweeping staircase that split to the left and right after the first landing, each branch going up to a gallery that ran along two sides of the hall. And of course, there was the massive hearth that could accommodate tree trunks and whole cows. It didn’t contain burning wood or roasting bovines now; I could smell the burning of peat moss.

“This belongs to a lesser eorl?” Wyln asked.

“A human one, at that,” Laurel said softly as he examined at the carved screen. He ran his paw gently over a sprite emerging from her oak tree.

“They are of your Church, aren’t they?” Wyln asked, also staring at the carved screen, his own gaze on the antlered Lord of the Forest standing in what looked like a stylized glen.

“Yes,” Suiden said. “At least as far as I could tell.”

“Interesting,” Wyln said.

“Interesting and surprising,” Javes murmured. He stared about through his quiz glass. “And doubly surprising that such a minor House has been able to hold on to it.”

Remembering Cousin Teram’s grasping sense of entitlement, the thought flashed across my mind that Lord Idwal had narrowly escaped when my ma ran off with my da. An aristo cleared his throat and, realizing that we were blocking the entrance, we moved, giving those behind us a chance to gape in wonder.

“We did almost as much trade with Mearden as we did with the Royal City,” Suiden said as we stepped into the hall, the rushes covering the stone floor softly rustling under our booted feet. “Even then Sro Idwal had a reputation for shrewd dealing, more than holding his own with our merchants. I’m not surprised that he’s proved just as wily against any machinations of Jusson’s Great Lords—”

“Rabbit!”

Caught up into both the splendor of the castle’s interior and Suiden’s twenty- plus-years’-old reminiscences, I’d not paid much attention to the people populating the great hall. It was a sizable crowd; servants moved about with trays of gently steaming cups amid folk I took to be local gentry, officials, town elders, and prosperous merchants, all come to meet their king. However, upon hearing my name, I quickly turned, searching the mob, and my gaze lit on a four-footed figure. “Kveta?”

The wolf’s muzzle dropped in a grin, revealing sharp white teeth. “That’s Captain Kveta to you, my little Rabblet.”

“No! Really?” Laughing, I shoved through the crowd, stopping before Kveta and giving her a low bow. “Oh, most honored captain, what the hell are you doing here? Slumming?”

“I’ll have you know that I’m on an official mission,” Kveta said, her clear brown eyes gleaming. “I have the papers to prove it.”

There were quick footsteps over the rushes. “Introduce us, Cousin,” Jusson said from behind me.

Still grinning, I turned to face my king as Kveta moved to stand next to me, her head level with my waist. “This is Kveta of the Wild River pack, Your Majesty, a close family friend. At least, she was until she ran away to sea.”

Though having four legs, Kveta made a very elegant bow. “I give you good day, Jusson, son of Iver.”

Jusson gave a nod that was, despite his rather dusty and road-stained raiment, gracious. “Welcome to Iversterre, Captain Kveta. You said you’re on an official errand of the High Council?”

“An errand, yes, honored king, but not for the Council,” Kveta said. There was a stir in the crowd as those who came with Jusson joined us and her brown eyes shifted to skim over Wyln, Laurel, Thadro, and Suiden, stopping at Javes. “I am here on behalf of the Qarant.”

We all went still. “The Qarant sent you?” an aristo asked, his mouth gaping open.

Kveta’s muzzle dropped in another wolfish smile. “Amazing, isn’t it? Especially as, when all is said and done, the Qarant is a family concern.”

“And you’re definitely not of the line,” Javes murmured, eyeing Kveta through his quiz glass.

“No, I’m not,” Kveta agreed. “However, you are, honored Javes.”

There was another moment of stillness as covert glances and outright stares were aimed at Javes. He ignored them as he dropped his quiz glass, a line forming between his brows. “I am a sworn captain in His Majesty’s Royal Army.”

“So you are,” Kveta agreed. “Then, a person can be several things all at once. It’s what makes life interesting.” Her clear gaze shifted back to Jusson. I will present my credentials at your convenience, honored king.”

I was distracted from the boulder Kveta had just lobbed by a soft rumble and looked to find Laurel staring at the wolf, his amber eyes slightly narrowed, his mouth held as if he’d tasted something unexpected.

“Yes, of course,” Jusson said, his gaze also shifting to Laurel’s rumbling presence. “Are you and Master Laurel also old friends, Captain Kveta?”

Kveta’s grin once more reappeared. “The Faena and I have run into each other a time or two over the past few years.”

“More than a few and more than run into,” Laurel said, his voice not quite a growl. He then blinked, as if surprised at what he said. But Kveta’s grin merely broadened.

“Well, you know the old proverb about cats and dogs,” she said.

“And what do the proverbs say about wolves?” Suiden interrupted quietly.

I turned to stare at my former captain, as did Jusson and Thadro, all of us startled not only at Suiden’s words, but also his tone. However, before any of us could say anything, there was bright laughter and a woman standing behind Kveta pushed to the fore.

“The sages tell all sorts of things about wolves,” she said, “some of them even good.”

“So they do,” Kveta said, stepping aside. “Honored king, please allow me to present to you Her Highness, Princess Rajya of Tural.”

If Lady Margriet was a jeweled bird, the newcomer was an entire flock. Her dark eyes were slightly tilted over smooth brown cheeks, her black hair caught up in an intricate twist that emphasized the delicate line of her face and neck. She was dressed in a brocaded long tunic in a riot of rich gold, emerald green, and sapphire blue that fell over matching blue trousers, which in turn draped over gold slippers. Around her neck was a torque of gold, emeralds, and sapphires, a gold bracelet with the same precious stones was heavy on her wrist, and alternating studs of emeralds and sapphires followed the shell-like curve of one ear, while a trio of small gold hoops hung in the other. Reaching cleared space, she executed a complicated bow, arms and hands waving, her slender body gracefully bending. Beside me, Javes made a soft exclamation and looked at Suiden.

“It is truly a time of reunions and surprises,” she said, coming up for air. “I greet you, King Jusson of Iversterre.”

“Her Highness is Tural’s newly appointed ambassador to Iversterre,” Kveta said.

“Is she?” Jusson said flatly. A servant, braver than the rest, worked his way over to us and the king plucked a steaming cup from the tray. “Pardon our surprise, Your Highness, but while we had received word of Captain Kveta’s arrival, the missives did not include you.”

“A messenger with news of my appointment was sent from Tural as soon as it was announced, Your Majesty,” Princess Rajya said. “He must’ve missed you in Iversly.”

“So he must have,” Jusson agreed.

“And when I discovered that Sra Kveta was coming to Iversterre, I presumed to journey with her because I was anxious to not only begin my duties, but to renew old ties myself.” Princess Rajya looked at Suiden, her smile white against the berry of her lips. “Hello, Father.”

Forgetting that we weren’t talking, Jeff, Arlis, and I all looked at each other before turning back to the jewel princess. “Bones and bloody ashes,” Jeff said softly, and I nodded in agreement, amazed that someone so vivid and bright had arisen from our former captain with hair clipped short and dressed in army drab.

Thadro, though, aimed his incredulity at Suiden. “Captain?” the lord commander asked, frowning.

“Yes, sir,” Suiden said quietly. He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out. “I see you, Daughter.”

Several men had pushed through the crowd to stand with Princess Rajya, all with dark skin, topknotted crystal-beaded braids, and clan markings on their face—except for one dressed in light gray billowing robes with a shaved head covered in intricate tattoos and eyes outlined in kohl. Topknotted or kohl-eyed bald, they gave Jusson the same elaborate bow with arms and hands flying. Then, straightening, they turned to Suiden, the bald one once more bowing elaborately, the topknotted men dropping to one knee, holding a right clenched fist against their left shoulders.

“Sa Abbe,” they said, their heads bowed.

My Father, in Turalian. But they weren’t more children come to get reacquainted with their long- lost da. The kneeling men looked as old as my former captain, or older, some with gray mixed into the black of their braids. They also looked battle- hardened with curved swords at their sides and serviceable chain mail under surcoats that sported a device I’d seen once before, a device that Suiden had once told me belonged to him as the crown prince of Tural: a dragon in flight.

At Princess Rajya’s greeting of her father, Jusson had paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. But instead of watching either Her Highness or the kneeling men, he fixed his gaze on Suiden for a long moment. He then lowered his eyes and took a sip.

“My entourage, Your Majesty,” Princess Rajya said, her face benign as the kneeling men rose in unison. With a stamp of booted feet, they turned and took up stances behind the Turalian princess.

“So we see,” Jusson said, his voice mild.

“The amir sent one of his battle wizards as part of your embassage?” Wyln asked, a slight frown on his face as his gaze rested on the bald man. Or, rather, on the tattoos on the bald man’s head. He then blinked and his frown abruptly deepened, while all around him there was quiet shifting as hands casually drifted towards swords, daggers, and other items with sharp edges.

The battle wizard paid no attention to the weapon-handling. Nor did Princess Rajya. “While having served in the Army of the Sun, Munir has long since hung up the war robes, Sro Wyln,” she said, her benign expression firmly in place. “He is now an integral part of His Glory’s court and is here in an advisory role.”

“That’s interesting, Your Highness,” Jusson said, his voice mild. “Especially since every Turalian ambassador to our kingdom before Your Highness did not have a wizard to advise them. That we know of.”

“Ah, but times have changed, have they not, Your Majesty?” Princess Rajya said. “During Her Majesty Queen Herleve’s rule, there weren’t any—how do you call them, Sro Wyln, Sro Laurel?—acknowledged talent-users in your fair kingdom. That has obviously changed with there being not one but three wizards at the right hand of the throne.”

“Faena,” Laurel corrected.

“Enchanter,” Wyln said absently, still frowning. “And Two Trees’son is a journeyman mage.”

“What is more interesting, Your Majesty, is that the proximity of Lord Rabbit’s teachers to the throne has become of concern to the amir,” Thadro said, his blue-gray eyes frosty as they narrowed at Kveta. “Among others.”

“The position of those of the talent isn’t of any concern whatsoever, honored Thadro,” Kveta said before Princess Rajya could speak. “Her Highness was just commenting on the rapid changes that have taken place here in the past few months—”

“More than a few months,” one of the northern aristos interrupted. He then looked startled.

Kveta gave another bow. “As you say.”

“Years,” another northern aristo said. “Decades.”

“Centuries,” a southie nobleman put in. “Since the beginning of Iver’s reign—”

“This is not a topic we should be discussing,” said Thadro. He aimed a scowl at Princess Rajya. He then shifted it to Lord Idwal and Lady Margriet, who were standing silently by, listening, Lady Margriet with a worried expression on her face. “At least not here in the middle of the hall for all and sundry to hear.”

Lady Margriet’s worried expression deepened, but Lord Idwal drew himself up to his full height. “These are His Majesty’s invited guests—”

“One is,” Thadro said. “The others are not.”

“—who are also my guests too,” Lord Idwal said, ignoring his wife as she laid a restraining hand on his arm. “And I will have polite behavior in my hall no matter who is under my roof—”

“Polite is not springing unexpected princesses and foreign battle wizards on people,” Thadro said.

“So the Qarant sent you to me?” Javes asked Kveta, ignoring the blossoming argument between his lord commander and his host.

“In part, yes, Javes Damas’son,” Kveta said. “I have communications for you from your esteemed uncle, Jakub.”

“Does the High Council know you’ve become an agent for the Qarant?” Laurel asked before Javes could respond.

“Why should the High Council be involved in anything I do?” Kveta asked back. “Unlike some, I do not answer to them.”

“I seem to remember there were certain times that you did,” Laurel said. “In fact, I distinctly remember you standing before the entire Council, answering all sorts of questions.”

“Which were answered to the Council’s satisfaction,” Kveta said. “And I still stand before them, each time they contract for my services. Just as the Qarant has done.”

“And apparently as Her Highness and the amir have also done,” Laurel said.

“I am a free agent,” Kveta said, unperturbed. “And my free agency takes me all sorts of interesting places, including the Sun Court of His Glory the amir. When I am through with this, I shall also stand before the amir’s court and answer any questions they might have.”

“You are part of His Glory’s court, Daughter?” Suiden asked Princess Rajya.

“Yes, Father,” Princess Rajya said.

“We protect her, sa Abbe,” a grizzled Turalian guard said. “As we protect your other children.”

Jeff, Arlis, and I all blinked at the thought of Suiden having a bevy of children, and I turned to Jusson to see if he heard, but my eye was caught by the former battle wizard turned adviser. Seeing me looking, he smiled and gave a brief bow, the voluminous arms of his gray robe shifting slightly. I was about to ask what the hell was his problem when a commotion sounded in the entryway, growing louder, and everyone stopped talking and turned to see Cais leading other royal servants carrying trunks and baggage. Lady Margriet gave a soft sigh in the immediate quiet before pasting a determinedly cheerful smile on her face and, stepping in front of her husband, dropped a curtsey. “It seems that your household has arrived, Your Majesty. Would you like to retire to your chambers?” she asked, her voice hopeful.

Jusson had been following the various lively conversations, his head turning from speaker to speaker, his face mildly interested. “In a moment,” he said, his gaze now going behind Lady Margriet and Lord Idwal. “But first, is this your daughter?”

An identical expression of startlement swept over both Idwal’s and Lady Margriet’s faces, as if they’d forgotten said daughter’s presence. Then it was swiftly gone as they both stepped aside.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Idwal said, the lines fanning out from his watchful eyes as he also smiled. “May I present our daughter, Berenice eso Mearden.”

Six

The royal chambers occupied two floors near the top of the main tower. We were hustled up the main stairs and along the gallery to a smaller, winding staircase that got narrower and more winding the higher we climbed. The winding stair took us past the king’s lower floor, fully occupied by Jusson’s bustling servants and the King’s Own. Then they were all blocked from view as we continued our climb, stopping at a landing outside a stout door.

“Your rooms, Your Majesty,” Berenice said as she opened the door. We were a smaller group than we’d been downstairs as the aristos had been shunted off elsewhere in the castle, and it was just Jusson—along with Lord Commander Thadro, Captains Javes and Suiden, Laurel and Wyln, Jeff and Arlis, and the attending royal guards—who trooped inside. I hung back, waiting for Berenice to enter the room before me, but she stayed on the landing, her hands demurely folded together in front of her, her eyes modestly lowered. Feeling awkward, I followed the rest.

We were in a small, handsomely proportioned hall with archways along two adjacent walls leading off to what I assumed were bedchambers. Another, opposite wall was punctuated by windows that allowed light to stream in. In the middle was a long table with wood chairs on either side, and a cluster of more comfortable-looking chairs were near the fireplace. Like the great hall downstairs, tapestries vied for wall space with candle-filled sconces that, when lit, would make the night very bright. The fireplace was already lit, chasing away any chill as royal servants bustled here too, setting up beds in the side rooms, replacing the chair at the head of the table with one that had a crown carved on the front and back, adding another crowned chair by the hearth. Evergreen boughs decorated the mantelpiece—forerunners of Festival decorations—and the scent of cedar mingled with the smell of the burning peat moss in the fireplace. And standing in front of the hearth tending to its flames was the king’s majordomo, Cais. He looked up as we entered, his eyes assessing. He then put the fireplace poker down and moved to meet the king.

Still feeling awkward, I dodged Finn hurrying by with the royal crest to walk to a window and looked out at an unimpeded view of the port and the sea beyond. A convoy of windriders flying the colors of Iversterre sailed through waves turned golden by the afternoon sun as they headed for the harbor. Sunlight also gilded the rooftops of the town’s buildings and warmed the masts of the anchored ships. Looking straight down I could see the forest surrounding the castle, the trees’ branches moving in the blustery winds. Then the sun abruptly went behind a cloud and the waning day turned cold and gray, the swaying bare branches ghostly in the chill light. A moment later, the sun reemerged, once more turning everything to gold. But the chill remained, radiating through the glass pane.

“Does Your Majesty desire a bath before the evening meal?” Berenice asked from behind me.

I quickly turned from the window to see that the daughter of Mearden had finally entered the room. She stood just inside the door, with her hands again clasped before her. However, instead of the modest downward gaze, she was watching me.

My proposed bride was a mixture of both her parents. She wasn’t as small as her mother, but she didn’t have her father’s height or breadth. Her mild brown eyes were lighter than her mother’s and were set in an oval face with a rounded chin. Her brown hair was darker than her father’s and she wore it pulled back and tucked neatly into a snood. She wasn’t past her prayers, but she wasn’t in her first blush of youth either; she appeared to be a couple of years older than me. But though she had the maturity to get away with wearing bold colors like Lady Margriet’s red gown or Lord Idwal’s dark green robe, she was dressed in inoffensive pink, a color appropriate for her unwed status. Her jewelry was just as appropriate—a single pearl hung from a gold chain in the middle of her forehead. Earlier, her curtsey at her presentation to Jusson in the great hall downstairs was briskly competent, revealing neither shy gawkiness nor poetic grace (or even a nicely turned ankle), and my heart had sunk as I wondered how two remarkable people could have such an ordinary daughter.

“Damn, Rabbit,” Jeff had said sotto voce from behind me, while I caught out the corner of my eye Arlis’ wince.

But then, rising from her curtsey and finding herself the center of attention, Berenice smiled, a merry curve of her mouth with an echoing spark in her eyes—and I’d found myself smiling back, my heart beginning to pound. Maybe—just maybe—it’ll be all right.

“Woof?” Kveta had muttered, her ears pressing forward, her eyes darting between me and Berenice, while Princess Rajya’s expression turned speculative. Jusson, however, ignored both the wolf and the princess.

“Ah,” Jusson had said to Lady Margriet, his face gentling. “Yes, we would very much like to go to our chambers. If your daughter would take us?”

Another expression flashed across Idwal’s and his lady’s faces, this one much more readable. However, it was the custom for daughters of the House to see to the comfort of guests, and with a murmured “of course, Your Majesty,” Idwal and Margriet merely stood aside and allowed Berenice to dispense Mearden’s hospitality to the House’s most important guest.

Which included offering hot baths to the king’s decidedly bachelor establishment.

At Berenice’s offer I felt my face heat. Happily, she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she had, but it didn’t faze her. Whatever trappings of maidenly modesty she’d assumed outside on the landing had vanished as she easily met my gaze, all merriment gone, her own face thoughtful.

Jusson wasn’t fazed either. He stood in the middle of the hall conferring with Thadro while Cais relieved him of cloak, sword, and battle helm. At the offer of baths, the king glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, thank you,” he said.

Tearing my gaze from Berenice, I looked at Jusson, waiting for him to add that Cais, Finn, or another suitably male servant would see to it. However, he merely returned to his conference with his lord commander, and I started to worry. I was just about the only one. Javes and Suiden had walked to another window to look out at nothing—or at least Javes was. Suiden was staring at something below. And maybe Javes had also found a target; he raised his quiz glass and shifted as if to get a better vantage, his surprisingly blank face reflected in the windowpane. Laurel had wandered over to the fireplace to do his own staring into the flames, and Wyln followed, looking pensive.

The only other person who seemed to be aware of the looming danger was Jeff—even Arlis seemed unconcerned. Once again forgetting that he wasn’t talking to me, Jeff met my gaze, his face also worried. We both turned back to Berenice to see that her mouth was curved up, the merry spark back in her eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said with another competent curtsey. Turning, she exited the hall, her brisk steps fading as she descended the stairs.

“Rabbit,” Jeff said.

“Sire,” I said at the same time, my voice urgent.

Thadro held up his hand and we both fell silent. He nodded at the door and the royal guard left, two of them taking up posts outside on the landing, the rest clumping down to the lower floor. At the same time, Cais sent a glance around the room and all the servants except for Finn also left, the last one shutting the door behind him. My two personal guards had started for the door with the King’s Own, but Thadro stopped Jeff and Arlis with a murmured command for them to remain, and they returned to stand next to me.

“Well, that was certainly interesting,” Jusson said. Pulling off his tabard, he dropped it on the floor. He then held out his arms and Cais began removing his armor and the padding underneath. “Like fishing for minnow and hooking a whale.”

“Or a shark, Your Majesty,” Thadro said.

“A huge smiling shark full of sharp teeth,” Jusson said. Finn, having disappeared with the royal battle gear, reappeared with a basin of hot water and a towel. Despite the promise of hot baths, Jusson quickly sluiced away the dust from his hands, face, and neck. Then, drying himself, he took his robe from Cais and put it on. Made of thick fabric in the blue of his House, it swung heavily about him, covering him down to his still booted feet. Tightening the belt, he aimed his gaze at Javes. “Seafaring wolves, free agents, and unexpected appointments by uncles,” he said.

I stopped worrying about baths and started worrying about Kveta. Dropping his quiz glass, Javes withdrew his attention from the window and transferred it to the king.

“Ambushments by rivals.”

Laurel looked away from the fire to Jusson, his mouth still set as it’d been downstairs in the great hall.

“Battle wizards, foreign court guards, and presuming princesses.”

There was a knock on the door and I jumped, my fear of exposed bathing flooding back. But it wasn’t Berenice, bath brush in hand. The door opened to reveal Bertram, along with castle servants bearing trays of steaming goblets and platters of tidbits to tide us over to the evening meal. I frowned—in all the commotion I hadn’t realized that Bertram hadn’t come with us up to the king’s chambers. He paused just inside the door, his large gray eyes darting to me as he took in the charged atmosphere, and I waved him in. As Jusson had pointed out, Kveta wasn’t the only predator with big teeth downstairs and the last thing I wanted to do was to explain to Mistress Inga how I lost her youngest boy. Ducking his head, Bertram led the servants to the table, where they quickly and competently arranged their wares. Distracted, we all watched, taking note of the delicacies attractively displayed for our snacking pleasure.

Sighing, Jusson walked over to the table and snagged one of the goblets. Sitting down in his crowned chair, he leaned back and took a long gulp before lowering his cup to watch the castle servants leave again, the King’s Own outside making sure that none lingered once the door was shut firmly behind them. The king then looked at Suiden still at the window. “What ships are in the harbor?”

“Besides the usual, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, “there is a Qarant merchantman, a Turalian ship of the line, and a convoy of windriders just arriving.”

I glanced back at my own window. Though I’d seen the convoy, I’d not noticed the others.

Jusson nodded. “I suppose the merchantman is Captain Kveta’s.”

“It looks to be one of the Damas’,” Javes said, his quiz glass returning to the view below. “The Good Jest.”

“Why would a declared free agent not have her own ship?” Thadro asked. Instead of joining the exodus to the windows, he moved to stand behind the king’s chair, his watchful gaze on Suiden.

“Excellent question,” Jusson said.

“And according to Her Highness, she sailed with Captain Kveta,” Thadro continued. “So why the Turalian warship?”

Jusson waved that aside with his goblet. “With Princess Rajya’s rank and birth, they could’ve legitimately claimed need for a bevy of ships for both pomp and protection,” he said. “In fact, I’m surprised there’s only one escort.”

“The ship isn’t for protection, Your Majesty,” Suiden said. “At least not primarily. It’s mine.”

The goblet stopped midwave. “Yours,” Jusson repeated.

“It used to be my flagship, m’Aurflagrare.”

“I remember the Golden Flame from my own days at sea, Captain Prince,” Jusson said, his eyes narrowed. “The pride of the Turalian navy, the best of the Empire’s ships of the line. It’s odd that she is sent here in supposedly nonhostile waters, instead of helping in Tural’s expansion and pacification efforts.”

“She is over twenty-five years old, Your Majesty,” Suiden said.

“Therefore worn out and suited to be duenna of the seas?” Jusson asked. “Perhaps. But still, the amir did send it, surely knowing that you at the very least would hear of its arrival if not see it outright. Why?”

Suiden drew a hand over his face, his clan markings vivid for a moment in the afternoon light from the windows. He expelled a breath. “Court politics, Your Majesty. It truly has nothing to do with me—”

“Last I heard, you were still crown prince, no matter that you’ve been in exile for almost half your life,” Jusson said. “I would say that the politics of your uncle’s court have everything to do with you.”

“It’s a game, Your Majesty,” Suiden said. “The amir plays one faction against the other, holding my return as a threat against those who perhaps get ideas contrary to what he thinks they should have.” He shrugged, his mouth turned down. “Someone must’ve had some very big ideas that the amir is deflating by flinging me at them. Hard.”

“I don’t think it’s court politics, sir,” I said, surprising everyone, including myself. I continued anyway. “I think the amir wants you back.”

Suiden aimed his grim look at me and I pressed my lips together so nothing else could slip out. But it was too late.

“Oh?” Jusson asked. “Why do you think that, Rabbit?”

I looked away from the captain to Jusson. It wasn’t any better. “The fact that Princess Rajya did call him father, sire. Deliberately and publicly, along with her soldiers who knelt, calling him father too.”

“It is how Turalian soldiers salute their officers,” Thadro said.

“Yes,” Jusson said. “In the navy it’s different, but then Turalian sailors enjoy liberties that those land bound do not have. As do Turalian wizards—especially the court ones. Judging by the tattoos, the one downstairs is high-ranking court and has probably taken all sorts of liberties.”

“True, Your Majesty,” Javes said. Dropping his quiz glass, he moved away from the window. “If it weren’t for our own mages and whatnot, I’d be very worried with Master Baldy lurking about.”

“Yes,” Wyln said, his frown returning. “He is not a sycophant who received his court position through patronage and judicious bribes. He actually earned it.”

“Competent or not,” Jusson said, “he and the rest of the Turals gave you, Captain Prince, the same obeisance as if you were still of the First Rank, standing on the top step of the Sun Throne and privileged to gaze upon His Glory’s face. Perhaps Rabbit is right. Perhaps the amir does want you back—”

“He can whistle for it, then, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, his voice harsh.

Silence fell, heavy and dense.

“You’ve no desire to go home, Prince Suiden?” Jusson asked into the quiet.

“I didn’t break faith,” Suiden said. “The amir broke it with me.”

“Yes, I remember,” Jusson said. “Over a concubine upon whom His Glory bestowed so much, to the detriment of so many.”

“All that I had, all that I was, is gone. My marriages dissolved, my wives given to others, my children raised by strangers.”

I blinked at Suiden, remembering his offhandedness as he mentioned his three wives back in Freston. Apparently he wasn’t as dispassionate about losing his spouses as he had seemed. His eyes were just as bright as they had been then, but now I could see the fires burning within them.

“My son and daughters too are strangers, bearing alien nom’clatura”—Suiden’s hand went up to his suddenly not-so-faded clan markings on his forehead and alongside his right eye—“declaring them not of my family, not of my blood.”

“There weren’t any nom’clatura on Her Highness,” Thadro pointed out.

So there weren’t. The princess’ skin had been smoothly brown, without ink mark or blemish.

“There are wizards that are skilled in removing distinguishing marks and tattoos,” Suiden said. “I visited one myself on my way out of Tural. I figured it would throw my pursuers off—at least until Sro Wizard sold them the news of my changed appearance. Still, it bought me enough time to escape. Perhaps that eunuch of a wizard downstairs removed Rajya’s.”

My knees locked together while beside me Jeff and Arlis shifted, all three of us giving Captain Suiden horrified stares. Even Laurel’s ears went flat against his skull. Thadro, though, remained unrattled by the fate of the wizard’s stones, as was Wyln, who gave a faint smile.

“In Tural,” the enchanter said, educating unsophisticated us, “the male slaves, servants, and retainers that serve in a maiden noble or royal household are castrated—”

“Not him, Lord Wyln,” Javes said, interrupting. “He’s intact.”

“You can tell?” Thadro asked, surprised out of his worldly nonchalance.

“Kveta is not the only wolf present, right, honored Javes?” Laurel said.

Javes’ face flushed dull red.

“So, judging by Javes’ nose,” Jusson said, “the only thing our wizardly guest is missing is his hair. Which means that this wizard is not Princess Rajya’s, and we’re back to the conclusion that he is part and parcel of Suiden’s old flagship arriving with elite troops who, wearing his device, claim him as their lord and officer.”

“And Her Highness, sire,” Thadro said, “who, lack of nom’clatura notwithstanding, was very willing to name Suiden her father.”

“Politics, sir,” Suiden said again. “She was told what to say and who to say it to. Perhaps she was even told why. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t because she had a sudden yen to reestablish family ties.” The captain’s eyes blazed. “There are none to establish. My casim—my house—was destroyed. My friends had to repudiate me to save their own casimi. Even my mother dares not communicate directly with me; she gives verbal messages to whomever she knows is coming to Iversterre, hoping that they would be passed on—and not twisted for the messenger’s gain. All because the amir had an itch he refused to stop scratching.” That blazing gaze moved to me and I felt scorched by its heat. “You say that the amir wants me back. Well, he can want the sun, moon, and stars too. He has just as much a chance getting them.”

The thought flashed across my mind that regardless of the amir’s plotting—and regardless of who raised her—Princess Rajya was still Suiden’s daughter, with all that entailed. Including having a dragon for a father. I then realized that Jusson, Thadro, Suiden, Laurel, and Wyln were all looking at me.

“Uhm,” I said.

Javes sighed. “You know, I would’ve thought you’d have that under control by now, Rabbit.”

Upon coming into my full power last spring, I had discovered that I could thought-send and scry with those who had the same ability in some measure. I had for the most part learned to control my thoughts, though the occasional one would slip through. However, it also meant that those who could not were left out. Like Javes.

“Yes, sir, I do,” I said. “Mostly.”

“So what did you say-think?” Javes asked.

“He said that whatever the amir’s plans are, Rajya is my daughter,” Suiden said quietly.

“So she is,” Jusson said.

“I’m more concerned about the fact that the Qarant is supposed to be a neutral mediator,” Thadro said, “yet they send an agent who not only has obvious ties to the Border, but who has also managed to spend considerable time alone discussing who knows what with the Turalian ambassador.” She even had time alone with Idwal—”

“I beg pardon, sir,” Javes said quietly, “but the Qarant did not appoint Kveta to be our mediator. They’ve appointed me.”

Thadro stopped middenouncement, but Jusson merely nodded again. “So I gathered. I also gathered that there is some history between you and the wolf, Master Cat.”

Laurel stirred at the fireplace. “Some, honored king.”

“Any reason to be concerned about past deeds?” Jusson asked. “Or even current ones?”

“None that I know of,” Laurel admitted. He ran a paw over his head, causing his beads to gently clack. “Kveta has always been—careful.”

“Just like you’ve been careful?” Wyln asked, suddenly amused. His amusement deepened at Laurel’s narrowed-eyed stare. “I remember you doing your own explaining to the Council, honored Faena.”

Laurel gave a rumbling shrug, even though his eyes remained narrowed. “What I’ve done, I’ve done because I thought it best—”

“What’s that human saying?” Wyln asked, his amusement deepening even more. “How the road to their hell is paved?”

Laurel ignored him—and ignored Javes’ sudden coughing fit. “Whether it was for the Council, for either kingdom—”

“So we’re in your good intentions too?” Jusson asked, his sharp smile making him look an awful lot like Wyln.

“Or for Rabbit—”

“Huh?” I asked, brilliantly. “Me?”

“Or most important, for the Lady Gaia,” Laurel said, now ignoring me. “However, Kveta does what’s best for Kveta.”

I tried to reconcile my childhood memories of the lighthearted and mischievious wolf with the one Laurel was presenting. I failed.

“There’s nothing wrong with a little healthy self-interest,” Jusson said. “In any case, she isn’t the only one present who is adept at seizing the main chance.”

“Very true, Your Majesty,” Thadro said.

“Or ones who are absent for that matter,” Jusson said. Draining his goblet, he held it out and Bertram, hovering with a pitcher, refilled it. He then leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “Please be seated, all. Take refreshment. And while you do, Javes can tell us why the absent Qarant thought it would be a good idea for one of my army captains, one who was closely involved in the events in question, to mediate a dispute between three kingdoms—”

The king broke off, and I could hear thumps and muffled bumps outside, growing louder as they ascended the stairs. The door flew open and Berenice entered, carrying a basket of oils, soaps, and herbs. Behind her came an unending line of servants lugging tubs, buckets of water, and one huge iron kettle. The two carrying the kettle took it to the fireplace and, with Cais’ supervision, hung it on the hob. Immediately the other servants began emptying their buckets into it. The ones with the tubs placed them in front of the fireplace while screens were adjusted around them—to hold the heat from the fireplace in and protect the wet and naked from drafts.

“Your baths, Your Majesty,” Berenice said, her merry eyes bright, her smile positively wicked. “Shall I help?”

Seven

Berenice saw me naked. Then she saw most of Jusson’s traveling companions unclothed, including the king himself. Thadro, Jeff, and Arlis escaped that bare indignity, the lord commander and my personal guards going to bathe with the troopers in the barracks.

“While we’re gone, Lieutenant,” Thadro said softly, “I don’t want any difficulties here.” He pulled me aside, out of the way of the commotion—and out of earshot of the castle servants. “No sudden magic or anything else that would cause startlement, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I murmured.

“No hiding in the shadows either,” Thadro said. “I want everyone to be able to look their fill—including our hosts’ daughter.”

Arlis’ mouth briefly quirked in his goatee and there was a very faint suggestion of a snicker wafting from Jeff’s vicinity. Thadro must’ve caught both, for he grinned, a flash of teeth and eyes.

“Let this bath wash away all rumors and suspicions of cloven hooves or any other unholy markings. We will be doing the same in the armsmen’s bathhouse. Get it all out in public, as it were.”

“Yes, sir,” I said again, ignoring my personal guard’s growing amusement.

“You too, Lord Wyln and Master Laurel,” Thadro said as the Faena and enchanter wandered our way.

“Unnecessary modesty has never been a problem of mine, Eorl Commander,” Wyln said, amused.

“True,” Laurel said, his whiskers twitching. “Elves are almost as casual about it as cats.”

“I’m sure both of you know how to conduct yourselves in a lord’s house,” Thadro said. “I’m more concerned about unnecessary feats of magic.”

“A little ‘magic’ might be a good thing,” Wyln said, his amusement fading. “It’s been a while since Two Trees’son had a lesson and perhaps it’s time to start again. That way, Eorl Mearden can see exactly whom he’s proposing to join to his daughter.”

My spine tightened at the thought of doing talent work, with or without an audience. But before I could respond, Thadro spoke.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But not tonight. Tonight it’s bath followed by dinner.” Turning, he moved to where Jusson stood conferring with Cais across the room, and bowed. “By your leave, Your Majesty, I will check on the troops. I shall return in time for evening meal.”

At Jusson’s casual nod, Thadro swept those going with him to the door and, with another faint snicker from Jeff and a surprisingly sympathetic glance from Arlis, they were gone. As soon as the door shut behind them, Finn appeared from behind the screens in a puff of steam.

“The baths are ready, Your Majesty, my lords, and gracious sirs.”

I was shown no mercy. Finn herded me in front of the bright fireplace where each article of clothing was removed, piece by agonizing piece, until nothing remained between me and thin air. The others were undressing too, Jusson attended by Cais; Wyln, Javes, Suiden, and, to a lesser extent, Laurel (who only had to remove his coat and feathers), seen to by a mixture of royal and castle servants. Wyln was right; neither he nor Laurel exhibited any undue modesty. Nor did the others. They all were more interested in the prospect of hot water and soap than being bare-arsed before strangers. As soon as Finn was done, I tried my best to match nonchalance as I turned to go to my bath—and met Berenice’s gaze. My feet moving of their own accord, I was in my bath before I could blink, resisting the urge to hide behind the tub’s short wall. Dragging in a deep breath, I leaned back, allowing my heart to slow.

The day was just about over and the candles were lit, both they and the fire in the fireplace casting a golden glow over the sectioned-off space. The butterflies on the fireplace mantelpiece were brilliant bits of color in the warm light, as were the feathers and strips of cloth on Laurel’s elaborately carved staff leaning next to mine against the wall. Bertram maneuvered around the castle servants with a tray of goblets filled with mulled wine and the others took one before they more sedately climbed into their tubs. Laurel gave a rumbling purr as he sank beneath the water, reemerging only enough to clear his eyes and nose above the surface, his amber gaze gleaming through the steam—predator of the tubs. Holding his cup of wine aloft, Jusson also sank under the water for a long moment before coming up again, his mass of wet hair shifting to expose delicately pointed ears. Wyln had already thoroughly immersed himself and now leaned back, his long slender fingers loosely encircled about his goblet resting on the tub’s ledge, his ancient eyes closed, water beading on his eternally young face, his pointed ears showing through his mane of black hair. Declining the wine, Suiden brightened as Finn offered him tea in a fine porcelain cup, while Javes was deep in murmured discussion with a castle servant on the different soaps, herbs, and oils that the servant proffered.

Snagging a goblet off Bertram’s tray for myself, I took a sip and the wine’s warmth filled me within as the bath’s heat surrounded me without. Despite myself, I started to relax and, reaching up, I removed my feather and sloshed over to the edge to place it next to my dagger that lay already on a convenient table beside my tub. Then, undoing my braid, I slid down in the water, allowing it to undo the kinks and knots of fourteen days of hard riding, my mind fleeing past Berenice’s presence to go to Kveta’s surprise appearance. She hadn’t changed much since I’d last seen her—just before I’d been sent off as Magus Kareste’s apprentice over five years ago. The same couldn’t be said about me, yet Kveta hadn’t blinked at braid or feather, or any of the other changes that had happened. Wondering what the wolf had heard, I looked down and spread out my hand. In the candlelight the aspect symbols on my palm shone softly, as did the truth rune, all of them quiescent, their hum more felt than heard. If Wyln followed through on his threat, tomorrow morning they wouldn’t be so quiet. Finishing my goblet, I placed it on the bath’s edge before tracing the symbol for air with the tip of my finger. The humming increased until I could hear the faint undertones like the ringing of a bell. At the same time, a strong gust blew around the tower, rattling the glass panes hard, and everyone paused, some turning their heads to the windows. I immediately closed my hand over the glowing symbols and rune, pushing it underwater.

“Must be a storm blowing in,” Suiden murmured. One of the few who haven’t moved, he remained leaning back against his tub’s side, his eyes closed.

“Most likely,” Jusson agreed. He also hadn’t responded to the gust of wind. “Do you get bad ones here, Lady Berenice?”

“Sometimes,” Berenice said. “During the season of storms, we have a lookout who rings the bell in warning, but there are always those who are caught, both a-sea and on land.”

Jusson’s eyes slit open. “The Watcher doesn’t help with that?” he asked.

“No, Your Majesty,” Berenice said. “According to legend, the Watcher responds to things that threaten the castle directly, like invasion and such. Not natural disasters.”

Jusson’s eyes closed again. “I see.”

“We have the same problem in Elanwryfindyll,” Wyln said, and more than willing to be distracted, I listened to his lilting voice as he launched into a story of how one storm had left the harbor ships on top of the docks. As he spoke, my gaze idly tracked Berenice as she walked briskly past. Though the lone female in a roomful of naked men (and one male cat), she appeared composed. She was slightly flushed, but that seemed to be due more to the steam and heat than any maidenly confusion. The humidity caused wisps of her hair to curl about her face and tendrils falling down her nape emphasized the surprisingly graceful line of her neck. My eyes followed that line to where it disappeared under her plain dress, traveling down as she bent forward to pour something fragrant in Wyln’s bath, her spine an elegant curve—

“I say, Rabbit,” Javes said.

My gaze snapped to the bland-faced captain.

“Bertram wants your attention.”

Looking to the side of the tub, I saw that Bertram had picked up my empty goblet and was proffering another. Grabbing it, I took a long gulp, hiding my face behind the cup. It didn’t help. Berenice found me anyway.

“Does His Lordship desire fragrance for his bath?” she asked demurely, her eyes sparkling.

Muttering agreement, I closed my eyes, finding refuge in the dark.

Whatever had blown in, it wasn’t a storm. The rising moon had joined the stars in clear sky, all of them shining through the windows of the king’s chambers by the time we were ready for the evening meal. Jusson was once again in his favored austere raiment with his gold circlet upon his head. Javes, Suiden, and I were in our dress uniforms, Suiden and Javes wearing the drab army, while I had on the blue and white of the King’s Own, my gloves pulled snugly over my hands, hiding the aspects and the rune. The butterflies remained on the mantelpiece, drowsing in the rising warmth of the fireplace, but both Laurel and I had reattached our feathers, mine bright red against the blue and white ribbons woven into my braid by Finn. To my surprise, Finn pulled out a small wooden box and opened it to reveal sapphire cuff links and a sapphire and diamond pin nestled in a red velvet lining—gifts from honored Moraina. The first and only time I’d worn them had been in the dining hall of the Fyrst of Elanwryfindyll, to let all and sundry know that I had a dragon’s favor. Wondering who I was giving notice to this time, I stood still as Finn inserted the cuff links and attached the pin to my tabard, Laurel giving a contented rumble as he watched.

“Good,” Jusson said when Finn was done. He cast a glance over the rest, then nodded at our escort. Berenice had disappeared as soon as our bath time was over, and so it was a senior servant who led us down the winding stairs, moving at a sedate pace until we debouched onto the gallery.

Most of the dinner guests were already in the hall, filling it with a genteel din that competed with the musicians hidden behind a screen on the gallery. Stopping the servant from announcing us, Jusson moved to the railing and looked down on the well-dressed, glittering mass. Princess Rajya was there surrounded by her soldiers. She again rivaled a jeweled flock, wearing a draping outfit in flame red, her fingernails and lips matching. Standing a small distance away were Kveta and the Turalian wizard. I lifted my gaze from them, trying to find Berenice in the shifting crowd, but at that moment Jusson must’ve looked his fill, for he again nodded at the servant, who then stepped to the fore and announced:

“His Majesty, King Jusson the Fourth of Iversterre.”

The music ceased and a deep hush filled the hall as Jusson descended the gallery staircase, everyone either bowing or curtseying, their heads bowed. As I waited my turn, I wondered what it would be like to always be on the receiving end of that at least outwardly show of deference. Then I wondered what it would be like to once have had it and then lost it. Or had it snatched away. Suiden, though, didn’t act any different when the servant had announced “Captain Prince Suiden.” He did have on his battle face, but I figured that had nothing to do with lost honors. His gaze was fixed on Princess Rajya—who stared back, her own face determined. Leaving Kveta, the wizard ghosted to her side, his eyes resting on Suiden for a moment before moving to me. Wearing my own game face, I stared back as I too was announced. Then I lost him as I made my own way down the stairs.

Lord Idwal and Lady Margriet were waiting at the bottom with a second bow and curtsey as soon as Jusson reached the last step. They had apparently taken advantage of their own amenities as they had changed clothes, Lord Idwal now wearing a robe of midnight blue while Lady Margriet had on a gown of the lightest of silver that shimmered like starlight, its brightness repeated in the diamonds that had replaced the rubies in her ears and around her throat. As they swept Jusson off to mix and mingle, I finally found Berenice, traveling in her parents’ wake. She too had found time to change, but her brown dress was just as dull as her pink one, and I frowned, wondering how Lady Margriet, who had exquisite taste for herself, could countenance such ugly clothes for her daughter.

“You can stare at her all night, or go and talk with her, what?”

I turned to find Captain Javes standing next to me. “I’m not sure I want to do that, sir—” I broke off, startled at what I’d just admitted and, more important, where. I quickly looked around, but fortunately the chattering din kept my doubts from being overheard.

Javes gave his silly twit smile. “Escorting a maiden during her predinner ambulation in full view of her parents and guests will not cause the banns to be published.” He considered a moment. “Usually.”

“Ha, ha, sir,” I said.

Javes’ smile became more real before it faded. “I know that you’ve had this sprung on you suddenly, Rabbit,” he said, his voice quiet. “I also reckon that Berenice is probably not someone you would’ve chosen on your own.”

About to agree, I stopped as Berenice’s image arose, her face gently flushed from the steam of our baths, her spine supple, her eyes sparkling merrily as she laughed at me. However, Javes took my silence for assent.

“Given her parents, she’s not what I expected either,” he said. “Still, she seems like a nice girl—and competent and intelligent too, with a good sense of humor. That’s much more important than looks—”

“So they are. And I’m constantly amazed that people choose otherwise. Then, the courting habits of humans are a mystery, aren’t they, honored Javes?”

Both Javes and I looked down to find Kveta had worked her way to us. She looked back, her brown eyes bright.

“Yes, very much so—” Javes broke off, blinking. “Er—”

Kveta ignored Javes’ fumble. “All the feints and counterfeints, the pretense, the games, the misunderstandings. It’s amazing that they are able to focus enough to produce the next generation.”

“When we have a will, we find a way,” Javes murmured, making a recovery.

“We, Javes Wolf Damas’son?” Kveta asked, her brown eyes now dancing. “I didn’t realize that you were mated to a human.”

“I’m not—” Javes broke off again, glaring at the wolf.

“Aren’t you mated, Kveta?” I asked hurriedly. “I remember Ma talking about it just before I was apprenticed to the Magus.”

Kveta’s eyes dimmed. “I was, but not any longer.”

I blinked, surprised, because while there were some Border folks whose relationships tended to be rather fluid, wolves mated for life.

Kveta must’ve seen my expression, for her own turned wry. “He died.”

Nothing like stepping in it just before dinner. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. I gave a short bow. “My sympathies and condolences.”

“No worries, little Rabblet,” Kveta said. “It was some time ago.” Her expression brightened and she nosed Javes’ hand. “However, our pack is always on the lookout for fresh blood. I could pass on your name and scent, Wolf Damas’son—”

“I say, Rabbit,” Javes interrupted, his gaze going beyond me. At the same time, he shifted, moving his hand out of Kveta’s reach. “Thadro wants your attention.”

I turned to see the lord commander standing some distance away with Jusson, Lord Idwal, Lady Margriet, Berenice, some aristos, and several of the local gentry. No Jeff or Arlis, though. The lucky sods must’ve been allowed to stay in the barracks. The king, the inhabitants of Mearden Castle, and the guests were intent on their conversation, but Thadro, noticing me looking, discreetly beckoned. It appeared that my dithering about whether to join Berenice or not was over.

I pressed my palms together and gave Kveta another bow. “Please excuse me. Duty calls.”

Turning, I headed for my commanding officer. “I’ll go with you,” Kveta said. “I need to present my respects to our hosts.”

Javes, who also started to go with me, stopped midstep, a hunted expression on his face. “Ah, Rabbit, tell the lord commander that I’ve gone to check on the men—”

“Shall you return tonight, honored Javes?” Kveta asked. “I’d hoped to be able to set a time to meet with you tomorrow and go over the dispatches from your uncle Jakub.”

Javes once more paused. “Yes, of course,” he said, his hunted expression fading into blankness. “Perhaps I can visit the barracks after dinner.”

As Javes moved to join us again (making sure that I was between him and Kveta), I glanced down and caught a glint of silver and what looked like bone in the thick fur at the wolf’s neck.

“You’re wearing an ivory collar, Kveta?” I asked, startled. I then folded my lips together tight. Wolves were notorious for refusing to wear any kind of body ornament, especially one that went around their necks. As an old wolf once told me, “We are not dogs.”

And they were even more rabid about other races’ practice of adorning themselves with what the wolves called dead animal parts.

Fortunately, Kveta didn’t take offense at my question. “Not a collar, little Rabblet,” she said, her face once more wry. “And not ivory. It’s a charm made of turtle bones for luck.”

“It is?” I asked, grinning. “Well, I don’t know how effective it would be—it sure wasn’t lucky for the turtle.”

“The fact that I am here and the turtle is not is good enough for me,” Kveta said. Her ears twitched in a canine shrug. “It’s amazing how the things you disdain while on dry land become imperative once you go a-sea.”

Javes gave a short laugh. “Very true, Captain Kveta. Very true, indeed,” he said, and he and Kveta talked about sea superstitions and the wards against them as we wove through the hall filled with Mearden’s dinner guests. Idly listening as they argued whether sticking a knife in the mast to break the doldrums really worked, I watched the crowd. They were the same mix of folks that had greeted us when we’d arrived that afternoon—prosperous merchants, town elders, local gentry, and a sea captain or two, all dressed up in their best finery—with Jusson’s aristos sprinkled among them, adding their own shine to the hall. They moved about as they did their own mixing and mingling, shifting from group to group, voice raised in talk and laughter. Well, all were mingling except for Princess Rajya and Captain Suiden. The captain and Her Highness stood in a cleared space created by the princess’ guards around them, Suiden with his arms folded across his chest, his face impassive as he listened to his daughter speak, the red on the princess’ fingernails flashing as she gestured in emphasis. Neither one looked at us as we went by. And just a little farther on were Laurel and the bald wizard Munir forming their own conversation group. Unlike Suiden and Princess Rajya, they did notice us passing, Laurel’s eyes narrowing as they fell on Kveta trotting by my side. He moved as if to intercept us, but Munir laid a hand on the cat’s arm and Laurel reluctantly turned back to Munir, his tail lashing. Munir, though, acted as if nothing had happened, his expression remaining politely interested, the tattoos on his bald head gleaming, his hands tucked back into the sleeves of his voluminous robe. It was gray, like the one he had had on earlier, except this one was embroidered with silver thread that glittered in the bright candlelight. The thread caught my eye as it flowed, disappearing into and then reappearing out of the folds of the robe, its patterns pulling me somewhere. I blinked, then lifted my eyes, only to meet Munir’s dark gaze. Seeing my attention, he nodded, a faint smile on his lips.

“Well, you’ve made a friend,” Kveta said, observing.

“Don’t know why,” I muttered, facing forward again.

“Somehow, I don’t think friendship is what Master Baldy has in mind,” Javes said. He glanced down at Kveta. “You’ve spent some time with yon wizard during your voyage here. Did he say anything about Rabbit?”

“Why would a Turalian high court wizard speak to a lowly animal from some backwoods country?” Kveta asked, her voice light.

I had hidden my surprise at Javes’ question—partly at the fact that he expected Kveta to answer it, but mostly at the implication that the wizard Munir knew who I was before he set foot in Iversterre. However, at Kveta’s response, I stared down at her. “They snubbed the captain of their ship?”

“Don’t you know that the Empire of the Sun is the navel of civilization, Two Trees’son?”

Javes, Kveta, and I turned to see that Wyln had joined us. The enchanter’s gaze was on Munir, a faint line between his brows. “Those of us who aren’t privileged to be born citizens are provincial louts who don’t know our heads from a hole in the ground,” he said.

“Very true, honored Wyln,” Kveta said. “And Munir and I did not spend quality time together during our journey. But that was as much as my fault as his. Somehow I kept getting the feeling he was measuring my pelt for a lap rug or perhaps a hat, gloves, and cloak.”

Javes made a sound between a hum and a low growl while Wyln gave a faint hiss, but neither said anything as we had arrived at the king’s klatch. Lady Margriet and Lord Idwal were standing on either side of Jusson, Berenice next to her mother, while Thadro was a little distance behind the king, talking to an aristo and the aristo’s armsmen captain wearing the colors of his lord, fresh from his quarters in town. Both Lord Idwal and Lady Margriet had watched me approach, Idwal with an appraising expression and Her Ladyship with wide-eyed awe. Her gaze went to the ribbons in my braid, dropped to the sapphire and diamond pin on my tabard before descending to my cuff links. Her gaze rose back to mine and she dropped a small curtsey. However, Berenice merely lifted a brow at my magnificence, her eyes sparkling, and I found myself forgetting all about plain gowns and bald wizards as I grinned back.

“Cousin,” Jusson said, and I quickly turned my attention to the king. His face was bland, his own black eyes gleaming. “Lady Margriet has asked how did you find your quarters.”

My face flushing, I bowed at Lady Margriet. “They’re very well, my lady—”

“Oh, enough of your mother’s family, Emlyn! I don’t care who she was related to, she still was no better than she had to be. And if I were you, I’d keep an eye on your daughter. From what I’ve heard, her heels are becoming just as round as her grandmother’s.”

Stopping midbow, I—and everyone else—turned to a nearby cluster of merchants where two richly dressed matrons, one thin and tight- lipped, the other doublechinned and well rounded, were standing nose to nose, glaring at each other.

“You’re just jealous, Frauke,” said the round matron. “My Aveline has suitors while your stick of a daughter couldn’t attract flies if she smeared herself with honey.”

“Delia is discriminating,” the skinny matron said. “Unlike Aveline—and unlike you, Emlyn. You look like a fat cow in that purple gown. Then, you never did have any taste.”

“At least I’m not a dried-up prune,” Emlyn snapped, her chins and the matching purple plumes in her hair quivering. “My husband satisfies all his appetites at my table. But you should ask where your husband goes to sup—” She suddenly turned on a comely woman who was watching both them with a slight smile on her face. “Right, Irmtraud?”

Still smiling, Irmtraud shook her head. “I’m not his cook, Emlyn,” she said as a man standing next to her took her hand and tucked it into his arm.

“Of course you’re not, sweetling,” the man said. He glowered at Emlyn. “You will apologize to my wife—”

“I’m his lover,” Irmtraud said.

“—and apologize now . . .” The man trailed off. “What?”

Irmtraud was still shaking her head, but her smile had vanished while her eyes rounded and damn near crossed as she tried to stare down at her mouth. Her free hand went to her magnificent stomacher, embroidered in gold and studded with gemstones. “He had this brought for me, all the way from Svlet.”

“You said your great-aunt sent it to you,” Irmtraud’s husband said, dropping her hand.

“I lied,” Irmtraud gasped, her face frantic.

“Ha!” Emlyn said into the shocked silence. “No aunt sent her that. I remember that shipment. And I remember what your husband gave you, Frauke: winter woolen hosen. And you said that they itched. Abominably.”

“Trollop!” screeched Frauke, finding her voice. She grabbed at Irmtraud’s stomacher, but missed and caught her bodice instead. The dress ripped, revealing stays, lacing and much of Irmtraud’s supping charms.

“Cuckoldry!” Irmtraud’s husband bellowed, and swung at a man who was as thin and desiccated as Frauke. The thin man ducked and Irmtraud’s husband instead hit a burly fellow. The burly man roared and swung back. He also missed and hit a fourth man.

“Mother!” screamed a skinny girl as she rushed to Frauke, but Emlyn planted herself in the way, smirking.

“Stick of a girl—”

Without breaking stride, the skinny girl hit Emlyn with a right cross, and Emlyn went heels over arse backwards, taking several folks with her.

“My wife!” an even rounder man shouted. He grabbed the skinny girl, but before he could do anything, an equally skinny lad my age leapt on his back.

“Leave my sister alone!”

The fat man spun around, sending the skinny lad’s legs flailing, and more folks went down, shrieking.

“Mama! Papa!” cried a pretty, plump maid as she waded in, waling on anybody she could reach with clenched fists and pointed-toe shoes. The skinny lad tumbled off the fat man, knocking the burly man aside just as he was swinging on Irmtraud’s husband, who then went after the thin man, who was hiding behind a trio of sea captains.

“What the hell?” Lord Idwal said. We were all standing still, stunned at how fast the violence had escalated, but he shook it off and strode into the middle of the fracas, pushing combatants apart. “Gracious sirs and gentlewomen,” he called out as he struggled to detach Frauke’s grip from Irmtraud’s hair. “Please stop! Remember His Majesty’s presence!”

Seeing their lord move, the castle servants joined him, risking life and limb (or at least a black eye) as they also tried to quell the guests, but the brawl rapidly spread as several townsfolk took the opportunity to settle old scores. Javes, Thadro, and I remained with Jusson, Lady Margriet, and Berenice, just in case the fight shifted our way, and we were quickly joined by Suiden, Jusson’s nobles, and his royal guard. It seemed that the fighting was confined to locals, so we remained relaxed, watching the action, Jusson bright eyed as he ignored the sotto voce betting going on around him (odds were heavy in the skinny girl’s favor—it was truly a wicked right cross). But suddenly, in the middle of the odds taking, Frauke, who must’ve been stronger than she looked, gave Idwal a one-handed shove, causing him to stumble back. Before he could catch his balance, he tripped over Emlyn, just rising to her feet. They both went down, disappearing under the mob as the fight surged towards us.

“Papa!” Berenice cried out.

“Protect the king!” Thadro shouted at the same time.

We formed a tight circle around Jusson, Berenice, and Lady Margriet just as the scrum hit us. I thought we held firm, but I heard another cry and turned to see that some of the Own had been knocked down, collapsing the defensive circle on one side. Jusson had nimbly moved out of the way of the fighters, keeping a firm grip on Lady Margriet. However, Berenice was gone. I quickly scanned the scrum and saw a flash of a brown dress underneath the downed royal guards just as the fighters washed over them.

“My daughter!” Lady Margriet said, struggling against Jusson’s grasp.

“Berenice!” I shouted, but it was drowned out by a deep roar. Glancing up, I saw Idwal had regained his feet and was smashing heads together as he and the castle servants fought through what was fast becoming a riot to get to his daughter. More servants poured in, along with the rest of the noncombatant guests. Laurel and Wyln both were spinning folks out of the fray and into the Turalian soldiers’ grasps—who damn near had to sit on them to keep them from returning to the fight. Kveta snapped trouser legs, skirts, and sleeves with her teeth and dragged fighters away, some sliding on rumps and some even prone, kicking against the wolf. The local doyen had hold of the skinny girl, but she broke loose, hit the doyen with an uppercut, and flung herself back into the heaving mob. Even Jusson, standing before Lady Margriet, was grabbing brawlers and handing them off to Thadro, who passed them to the remaining guards. The air was filled with grunts and thuds of fists hitting flesh, as some of the castle servants joined in and started pounding on folks. I tried to push into the crowd to also reach Berenice, but couldn’t get through. I had begun laying about with my staff when I caught the gleam of a knife held in a pale hand out the corner of my eye.

I’d been in tavern brawls before and once had even been caught in a fight between two rival factions in the Freston garrison. And of course there was my battlefield experience. While a very small part of me was astonished that someone would dare to pull a knife in the presence of both His Majesty and Lord Mearden, I was mainly focused on how easily said knife could slide into all the unprotected flesh around. Including mine. I shifted so that I could keep both the blade and the blade wielder in view. Or at least I tried to shift. The mob suddenly solidified and I couldn’t move, no matter how hard I struggled. I caught another flash of steel, this time nearer. Doing my own bellow, I slammed my staff’s end against the stone floor. A peal rang out, growing louder and louder until it drowned out all noise. The fighting slowed, then stopped altogether as those involved dropped clenched fists to clap hands over their ears, staring at each other as realization dawned about exactly what they had been doing in their lord’s hall, in front of their king. For a very hard, heart-thumping moment, their bewildered expressions reminded me of another fight, where folk, ridden by nightmares only they could see, had killed family, neighbors, and friends. But then the bewilderment drained away, leaving behind years’ worth of sullen anger over old slights and resentments filling the faces before me.

The peal faded and silence flooded in. Shoving unresisting folks aside, I made my way to Berenice, all the while looking around for the knife wielder. However, whoever it was had the presence of mind to tuck it away and all I saw were empty hands. Reaching Berenice, I helped her to her feet. Her brown gown showed dusty footprints and her arms had vivid red marks that would soon turn to bruises. As I helped her off the floor, her snood fell off and her hair tumbled free in a riot of curls that flowed down her back, heavy and warm against my hands. I held her against me as she swayed, feeling the shock of the violence still trembling through her body. Shoving my staff into the crook of my arm, I caught her chin and angled her face up, noting a rising bruise along her cheekbone and a dazed look in her eyes.

“It’s all right,” I said quietly. “You’re safe.”

Those dazed eyes blinked at me. But before Berenice could respond, Lady Margriet and Lord Idwal pushed through the former combatants and pulled her from me, Idwal wrapping his arms around both wife and daughter. I stood outside the familial embrace for a moment, then became aware of the stares from not only the townspeople, but also Princess Rajya, the wizard, the Turalian soldiers, the local doyen, Kveta, and assorted castle servants. Deciding that it was a good time for me to return to my king, I turned—and nearly ran into the air sphere spinning in front of me.

It had been over a month since I’d done any talent work, over a month since I’ve been face-to-face with any of the aspects. It was certainly in my face now. The sphere and I stared at each other. Well, I stared at it, while it seemed to contemplate me. I slowly raised a hand, whether to beckon it closer or knock it away, I didn’t know. It seemed to have no doubts; the sphere flitted to my palm, nestling against the truth rune and symbols etched there. I felt that contact, the reverberations of the bell-peal reawakening in the bones of my body. I brought the sphere before me to stare down into its swirling depths—

“Interesting. A tiro summoning and controlling a major aspect as easily as any senior adeptus.”

I quickly curled my fingers around the sphere and held it behind me as I once more turned and for a second time came face-to-face with the unexpected—the wizard Munir. Equally unexpected were Princess Rajya and her guards ranged behind him, all of their faces speculative as they stared at me.

“Tiro, Lord Munir?” I asked.

“It means ‘young soldier,’ ” Wyln said, as he and Laurel appeared on either side of me.

“It’s also used to describe a new wizard,” Suiden said, also appearing. He stepped in front of me, as if to block Munir’s view. They stood eye-to-eye—well almost eye to eye. Munir was a tad taller, his tattooed dome topping Suiden’s closely cropped crown by a finger’s breadth or two. “So you accept being called ‘lord,’ Adeptus?” Suiden asked Munir.

Munir smiled, a flash of white in his dark face. “It is but a title, sa Abbe, one among many—”

“And where the bloody hell do you think you’re going?”

We all looked up to see Lord Idwal, his arms still around his wife and daughter, his hazel eyes turned a deep forest green in his anger. He was aiming those eyes at a gaggle of townsfolk near the hall doors, trying to slip away quiet-like. They hadn’t quite made it. One of them, braver than the rest, stepped forward. It was Mistress Emlyn, her purple gown torn and dusty, her purple plumes broken and sticking out every which way, and one eye in matching purple as it swelled shut. She bobbed a curtsey.

“Begging my lord’s pardon, we thought that as we weren’t presentable, we’d go home and change—”

“No,” the Lord of Mearden said.

“But—”

“Announce dinner,” Idwal ordered, now aiming his green gaze at one of his servants. The servant bowed, winced, and limped away. A few moments later a gong rang.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness, my lords, ladies, gracious sirs and gentlewomen,” the servant announced. “Dinner is served.”

Eight

Dinner was very quiet. Nobody dared talk. Lord Idwal glared over the battle-scarred guests, his eyes still forest green they rested on split lips, bloodied noses, black eyes, and swollen jaws (the skinny girl truly, truly had a wicked punch). None of the townspeople would meet his gaze, and quite a few of the servants limped around with lowered heads and averted eyes. The only sounds were the occasional scrape and clink of silverware against porcelain, with the musicians valiantly trying to fill the awkward silence.

As befitted my rank, I was seated at the high table. But as befitted others’ higher rank, I was not seated next to Jusson. Which was all right. What surprised me more, though, was that I was also seated away from Berenice. I’d expected that Idwal would’ve used dinner as a way of throwing us together. However, she instead sat next to her mother. With the help of Lady Margriet, she had neatly tucked her hair back into her snood and straightened her gown the best she could, but she still looked battered. Unlike Lord Idwal, she kept her head lowered as she ate, the knotted bruise along her cheekbone darkening. Lady Margriet did lift her head from time to time, mostly to cast worried glances at either her husband or her daughter. However, one time I caught her looking at me—or rather at the air sphere now hovering over my shoulder. As was Munir. Figuring that the last thing my fellow guests wanted with their dinner was a reminder of the recent brawl, I tried to discreetly dismiss the sphere. I was more resigned than surprised when it ignored my efforts.

The only person who seemed to be completely enjoying himself was Jusson. I could see his black eyes gleaming as he dug into his food; however, that may have been because Bertram had somehow managed to insinuate himself with the castle’s kitchen staff. The boy appeared with the first course and remained, bouncing around the members of Jusson’s entourage as each subsequent course was served. Sitting next to Berenice, Princess Rajya watched, her own eyes bright in subtle derision with her guards a dark wall behind her. But, at her first spoonful of soup, her gaze flashed back to Bertram, those same eyes narrowed in calculation. Even Lord Idwal forgot to glower for a moment at his first mouthful, taking a lingering second mouthful just to make sure the first hadn’t been a fluke.

I too made short work of the food that came my way. With the taciturn Marcher Lord on one side more interested in eating than talking, and the southern lord on the other side involved in a softly murmured conversation with his equally southern neighbor, I settled into my own thoughts, which were divided equally between Berenice and my unintentional summoning. The daughter of Mearden had stopped communing with her plate to join in a polite three-way conversation with her mother and Princess Rajya. Even making allowances for her injuries, there was nothing about her that would make me want to give up my bachelor status; as Javes said, she did not fit my idea of who’d I planned on eventually marrying in the dim, distant future.

But that didn’t explain the panicked jolt I felt when she was crushed by the scrum or why I could still feel the weight of her hair on my hands, still smell its light perfume. She looked just as plain and ordinary, especially in contrast to the princess who glowed in the candlelight. Her Highness smiled in response to something Lady Margriet said, causing her eyes to narrow in amusement, and I found myself thinking that politics probably had very little to with Suiden’s marriage to her mother. At that moment, on that, Princess Rajya looked up, her smile lingering, her dark eyes now narrowed on me. Hiding another jolt, I quickly returned to my food, hoping against hope that Suiden did not see me eyeing his daughter.

Dessert finally arrived (a towering confectionary construct of the castle, its surrounding forest, and its port, complete with tiny ships sailing in a blue harbor) and was dispatched in due course. And the moment Jusson set his fork down, Lord Idwal immediately signaled the local doyen, who just as quickly stood and said benediction. As His Reverence blessed us, he too glared out over those of his congregation sitting in the hall, his jaw swollen and sporting scratches along the side of his face that were bright and painfully red. I figured that there would be a series of thundering sermons in the coming days and weeks denouncing infidelity, embarrassing one’s lord in front of one’s king, and violence against a doyen of the most holy Church. As soon as he was done, Idwal rose and dismissed his guests with a firm “good night.” He then bowed at Jusson.

“There was supposed to be dancing after dinner, Your Majesty,” Idwal said with a smile that sat oddly with his still green-eyed rage. “But I think that with all things considered it would be best to skip that.”

“We agree,” Jusson said with his own easy smile. “After our travels, we would be glad of an early night.”

“In that case, I beg to be excused,” Idwal said, “to tend to my family.”

“Of course,” Jusson said, his gaze going to Lady Margriet and Berenice standing together.

“Thank you, Your Majesty—”

“In fact, we will retire to our chambers now,” Jusson said. He grabbed Idwal’s arm, tucking his hand in it. “If you would escort us, Idwal?”

Idwal paused midthanks, those green eyes on the king. Then he looked around. The hall had rapidly emptied with the townsfolk jamming the front doors in their efforts to flee. All that remained were those guests staying in the castle. I did my own looking around and, finding Bertram helping the castle servants clear the tables, beckoned him to me. I’d left him behind once; I wasn’t about to do it again.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

I glanced back to see Idwal smiling, the laugh lines fanning out from his eyes almost hiding his rage. He then raised his voice, aiming that smile at the remaining guests. “After the excitements of this evening, we are going to retire. But those of you who find it too early to seek your chambers, please enjoy the hospitality of the Hall. Again, good night and God bless.”

With that, Idwal turned and escorted Jusson up the grand stairs, Lady Margriet and Berenice climbing with them. Any thought I had of maybe slipping off and joining Arlis and Jeff in the barracks was nipped in the bud by Thadro’s slight head jerk, indicating I was to follow His Majesty. I fell in line behind them, my hand firmly clamped on Bertram’s shoulder. A sizable group followed us—Javes, all of Jusson’s aristos, the King’s Own, and (to my mild surprise) the armsmen captain. However, Suiden was not with us. Neither were Wyln and Laurel. But I did hear the clicking of toenails and looking down saw that Kveta had worked her way through the climbing mob and was walking between Javes and me. She grinned when she saw my attention on her.

“Great evening,” she said softly. “I’m richer by several gold.”

I found myself grinning back. “Mistress Frauke’s daughter did have a punishing right cross.”

Javes’ hand crept to his purse, closing over the top as if to keep any more coin from escaping even as he gave a slight shrug. “Right cross or not, I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes tomorrow morning when they receive their lord’s notice of amercement for tonight’s activities.”

“That is very true, Wolf Damas’son,” Kveta said. She nosed his hand. “Speaking of tomorrow, we didn’t have a chance to set a meeting time.”

Javes’ distracted air disappeared. “So we didn’t. I haven’t had a chance to speak with either His Majesty or the lord commander, but I think midmorning should be acceptable to either.”

“Then, unless I hear otherwise, I will come to your floor tomorrow morning. I can present my credentials to your king at the same time.” Kveta glanced around as if she could see anything beyond the forest of knees and shins. “Have you seen honored Wyln and Laurel, Rabbit?”

I did my own glancing back over the mob following us up the stairs, but my teachers in the talent hadn’t appeared. “I’m sure they’re around someplace,” I said.

“Ah, well, when you see them if you would tell them that I have messages for both. I tried to speak with them earlier, but the predinner contretemps got in the way—” Kveta broke off as Idwal stopped upon reaching the top of the gallery stairs. He gave another bow.

“I will say good night here, Your Majesty.”

I was startled. Jusson had asked Idwal to accompany him to his rooms and we were nowhere near the royal chambers.

“Oh, I say,” murmured Javes. Behind us the aristos stirred in surprise.

“Seems that a royal command doesn’t go as far as it used to these days,” Kveta said softly, her ears pushed forward.

So it didn’t. At least not here in Mearden. However, the king merely nodded and Idwal hustled his family off, Berenice planted firmly between him and his wife. At the same time, Kveta pushed between Javes and I and trotted up the last remaining steps.

“I will also say good night here, honored king,” the wolf said, bowing. “With your permission, I see you on the morrow.”

“Of course, Captain Kveta,” Jusson said. Then without a backwards glance for either wolf or host, he turned and led us up the winding staircase to his chambers. Despite Kveta and Idwal’s defection, it was still a sizable mob that followed; the aristos had remained with us, trooping past the guards and being bowed in by Cais, his mien wonderfully impassive. Releasing Bertram’s shoulder, I watched him race off to join Finn at the fireplace, the diminutive servant busy stirring a small pot hanging from a hob. I followed after him, dodging the king’s late-night guests to walk over to the fireplace and prop my staff against the wall, out of the way of careless elbows and feet. The butterflies on the mantelpiece stirred, then lapsed back into their drowsing. I didn’t blame them. I could feel the night’s cold through the stone wall and I moved in front of the fireplace, enjoying the heat from the burning peat moss and the smell of hot spiced wine from Finn’s pot. Turning to warm my back, I searched for Jeff and Arlis. However, they still hadn’t returned from the barracks. Lieutenant Groskin and Trooper Ryson were present, though. They also scanned the arriving guests, as if looking for someone. Seeing Javes, they joined him, stepping aside out of the milling crowd, their faces grave as they spoke together. A sneaking suspicion crept over me and I began to worry about Suiden’s whereabouts and hoped that Jusson would not ask where my former captain was.

I was distracted from my suspicions by Bertram hurrying out of the room. He quickly returned with a tray ladened with goblets. A very short time later the goblets were filled with mulled wine and he was moving through the crowd, distributing them to all takers. I took one, though it was more to occupy my hands than anything else. Having wine during my bath, and then more at dinner, made my head a little muzzy. Holding the goblet in one hand, I went back to my speculations, wondering if Suiden was with Laurel and Wyln, when the flames in the fireplace caught my eye, the way they leapt and crackled, while the air sphere hummed softly in my ear—

“Well, that was an interesting dinner.”

I looked away from the flames to find Jusson lounging in his crowned chair. His guests had sat down as they could, some in chairs at the table, others on the chairs dragged from the fireplace, and some on judiciously placed chests and footlockers. Realizing I was one of the last standing, I found an unoccupied chest and sat. A moment later Javes, Groskin and Ryson stopped talking and Javes found a seat for himself. Groskin and Ryson discreetly headed for the door, but they weren’t able to escape. Thadro caught their eye and motioned to the available seats. Groskin actually hesitated a moment before returning, his face blank. He gingerly sat close to the lord commander while Ryson plopped down next to me. I quickly held my breath, but got a whiff anyway—of what smelled like soap. Astounded, I leaned in closer and sniffed. It was soap with just a hint of lavender water. Ryson gave me a sideways glance, which I met with a wide-eyed stare. Before either of us could say anything, an aristo spoke.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said. “I want to speak with Mistress Frauke about her daughter coming to our village fair and going a few rounds with the local strongman. My money would be on Maid Aveline.”

There was a burst of laughter. “The folks of Mearden are a combative group,” a second aristo said. He gestured at the armsman captain sitting next to him. “My captain was telling Thadro and me about a tavern brawl he witnessed. Tell them what you told me, Remke.”

“Tavern brawls in seaports are as common as seagulls,” the first aristo said before Remke could speak.

“Not like this, my lord,” Captain Remke said.

“Oh?” Jusson’s brow lifted. “What happened?”

“After getting the men settled, Your Majesty, the other captains and I decided to unwind a bit, take in the lay of the land, so to speak.”

“Of course you would,” Jusson said, smiling as he took a sip of wine.

A faint flush appeared on the captain’s face. “Yes, Your Majesty. We asked about for a lively place with good food and a decent cellar—”

“And pretty serving wenches?” another aristo asked.

“I like ’em healthy myself,” a northern Marcher Lord put in. “Ones that can handle a squeeze and cuddle and a fistful of tankards all at the same time.”

“So I’ve heard, Huegon,” Jusson said.

“Best kind in the world, Your Majesty,” Lord Huegon said, his eyes gleaming.

Remke’s flush deepened. “Er, yes. Anyway, so we were directed to this tavern near the docks, apparently a very popular place as it was crammed full with not only locals, but sailors too, including crew from the Turalian and Borderland ships—”

“Well, there you go,” still another aristo jumped in. “Like a torch to pitch, those two coming together after Ambassador Kenalt’s adventures in smuggling, murder, and rabble-rousing last spring.”

“That’s what we thought,” Remke said, his flush fading. “And even though from what we could tell the two crews were being polite to each other, we decided to go somewhere less volatile. However, before we could get out the door again, a fight broke out.”

“So much for the diplomatic efforts of the Qarant,” the first aristo said, his eyes going to Javes—who ignored him. “Why the hell they’ve involved someone so obviously from the Border in a dispute involving the Turals is something I would dearly love to discover—”

“I beg your pardon, Your Lordship,” Remke said, “but the fight wasn’t between the Turals and the magicals. It was between the locals.”

“Why?” Jusson asked. “Another stomacher gone astray?”

“No, sire,” Thadro said, jumping in. “It started over someone’s pig getting loose and invading another’s garden—five years ago last summer. Right, Remke?”

“Yes, sir,” Remke said. “The pig dug up and ate all their rutabagas.”

There was a moment of stunned silence; then the minihall exploded in laughter, the king included.

“Good heavens,” Javes said, faintly. “Turnip wars.”

“I’ve seen pub-clearing brawls before, Your Majesty,” Remke said when the laughter died a bit, “but never one that had turned that ugly that fast. One moment they were drinking like sensible people, the next trying to crush skulls with chairs and tables. And when they had broken all the furniture in the tavern, they went outside, looking for more. The town constables and harbor peacekeepers were hard-pressed to keep it contained to the docks. In fact, just about the only people not involved were the Turals and Kveta’s crew. And us.”

“None of you were hurt, we trust?” Jusson asked, concern momentarily replacing his amusement.

“No, Your Majesty,” Remke said. “None of it came our way, which was rather amazing. Then, we didn’t hang about to see if that would change. When it spilled out onto the docks, the Turalians, the magicals, and the other arms captains and I all decided that the best thing would be to quit the field. They went back to their ships and we went back to our quarters, where we reckoned that someone should come here and inform the lord commander.” A bewildered look crossed his face. “Only to have it happen again.”

“So it did,” Jusson said, his amusement returning. “Tell us, Captain, what else did you see in your reconnoiter of the town and docks?”

Feeling a yawn coming on, I stifled it as I listened to Remke describe a bustling harbor and what seemed to be a prosperous town. Ryson sat upright beside me, his eyes clear and focused, but then he hadn’t been plied with wine all evening long. I too tried to maintain at least a semblance of alertness, but the fire in the fireplace was warm across my back, and (despite myself) the air sphere was a comforting hum in my ear. I lazily sipped my wine, my gaze resting on the tapestry on the wall opposite me. It was a typical hunt scene and I idly wondered if Berenice had made it, the image of her graceful neck as she bent over the tapestry frame flashing across my mind. Then my gaze sharpened and I stared harder at the wall hanging as I noticed that, instead of chasing the stag, the hounds seemed to be running with their quarry, their mouths gaping open with doggy joy. The stag himself held his antlered head lifted to what I’d at first taken to be the sun, but now realized was a full moon. It cast a dark shadow underneath a strand of trees—or maybe it wasn’t shadow. I leaned forward, trying to see, and as I shifted, the stag started to shimmer in the candlelight—

“And so you’re meeting Kveta in the morning?”

I jerked upright as the rest of the room flooded back. Jusson remained lounging in his chair, his goblet held carelessly, his gaze on Javes. Apparently he had left the subject of combatant Mearden and moved on other things.

“With your permission, Your Majesty,” Javes said. “She said that she would like to present her credentials beforehand.”

Jusson waved his goblet. “Yes, of course. And we’d like to sit in on this meeting even after all the protocol is settled. As was said before, involving Captain Kveta in our disputes with Tural is rather odd, no matter that the Border has featured in some of them. We’d like to find out why, sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Javes. “I’ll go as soon as we’re finished here and let Kveta know.”

“Why not just send a servant with a message?” an aristo asked, scowling.

Javes shrugged. “Big castle, things can go astray, what?” he said vaguely.

My attention once more wandered as the merits of a servant versus Javes’ personal attention were debated, my gaze going back to the tapestry—and my spine relaxing. The shimmering must’ve been from the candlelight (helped by the wine), for the stag now seemed perfectly normal. It was an autumnal scene, filled with vibrant reds, oranges, and browns, but winter was fast approaching. I could sense it—the cold misting our breath before us, the smell of snow blowing in from the north, the crunch of my hooves through the frosted leaf cover as we ran, the moon before us leading the way. My antlers held high, my hind legs bunched as I got ready to leap—

“Rabbit.”

I blinked and turned my head to find Jusson and the others staring at me. Bertram had sidled next to me and both he and Ryson were looking into my cup, Bertram looking puzzled as they both saw my wine was mostly untouched.

“Uhm,” I said brilliantly. And at that fortuitous moment, a knock sounded and everyone’s attention shifted to Cais as he walked to the door, including mine as I hoped against hope it was either my personal guards, or better yet, Suiden, full of where he’d been so that everyone’s mind would be off me. But it wasn’t Jeff and Arlis. Nor was it my former captain, or even Laurel and Wyln. It was Berenice.

Jusson recovered first. “Yes, Lady Berenice?” he asked, his voice courteous.

Berenice stepped over the threshold and sank into a deep curtsey. She had changed from her incredibly ugly brown dress to an equally ugly yellow one that matched the yellow in the bruise on her cheek. Still, her gaze was clear and direct.

“Forgive my presumption and forwardness, Your Majesty,” Berenice said, rising. “But, by your leave, I would like to speak with Lord Rabbit. Alone.”

Nine

Despite Berenice’s request for privacy, a stout and dour-faced maid and two burly castle servants were lurking on the landing, the servants carrying a bundle and a basket, the maid holding a candle. As soon as we left the king’s chambers, they surrounded their charge, the maid giving me a suspicious glare, her mouth a flat line. Or maybe she was glaring at my entourage. Jusson, who had his own notion of propriety, had glanced around his minihall looking for Arlis and Jeff. At Thadro’s murmur that he’d given my personal guards leave to remain with their former troop mates in the barracks for the evening, the king frowned slightly and looked at Lieutenant Groskin and Trooper Ryson.

“Go with him.”

At the royal command, Groskin and Ryson immediately arose from their seats as I went to the fireplace to get my staff. I halfway expected the butterflies to flutter up from their slumber, but they remained drowsing on the mantelpiece. I still had the air sphere, though, hovering over my shoulder as I hurried to the door, my guards trailing in my wake, me trying to avoid the significant looks cast my way by Lord Huegon. That didn’t deter him.

“A good healthy lass, that,” the northern Marcher Lord said in what he thought was a low whisper. “Took a blow and was able to get up and carry on with her duties. Nothing namby-pamby about her—or coy. Came here for you, didn’t she? Lasses like that appreciate strong ’uns. Don’t be shy, lad. Show her what you’re made of.”

“Yes, Your Lordship,” I mumbled, and fled.

Berenice didn’t indicate that she heard the Marcher Lord. As soon we joined her on the landing, she took the candle from her maid and led the way down the stairs, her brisk steps a light counterpoint to the maid’s heavier stumps as we descended the winding stairs to the gallery, the great hall below us dark and quiet. I thought that we would continue down the grand staircase, but Berenice turned to walk along the gallery to another set of stairs going up a short distance to a passageway. We worked our way through it to another, and to others, some level, some with steps going up, some going down, the air growing colder with an increasingly salty tang. Finally, we made one more turn, and we came out upon a sort of broad walk that ran a good distance along the side of the castle. Looking out over the parapet, I could see the forest, a dark swath surrounding the castle’s tor. Spread out below that was the town and even at this late hour there were still lights, some on land, some reflected at the water’s edge, and some gently swaying on ships anchored out in the harbor. And beyond them was the sea, the waning moon, and a multitude of stars brilliant diamond points above it.

“No halo around the moon,” Berenice murmured as she put the candle on a conveniently placed table between two equally convenient chairs. “I thought that with the clouds blowing in this morning, the rains would soon start, but it seems that the afternoon wind cleared them all out to sea.”

Without thinking I lifted my head, listening to the sphere softly humming in my ear. “They’re close . . .” Berenice looked at me and I trailed off.

“Of course, we also get storms coming in from the ocean,” she said blandly into my silence. “Those can get rather exciting, though our breakwater keeps the worst of it from the town. Nothing like what Lord Wyln described.” Taking the bundle from one of the burly castle servants, Berenice opened it to reveal lap rugs and cloaks. She handed me a cloak and then gave one to Groskin and one to Ryson standing silently behind me. I was glad as the night air was cold and I quickly wrapped the cloak about me.

“We get incredible storms in Freston,” I said. “Last winter part of a village was swept away in a flash flood. The rest was wiped out when part of the mountain above them gave way.” We had been on patrol and heard the landslide, arriving just in time to join in the frantic digging for survivors. We then helped search for victims. I felt my mouth pull down as my mind’s eye flashed to the long row of bodies wrapped for burial. “Captain Suiden said that the flood and landslide happened because there had been a fire in the mountains above them earlier that year so there was nothing to hold back either the water or the earth.” I trailed off again as I caught the fish-eyed stares of Ryson and Groskin, and realized that maybe disaster tales weren’t exactly appropriate for the moment.

But Berenice merely nodded. “That’s why the forest is allowed to grow to the cliff’s edge above the town. Papa says that defensewise it would be better to clear it, but the trees keep the cliffs from eroding. If the town is ever taken, we would be hard-pressed to stop the invaders from scaling the cliffs to the castle.” Wrapping a cloak about herself, she gave the rest to her maid and servants, and taking a spill from the basket the other burly servant carried, she lit it from the candle, then in turn lit two braziers that flanked the table and chairs. The flames immediately sprang up, filling the air with welcomed warmth. “But if the trees were gone,” Berenice said, tossing the spill into one of the braziers, “we would never be able to defend the castle against time and the sea.”

“What about the Watcher?” I asked, remembering our ride through the forest to the castle and the subsequent conversation during my bath. “You said that it defends the keep from attack.”

“The Watcher’s a legend,” Berenice said, dismissive. “I’d rather rely on good men and strong walls.”

“Good men and strong walls are always good,” I said. I walked over to the parapet, running a hand over its solid stone. “Has the castle ever fallen?”

“No,” Berenice said. She directed the servant to place the basket on the table and, opening it, took out a porcelain teapot snug in a cozy, a couple of teacups and saucers, spoons, creamer and sugar bowl, and what looked like a plate of shortbread biscuits. Walking back to the table, I could see Mearden’s crest imprinted on each biscuit in the light of the candle and braziers—a running stag. Just like the one upstairs on the tapestry. I stared a little apprehensively at it, but the biscuit remained a biscuit.

“We have never fallen,” Berenice said, reclaiming my attention, “for we’ve never been attacked.”

“Never attacked?” I asked, surprised. While Jusson’s reign was generally peaceful—excluding the odd rebellion and demon attack—there had been plenty of lawlessness in olden times with brigands and river pirates and the occasional ambitious lord seeking to expand his holdings at the expense of his neighbor. The keep didn’t look all that old, but I figured that, given its elevated position over the harbor and surrounding land, it most likely had been built on the site of an older fortress, or a series of fortresses, with the first probably held by a fae castellan when the land had belonged to the People. Which would explain all the white stag motifs scattered about.

“Well, there are old stories,” Berenice said, “but I treat them as I do the Watcher.” She indicated the chairs. “Please be seated, my lord.”

The chairs were comfortable and we were quite warm in our cloaks and lap rugs with the fires burning on either side of us. I glanced over my shoulder to see that the maid had seated herself at another convenient chair placed a little distance from us. She too was bundled up and all I could see were her gimlet eyes glaring at me, while next to her the two burly servants stood, their faces impassive. My own guards were much closer, standing right behind my chair. But again, that didn’t seem to bother Berenice. She calmly busied herself with pouring the tea into cups and positioning the plate of biscuits on the table. I absently snagged a biscuit and bit into it, and butter and sweetness filled my mouth. Sighing, I leaned back—only to sit upright again at the maid’s snort.

Berenice gave a low laugh. “Don’t let Godelieve upset you,” she said as she handed me a teacup. “She grew up near a garrison and has the lowest opinion of soldiers.”

“Having lived in a garrison myself, I don’t blame her,” I said. Ignoring Groskin’s grunt, I smiled at Berenice. “Some of us can be pretty raucous.”

“And so we carry our opinions and prejudices with us, a little bit of home wherever we go.” Taking a small sip of tea, Berenice settled back in her chair. “What part of home do you carry, Lord Rabbit?”

Braced for something so portentous that it would cause her to brave fetching me from the king’s chambers, I was thrown off balance by Berenice’s question. Stalling for time, I looked down at my cup and saw the flames from the braziers reflected on the surface of the tea—red and orange, and shot with yellow. They danced and leapt about, their softly cackling laugh a counterpoint to the muted roar of the sea from down below and beyond as it crashed against a distant rocky shore. Both were as comforting as the hum of my air sphere and I felt a yearning welling up inside me to fling myself off the parapet wall and let the wind take me where it would—

I jerked my gaze up from my cup and looked back at Berenice, trying to pretend my heart wasn’t thumping in my throat. “What do I believe?” I asked, my voice a little hoarse.

“No,” Berenice said. “Not your credo. Your prejudices. What do you expect to find when you face the world each morn?”

“Oh.” I leaned forward and placed cup and saucer on the table, where its reflected surface would be out of sight. Sitting back, I once more looked out over the walk’s parapet, and was confronted with the crescent moon. I eyed it, but Lady Gaia’s consort seemed content to stay silent in the sky. For now. I pulled my cloak tighter around me and searched for clever repartee. “Hell if I know,” I said instead.

Godelieve gave another mumbling snort at my language. Berenice, though, merely raised her brows. “You don’t have any opinions?” she asked, her voice somewhat flat.

“I grew up in the Border,” I said, crooking a smile. “I have all sorts of opinions. It’s just that lately so many have been turned on their ears.”

“Ah,” Berenice said, her smile returning. “Like what?”

“It’s more a case of what hasn’t,” I said. “My parents may have been from Great Houses, but I was raised a farmer’s son, and until recently I was a common trooper based in a garrison located in a small trade town in the northern marches. My days consisted of patrolling the surrounding mountains and fighting bandits that preyed upon the merchant trains—”

“That must’ve been a sight,” Berenice murmured, eyeing my feather, braid, and air sphere.

I grinned while Groskin grunted again and Ryson made noises that sounded suspiciously like smothered laughter. “This was before the braid and everything,” I said. “Anyway, Freston was the backside of the world, but we’d get the occasional lord’s son with double-jointed names sneering his way through, and my mates and I would find it necessary to help him on in his travels.”

“You did say some of the soldiers were unruly.”

“Not us,” I said. “We didn’t dare. Not with Suiden as a captain. No, we were polite but firm that snooty obnoxiousness would not be tolerated, and that they would have to mend their ways or leave. Most left.”

“Damn right,” Groskin said very softly.

Berenice’s gaze darted over her shoulder at my impromptu guard before returning to me. The bruise was a dark shadow on her face. Then her whole face seemed to be shadowed—except for her gaze. Her plain brown eyes had turned black in the night, reflecting the braziers’ fires, and I watched the flames now leap in them, bright in the surrounding darkness.

“But now?” Berenice asked. “Has that prejudice changed?”

“I’m afraid I’ve become as snooty as any aristo’s son,” I said. “Not only have I acquired the dreaded double-jointed name, but I’ve come to expect certain things as my right and due.”

“Such as baths?” Berenice asked, the merry curve of her mouth matching the dancing flames in her eyes.

My face heated and I was glad for the flickering light. “Uhm, yeah,” I said. “Those are expected. I also expect Finn to keep my gear in good order and Bertram to greet me with choice tidbits and fine drinks. And for some reason I expected to be seated with you this evening, given the reason why I’m here at the castle.” I watched the merriment disappear from Berenice’s face, the shadow returning. “I was surprised when the last expectation wasn’t met.”

Berenice took another sip of by now cold tea, her gaze aimed at the lit ships in the harbor. “You speak of things expected,” she said after a moment. “Well, you weren’t.”

I blinked at that. “I wasn’t? But you sent a message to the king—”

“No, my lord,” Berenice said. “We expected you to arrive, but when you arrived we didn’t expect you.”

I parsed that. “Oh,” I finally said, remembering the considering looks I’d been receiving from Berenice’s father, the awed expression of her mother. “Why? Because of my braid and feather?”

Berenice quirked a smile; then it was gone. “Because of everything,” she said, waving an encompassing hand. “All your—how do you soldiers say? Accoutrements? Staff, braid, feather, ribbons? All of the bright colors and sparkles. You should look ridiculous with them. You should, but you don’t. Papa says—” She broke off, still staring out to sea.

“What does Lord Idwal say?” I prompted after a moment of silence.

“Papa knew your father,” she said.

“He did?” I asked, my surprise increasing.

“He met Lord Rafe through your grandfather while arranging for storage for our ships that make port in the Royal City.”

While Flavan’s wealth came from several plantations and owning the charters of three or four towns, Chause’s fortunes were more commercial in nature. “Your father leased Chause’s warehouses?” I asked.

“Still does,” Berenice said. “Back then, he dealt directly with your grandfather, and Papa says they dealt very well with each other. Still, the old Lord Chause and Papa were of different generations, while Lord Rafe was of the same age and they became friends. Papa says they ran wild together.” She quirked another smile. “Apparently Lord Rafe was always ripe for a spree.”

“I’ve heard that too,” I murmured.

“Papa expected you to be like your father,” Berenice said. Withdrawing her gaze from the sea, she looked at me. “He said that the fact you were garrisoned at Freston meant that you were at least slightly disreputable.”

Though I could hear more suppressed laughter from Ryson, I skipped over the slur on my character. “And so he thought that I’d be a good matrimonial prospect?” I asked, my frown returning.

Berenice’s eyes started to dance again at my indignation. “Papa says that Lord Rafe’s main fault was a lack of occupation. Your uncle Maceal, as eldest, was being groomed to step into your grandfather’s shoes, while your uncle Havram had the sea. That left the Church, which your father most definitely rejected.”

“Don’t blame him,” I said.

Berenice’s gaze lingered on the feather moving against my cheek in the night breeze, and her merriment increased. “No, I suppose you don’t.” She shrugged. “Papa expected Rafe’s son, bored and desperately in need of something to do. What arrived, however, was Rafe’s father, Lord Alain of Chause, who’d many times faced down the queen—”

“I’ve heard,” I said.

“—and stood off the Qarant.”

Now, that I hadn’t heard. I looked an inquiry at Berenice, but she was once more contemplating the sea.

“Papa says you’re the very image of your grandfather. Your stance, your walk, your facial expressions. Even the way you wear your clothes, despite all your sparkly accessories—and the fact that you don’t really care what we think about those sparkles in the first place.”

“He’s upset because I don’t favor my reprobate of a father who ran off with his friend’s betrothed?” I asked carefully.

Berenice’s merriment returned. “It does sound odd, doesn’t it? But see, that’s water under a very distant bridge. And he’s quite happy with Mama. And she with him.”

I did see. A lot. We were more than adequately chaperoned, still I gave Berenice a worried look. I might be the image of my formidable grandda who withstood queens and trade consortiums, but I had no desire to face an outraged father who was unsure of the offspring of a dissolute third son. A third son who’d once done him great wrong. “Should you be here with me? In fact, why are we here?”

Berenice shrugged again, drawing my attention once more to the graceful line of her neck. And again, I followed that line down, this time to the rounding of her shoulder and the gentle swell of her bodice . . . I snapped my gaze up to meet hers, which was much closer than it had been a moment ago. Her night-darkened eyes sparkled, full of fire and laughter, and she gave a wicked smile. “Why not be here? It is a splendid evening and we have observed all the proprieties. Besides, I trust you to be a perfect gentleman, my lord.”

“Well, yes. Of course.” I found myself returning her smile, the whys and wherefores fading rapidly. I leaned closer, suddenly not caring that we were surrounded by a crowd of witnesses. “My ma would find out if I weren’t,” I murmured, “and then she’d come get me, bringing all my sisters with her—”

The air sphere that had been quietly humming in my ear suddenly took off, darting to the far end of the walk. Berenice stopped and glared at it, before transferring her annoyance to me. “Can’t you control yourself?”

I sat back, surprised at her abrupt change of mood. “What—?”

There was a rattling crash from that end of the walk and I turned away from Berenice, springing up. Without thought, I grabbed fire from the braziers and flung it about us, just in time to see a shadowy figure jump over the parapet. I hurried after him, Groskin and Ryson right behind me, expecting any moment to hear a scream and the muffled thud of a body hitting the distant ground. However, the night remained free of any reminders of mortality and reaching the place where the figure went over, I could see just below a ledge that was wide enough for a man to—if he were very agile—walk.

“There,” Groskin said softly, pointing.

Looking where Ryson indicated, I caught a flicker of pale skin in the wan moonlight as someone ran along the narrow ledge. The air sphere had stayed at the parapet and I reached for it, ready to freeze whoever it was in their tracks.

“Well, it seems we were better chaperoned than we knew,” Berenice said. “Good evening, Your Highness.”

I spun from the parapet to see Princess Rajya and her bald wizard Munir standing at the other end of the broad walk.

“I see you, Sra Berenice and Sro Rabbit,” Princess Rajya said with a cool smile. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”

Ten

“It was a lovely evening,” Berenice said. Turning to the table, she began to stack the dishes.

“Still is, Sra Berenice,” Princess Rajya said as she and Munir moved closer to us, her slippered feet moving silently over the paving stones. Both of them were bundled up against the cold, their cloaks’ hoods shadowing their faces. “A starry and moonlit night.” The princess shrugged slender shoulders. “It is the perfect setting.”

Distracted by Princess Rajya’s unexpected appearance on the broad walk, I had looked away from the narrow ledge. I now looked back but saw nothing.

“He rounded the corner,” Groskin murmured quietly, and I nodded. Whoever the acrobat was, he’d made his escape. I turned away and walked back to Berenice, my guards with me.

“Perfect setting for what?” Berenice asked Her Highness. “Secret meetings in the dark? Or listening in on others’ conversations?”

Princess Rajya remained unruffled. “I suppose I should’ve spoken when you two arrived, but I figured it better to avoid embarrassment and awkward questions.”

“Like who was it that just went over the parapet rather than stay and be discovered?” Berenice asked. “Or like why you and your court wizard are out here where there’s a direct view of your warship in the harbor? And perhaps a direct view of you from the ship?”

I looked at the princess, very interested in her answer. But again she remained unruffled.

“If I wanted to send messages to my ship captain, or her to me, I would’ve sent a messenger,” Princess Rajya said. She smiled, a glint of teeth. “And I have no idea who you just chased over the ledge. As far as I know, it could’ve been someone who was spying on me.”

That was very possible and I struggled to keep my startled acknowledgment off my face.

“Your ignorance is very convenient, Your Highness,” Berenice said.

Princess Rajya shrugged again. “Not particularly. If whoever it was hadn’t allowed himself to be discovered, I wouldn’t have to account for the fact that I wanted fresh air to help me relax and think over the day.”

“It was eventful, wasn’t it?” Berenice said. “Like long-lost family suddenly appearing out of the blue, to everyone’s amazement.” She started packing the tea things away in the basket. “And tomorrow promises to be just as full of surprises and events. We should all return to our chambers as it’ll begin early.”

“Well, if it’s anything like tonight, then I expected we shall be vastly amused,” Princess Rajya said, her smile glinting harder.

Berenice gave the princess an earnest look. “Oh, I do hope so, Your Highness. It is our wish that all of our guests enjoy themselves—the invited and the unexpected.”

Having been raised with four sisters, I knew enough to make damn sure that my face remained pleasantly neutral. Apparently Munir also had a healthy respect for the fair sex as he too maintained a bland expression. Ignoring the presence of lowly males, Berenice took a fresh candle from the basket and lit it from the old, setting the new in its place. One of her servants had bundled the lap rugs and now picked up the basket, while the other produced lids and prepared to cover the braziers. But before he could, Princess Rajya stopped him.

“If you would leave them burning, please,” Her Highness said. “Despite your plans for tomorrow, I’m not ready to retire and would like to remain here for a while.” She turned to me. “If you would join me, Sro Rabbit?”

Berenice looked up at the princess and then at me, her eyes burning with the reflected flames from braziers. But I was already shaking my head no. I had been raised with four sisters, and even more, there was my mother who did not raise a fool. “Thank you for your kind invitation, Your Highness, but I’m escorting Lady Berenice—”

I broke off at the sound of running footsteps and all of us turned to the doorway. A moment later a castle servant appeared at the opening. “M’lady,” she gasped, a hand pressed to her side as she curtseyed. She staggered and her other hand caught hold of the door frame. “Your father, he came to see you, to see how you were doing. We told him you’d thought of some task undone and was seeing to it. He’d said he’d be back—”

Berenice had stood frozen, listening with growing dismay, but at the servant’s last word, she broke into action, swiftly picking up the candle and, making sure the bundles and baskets were secured, hurried to the doorway and gasping servant. I started to join her, but she whirled around and held a hand up.

“No, don’t accompany me. In fact, wait here for a bit.” Berenice herself dropped a brief curtsey. “I shall see you tomorrow morning, my lord. Good night.”

With that she turned and was gone, her receding brisk footsteps just shy of a run.

There was silence; then Princess Rajya gave a soft laugh. “Well, it seems that we will spend at least part of this perfect night together, Sro Rabbit.”

“So it seems,” I agreed, wondering how much of a head start I should give Berenice, and whether her father was out wandering the castle looking for her.

Princess Rajya pushed back the hood of her cloak, revealing the intricate twist of her hair. It shone softly in the firelight, as did her skin, rich and darkly smooth. Munir, standing behind the princess, also pushed back the hood of his cloak. I eyed the tattoos on his bald head, wondering if they were clan markings or were connected with his talent. If they were talent-oriented, they were totally different from the runes and symbols I knew; they seemed to flow one into the other in fluid lines, the jots and tittles fitting into their curves. My eyes went back to the wizard’s face in time to see his own gaze drop, and I realized that as I’d studied him, he had been studying me—and my hovering air and fire spheres. I resisted the surprisingly strong urge to gather them to me, but something of the struggle must’ve shown on my face. His dark eyes narrowed in humor and he gave me a slight bow.

“How do you say, Sro Rabbit? I give you good evening.”

“Good evening, Lord Munir,” I said.

“So polite,” Princess Rajya said, reclaiming my attention.

“Yes, Your Highness,” I said.

Princess Rajya smiled again, her eyes slitting in amusement. “Your mother must be a terrifyingly strong woman.”

“All the women in my family are,” I said, keeping my face smooth at Princess Rajya’s unsurprising revelation that she had eavesdropped on Berenice and my conversation.

Princess Rajya’s smile turned wry. “You should meet the women in mine, Sro Rabbit.” The night breeze shifted, bringing with it her subtle perfume as she moved to the walk’s parapet. Groskin, Ryson, and I followed her, Groskin and Ryson going to the edge once more to look down and then out, this time towards the harbor. The princess ignored them. “But as strong as they are, the sea is stronger,” she murmured. “I love it at all times, but especially at night, when it is full of moonlight, star fire, and dark mysteries.”

I thought back to the demon fight when I’d become an avatar of the water aspect and had brushed up against the infinite. “It is vaster than we think, containing much more than we are aware of,” I murmured, shivering in spite of myself.

Munir gave me a sharp look, but the princess continued her blind stare into the night. “I grew up on its edge and the sound of the surf is as much home to me as is my mother’s embrace. One day I will lose my mother, but to lose the sea—” She shook her head. “To live where I couldn’t see it, couldn’t hear, couldn’t smell, couldn’t taste or feel it would kill me.”

I said nothing. Once I had thought the Weald containing my parents’ farm the summation of my life. I later learned that home was where I made it, and my heart traveled with me no matter how hard I tried to leave it behind.

“Your family gave a son to the sea, correct?” Princess Rajya asked. “Didn’t Sra Berenice say your uncle is a sailor?”

“Yes, Your Highness. My da’s brother, Vice Admiral Havram ibn Chause.”

“I’ve heard his name,” Princess Rajya said. “If I’d been a son, I too would’ve been given to the sea. Or if I had been born in a sailing casim, my womanhood wouldn’t have mattered. But neither happened, so I remain on the edges of my desire, being satisfied with a part instead of the whole.” She drew in a deep breath, let it out, her face finely drawn in distress. “I don’t know how he managed to stay sane.”

“Your Highness?” I asked, surprised at the sudden change in direction.

“My father,” Princess Rajya said. “Twenty years in a garrison you yourself said was remote, twenty years in a place so far away from the sea.”

“His Majesty wanted Captain Suiden somewhere safe,” I began.

“Safe?” Princess Rajya said. “An oubliette is safe. The grave is very safe. But you wither in one and decay in the other. Twenty years of safely dying, yet when I arrive with the way back to life, he shuts me out.”

I thought back to Suiden’s unexplained absence in the king’s chambers after dinner and opened my mouth to ask if my former captain had been with the princess. I then thought of Suiden’s reaction when he found out that I’d questioned Her Highness, and I closed it again. Tight.

“And now you’ve shut me out also,” Princess Rajya said, her voice gently mocking.

“It’s not my place to speak, Your Highness,” I said.

“Ah, so there is something,” the princess said. She turned to face me and, catching another whiff of her perfume, I took a step closer. “Is it that your king won’t release him from his oaths?” she asked.

I watched the fire spheres warm the line of her high cheekbones and outer rims of her ears. Unweighted by gold and gemstones, they seemed even more delicate in the flickering light. Then all of her seemed delicate and small, and I vaguely thought that the top of her head would just fit under my chin. “His Majesty would not hold anyone against their will.” I saw her look of disbelief. “He wouldn’t. Someone conflicted in their allegiance, maybe, but never someone who has outright refused him as their lord. What good are unwilling liegemen?”

“So he lets them go with a pat on the back?” Princess Rajya asked, skeptical. “It didn’t seem that way with Sro Gherat of Dru.”

“That was different,” I said. “Gherat was false and a traitor. If he’d come in honesty to His Majesty and asked to be released, he would have been.” I shrugged. “Of course, he would’ve also had to relinquish the headship of his House, probably much of his wealth, and leave the kingdom, but he would’ve been free of his oaths.”

Princess Rajya frowned, her gaze turned inward. “So it’s m’Hlafakyri,” she mused softly.

While I had some Turalian, that one was new. “Your Highness?” I asked. At the same time, Munir made a small negating gesture with his hand.

“My father,” the princess said, without missing a beat. Giving no indication that she’d seen the wizard, she smiled. “All right. What are you allowed to tell me?”

“I haven’t been forbidden to speak,” I protested. I saw her smile broaden and I smiled in return. “Truly, Your Highness. I’m just being prudent. The captain wouldn’t be, uhm, pleased if I spoke out of turn.”

Behind me both Groskin and Ryson made muted sounds of assent.

“ ‘The captain wouldn’t be pleased,’ ” Princess Rajya repeated. “What about your king?”

“Well, him too—” I broke off. “Wait. That didn’t come out right.”

Princess Rajya chuckled softly, a sound as subtle as her perfume. My smile lingering, I moved closer, leaning against the parapet between her and my two guards.

“See, Captain Suiden was my commanding officer for most of my time in the army,” I said. “While His Majesty demands loyalty, Suiden commanded obedience. Violate either and you’re in a world of trouble. But in the past, the king was sort of remote, while the captain’s retribution has always been more immediate.”

“And painful,” muttered Ryson. “Very painful.”

“He sounds a proper kyrie,” Princess Rajya said. “In control of his men.”

“More than that,” I said. “He’s a good captain, and a fair one, and he takes good care of his lads, bringing us home from our battles alive and mostly whole.” I shrugged. “You just don’t make him mad with stupid stuff.”

“Truth,” Groskin said.

“He terrifies you?” the princess asked.

“Yes,” Groskin, Ryson, and I all said at the same time.

She laughed again, her almond-shaped eyes narrowing in amusement. “I remember him,” she said. “He was gone so much of the time, at sea, at court, at his other casimi. But when he’d come home, I’d run to him. He would swing me up and put me on his shoulders, and I was so high up I pretended I was flying. My mother fussed—he was a man after all and what did he know about children? But Abbin would calm Manon down with a kiss and everything would be good. It would be very good, until he left again.”

Groskin, Ryson, and I all held ourselves still at Her Highness’ reminisces of Suiden’s home life in Tural.

“Then one day,” Princess Rajya said, “he came home and there were no shoulder rides or kisses. I took one look at his face and ran away and hid in my room, under my sleeping couch. But it didn’t help. I could still hear Manon and Abbin shouting at each other. Their argument seemed to last forever and I fell asleep with it in my ears. When I awoke, he was gone and I never saw him again.” Her smile again turned mocking. “For the longest time I thought it was because I hadn’t stayed to ride on his shoulders.”

“You should tell him that, Your Highness,” I said softly, watching the last of the town lights wink out as its folks finally went to bed, visions of fights probably dancing in their heads.

“Perhaps I will,” Princess Rajya said. “If I could get him to talk to me.” She rested her hands on the parapet wall. “Can you at least tell me if he really did change into a dragon?”

“Yes,” I said, figuring that was public knowledge. “Three times, twice here and once in Elanwryfindyll.”

“Oh,” Princess Rajya breathed, while Munir’s gaze grew even more intent. “So it is true. What did he look like?”

“Obsidian with gold-shot wings, full of fire and smoke,” I said.

“Black and gold, and his eyes are green,” the princess said. “The colors of his casim.” Her hands ran restlessly over the stone parapet. “When he was in Elanwryfindyll, how did the Fyrst treat him?”

“With courtesy and great respect,” I said. “The Border takes dragons very seriously—”

One of her restless hands brushed mine and I turned my head and met her dark eyes. I stumbled to a halt.

Princess Rajya gave another soft laugh, her perfume filling the air, filling my head. “I assure you, we do too . . .” She trailed off, as if she realized how close we stood together. Her mouth parted, her teeth even and white against her lips, her breath warm and sweet against my face as she looked up at me, her widening eyes containing the night sky. I leaned forward—

And there was a thundering boom as a large wave crashed against the shore. I jumped a little, turning my head at the noise that had sounded so much closer than it could have been. At the same time, the wind shifted and the cloud of perfume around me dissipated, replaced by the salty tang of the ocean. I looked back at the princess—and snapped upright as my lips almost brushed hers. I hurriedly moved back, bumping into Ryson.

“You know, it’s late and I should be returning before they send out search parties,” I said quickly.

“Search parties?” Princess Rajya asked. “Does your king keep you on such a short leash?”

I paused in my backing up. “No more than the amir keeps you, Your Highness,” I said.

Princess Rajya’s challenging look disappeared, to be replaced by a smile that caused her eyes to flash, while behind her Munir raised one brow in sardonic acknowledgment.

“Ah,” the princess said with a soft laugh. “I believe I shall enjoy my time here.”

“I am glad, Your Highness,” I said, cold sweat breaking out on my body. Stepping around Groskin and Ryson, I backed up more. “In the meantime, it has been a long day.” Too long.

“So it has,” Princess Rajya said. “I will see you tomorrow, Sro Rabbit. Perhaps we will together discover what delights Sra Berenice and Sro Idwal of Mearden have planned for us.”

Oh, blasted hell. Berenice, whom I had totally forgotten. Berenice, whom I had been leaning towards with the same intent just a bit ago. Berenice who had every reason to expect me to discover said delights with her. My cold sweat now turning into hot embarrassment, I bowed, hoping that if Princess Rajya could see my flush, she would take it as a reflection of the fire spheres. “May I escort you inside, Your Highness?” I asked.

“No,” Princess Rajya said. “It is a lovely evening. I think I’ll stay out here a little longer.”

Swallowing my sigh of relief, I gestured at one of the fire spheres still hovering about us. “Do you need me to leave one for you?”

The bald wizard’s other brow rose at my offer, but Princess Rajya merely shook her head. “No, thank you. Munir will see us inside.”

I bowed again, and before she could change her mind, turned and quickly walked back to the passageway’s entrance, Groskin and Ryson keeping pace, the spheres trailing behind us.

“You, my lad, just had a very close call,” Ryson said softly as we worked our way back to the great hall.

“Truth,” Groskin said.

“Two of them,” Ryson said. “One right after the other, in front of everybody as if they were serving wenches in some dump of a tavern. What the hell were you thinking?”

“He wasn’t,” Groskin said. “At least, not with his head.”

My flush deepened.

“Lady Berenice was bad enough,” Ryson said. “But Suiden’s daughter—” He huffed out a breath. “Stupid, Rabbit.”

While I’d plenty of experience being raked over the coals by Groskin, it was a novelty being chewed out by Ryson. It was even more a novelty in that he was right. I had been incredibly stupid, no matter that neither Her Ladyship nor Her Highness had been exactly discouraging. Still, I tried to palm off some of the blame. “You could have said something,” I said.

“Said what?” Groskin asked. “Stop? Would you have listened?”

“Plus, we didn’t have time,” Ryson said. “One moment you’re conversing like a sensible person, the next you’re moving in for the kill.” He shook his head, looking worried. “Maybe the princess and her wizard won’t say anything about you and Her Highness. But I wouldn’t hold my breath that either of them will remain quiet about you and Lady Berenice, even if Her Ladyship does.”

Maybe if I sneaked out before dawn, I could make it to the harbor undetected and steal aboard a ship, preferably one that was sailing far, far away.

“You need to stay away from the ladies, Rabbit,” Groskin said. “They’re like a weakness of yours.”

I scowled at that. While it did get rather heated on the broad walk, I was not like some of the lads at the garrison who bayed after anything in a skirt. Usually. “I can control myself—”

“Yeah, right,” Groskin said. “If anyone else drops a handkerchief, call a servant to pick it up, and then run like hell.” He slowed down as we came to a cross passageway, Ryson and I slowing with him.

“Damn,” Groskin said. “Which way?”

I frowned, trying to recall the twists and turns we had taken to get to the broad walk. I glanced at the air and fire spheres, but they gave no hint of the way back to the royal chambers and remained placidly hovering about me.

“Straight ahead,” said a voice behind us. “The other way leads to the kitchens.”

We spun around, our hands going to our sword hilts as we searched the passageway, my fire spheres flaring bright. But there was no one there. At least no one standing on two feet. Looking down, we discovered the she-wolf sitting in front of us.

“Kveta?” I asked.

Kveta’s mouth fell open in a toothy smile as she rose and trotted around us to take the lead. “Follow me, Rabblet. I’ll see you to your quarters.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

We spun once more to see Laurel and Wyln appearing out of the gloom from one of the side passages.

“Well, well,” Kveta said. “You’re out late, Laurel. Been terrorizing the little mousies in their holes?”

“Perhaps,” Laurel said. His whiskers swept back and his eyeteeth gleamed in the light from my fire spheres. “And you? Out howling at the moon?”

“Perhaps,” Kveta echoed.

“It has been a busy night for all of us,” Wyln said, his voice mild, his face amused as his gaze rested on me. Like Munir, he lifted a brow at the aspects hovering about me. “Though it might be time to seek our chambers. Wherever they may be.”

“Yes,” another voice said, and we all turned to see Captain Suiden walking down the other hallway, still in his crisply pressed uniform he had worn at dinner, giving no hint as to where he’d been for the past few hours. Groskin, Ryson, and I all stiffened to attention as he stopped next to us, and I desperately hoped that he wouldn’t be able to smell any of Princess Rajya’s perfume on me. “Perhaps we can all find our way back together—”

Suiden broke off, his head cocking as he listened—as did Wyln and Laurel, while Kveta’s ears pushed forward as she lifted her muzzle and sniffed. A moment later I could hear someone running, the sound of his pounding feet growing louder as he came closer. At the same time a bell began to toll. A castle groomer burst into view as he rounded the passage corner.

“Fire!” he shouted as he ran past. “The barracks and stables are on fire!”

Eleven

The castle erupted as folks in various stages of undress flew out of doorways and into the hallways and passages. They swept us up, carrying us on a tide of people, the thundering sound of our passage competing with the tolling bell. As we neared the exit, I could hear shouts, clanks, dull thuds, and the scream of horses. We poured out of the doorway and into a scene of confusion as soldiers, castle armsmen, groomers, and agitated horses were silhouetted against flames licking around the edges of the barracks and stables that stood back to back, dark smoke billowing out of both. Coughing, I wetted my kerchief in a trough and tied it over my mouth before shoving through the crowd towards the barracks. I didn’t get far, though, as Groskin grabbed my arm and dragged me back.

“Don’t be stupid,” he shouted. “Get the fire out first; then we see who’s missing.”

He was right. Spying several bucket chains, I hurried towards the closest one. However, before I could reach it, there was a horse’s scream—this one filled with rage instead of fear—and turning, I saw a big raw-boned brute being restrained by three groomers.

“Damn it!”

I glanced away from the raging horse to see Idwal, still in his evening clothes, standing with what looked like his head groomer.

“It was Dandelion, my lord,” the groomer said, nodding at the restrained horse. “He must’ve taken exception to one of the guests’ horses and tried to kick down his stall walls. Instead he managed to shake a lantern down into some hay. We tried to put it out, but it spread like a torch set to dry tinder.”

“Not your fault, Kell,” Idwal said, picking up a long-handled hook. “This entire night has been a bloody fiasco—”

Dandelion screamed again, drowning out the last of Idwal’s words. The horse then kicked, nearly catching one groomer, before rearing and yanking the ropes out of the hands of the other two. People scattered, dropping buckets and other implements to get out of the way, while the groomers scrambled for the ropes they lost. Dandelion swung about, his back hoof lashing out again as he dragged the remaining groomer clinging to the last rope. I started over to help control the beast, but once more didn’t get very far. My arm was grabbed again, spinning me around, and I found myself face-to-face with Idwal.

“Are you an idiot?” he shouted over the noise and increasing roar of the flames.

My mouth fell open behind my kerchief. “What?”

Idwal made a fast gesture with the hook at my fire spheres. “Horses are already spooked. We don’t need you and your magic adding to it.” His eyes narrowed. “If you haven’t already done so.”

In the rush and worry, I’d forgotten about the aspects. Still, I wasn’t about to admit it. I jerked my arm out of his grasp. “One, this is the first time I’ve been anywhere near the barracks. And two, why would I set fire to my mates’ quarters?”

“First time here?” Idwal’s eyes narrowed more. “Where were you, then, when the fire started? Not in the king’s chambers. You arrived before I did and His Majesty’s rooms are farther away than mine. Much farther.”

Oh, sodding hell. My mind racing, I opened my mouth, but fortunately, before I could say anything, Suiden appeared out of the gloom.

“Lieutenant Rabbit was with me when the alarm sounded, Mearden,” he said.

Well, technically I was. And apparently that was enough as my truth rune remained quiescent. I waited—half angry, half curious—for Idwal to demand where Suiden had been, but the lord of Mearden merely stared at Suiden for a moment. He then ran his free hand over his face.

“I beg pardon, Your Highness, Lord Rabbit. This has not been a good night. Though I suppose it’ll get much worse if I stand here talking about it.” Dropping his hand, he hefted the hook and started for the barracks and stables. “All right, everyone, let’s pull the walls down before it spreads to the other buildings—”

“Not necessary, Eorl Mearden,” Wyln said, also appearing out of the night. “The fire’s out.”

“It is?” Idwal blinked at Wyln, then looked past the enchanter at the barracks and stables. The flames were gone and the smoke was much less. As we watched, even that disappeared, with just a few white wisps curling about the doors and windows. The bucket chains slowed before stopping altogether.

“How—?” Idwal broke off, stepping back as he took in Wyln’s eyes, bright with fire in the night. The elf gave him a gentle smile.

“I asked it nicely to stop,” Wyln said. “Laurel is calming down the horses.”

That was true. The horses had stopped fighting and fidgeting, with the groomers having recaptured all of Dandelion’s loose ropes. Still, the head groomer gave a quick “by your leave” and hurried off to make sure the mountain cat wasn’t harming the horses. However, at that moment, Dandelion snapped at someone who came too close and I wondered if the head groomer’s hurry was actually to keep the beast from harming Laurel.

A fresh breeze sprang up, carrying the scent of the ocean as it blew away the smoke, and I pulled my kerchief off my face, my gaze going over the arms yard. Groskin had the troopers lined up and I quickly scanned for gaps. However, it seemed that everyone had escaped the fire relatively unharmed and I relaxed as I found Jeff and Arlis. I then stiffened again as Jusson, Thadro, and a bevy of royal guards appeared. Thadro split off and went to the troops. However, Jusson headed for us, his gaze resting briefly on the fire spheres still floating over my shoulders.

“Is everyone all right, Captain Prince?” Jusson asked.

“All present and accounted for, Your Majesty,” Suiden said.

“Good,” Jusson said. “Now, what happened?”

Jusson listened to Idwal’s explanation as they toured the arms yard, Captain Suiden, some aristos, royal guards, and me trailing in their wake. We stopped to look over the horses and, mindful of my spheres, I fell far to the back, allowing plenty of space. I had tried a surreptitious dismissal of the fire aspect, but like air, it refused to leave and it remained crackling softly in my ear as I skulked with the Own making up the end of the king’s train. I’d expected Jeff and Arlis to join me, but they remained with the rest of the troopers and I figured Groskin had them helping sort through what was salvageable and what wasn’t. Berenice, Princess Rajya, and Munir weren’t present, which wasn’t really surprising. However, as far as I could tell, Kveta was also missing. I looked over at the barracks, worried that she might’ve gone in while it was still burning and had become injured. But people were combing both buildings, looking for hot spots, and if she were in either one, she would’ve been found. Frowning, I rose up on my toes and searched the arms yard, but the wolf wasn’t to be seen.

“Careful, Your Majesty,” Idwal said. “In normal times, Dandelion is not to be trifled with. And, as I had to remind Lord Rabbit, the horses are spooked from the fire.”

I stopped searching for Kveta to aim a look at Idwal and Jusson. They were standing a respectable distance away from Dandelion, the light from the torches giving Idwal’s face a saturnine cast. However, the king seemed unfazed at the Lord of Mearden’s not so subtle dig at me.

“We have seen our cousin’s horsemanship,” Jusson said. “We’re sure that he’s able to handle whatever vagaries the horse may have.”

From where I stood, all I could see of Dandelion was a hint of white- rimmed eyes and big teeth, but even so, I wasn’t so sure if I could handle said vagaries—or even if I wanted to get close enough to try. I waited for Idwal to disagree with the king, but after giving me a speculative look, Idwal just murmured, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and continued the tour.

After a brief inspection of the barracks and stables, it was determined that with the smoke and fire damage, neither was inhabitable. Idwal decided to send the horses to the lower pastures, which also had a stable, while the castle armsmen were to double up with the castle servants, and the troopers to move into the floor below royal chambers with the King’s Own. It would be tight, but the Freston patrols had bunked in close quarters before. We didn’t linger long after that; the breeze had brought with it the night chill and many were shivering by the time we headed back to the castle, the armsmen and troopers carrying their salvaged kits and trunks, me carrying just my staff and surrounded by my aspects. While the castle folk gave me plenty of space, the troopers did not. They remained close, trying to catch some warmth from the fire spheres. However, Jeff and Arlis weren’t among them. I fell back and, scanning the crowd, discovered them at the rear, standing with more lads from the Mountain Patrol, including Ryson. Swimming against the stream, I made my way to them—only to pull up short at the sight of Jeff’s expression.

“What happened?” I asked. I looked at Arlis and found his was no better. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Jeff said. “No thanks to dumb arse here.”

I blinked. Gone was their rapport over my naked bath in front of Berenice. “What?”

“If you hadn’t been so busy getting in my face and had instead minded where you’d put your clodhopping feet,” Arlis said, “then you wouldn’t have tripped when the alarm was raised.”

“Why was he getting in your face?” I asked.

“My feet were fine,” Jeff said to Arlis. “Until you moved yours.”

“I smell smoke and hear someone screaming fire, I’m not waiting for a written invitation to vacate the premises,” Arlis said. He shrugged his shoulders, a bored look replacing the anger on his face. “It was pandemonium—”

“And in the middle of the madness, I was the only one who fell,” Jeff said. “Pushed by you.”

Arlis’ look of boredom increased. “It was an accident. Deal with it.”

I quickly grabbed Jeff by the arm just as he launched himself at Arlis.

“Groskin’s looking this way,” Ryson said at the same time, his voice quiet.

Jeff, Arlis, and I all looked over to where the lieutenant stood in the emptying yard, his eyes golden as he watched us. For a moment, I nearly followed the other troopers as they melted into the night (old habits die hard). Then, realizing that Arlis was about to do his own disappearing, I grabbed his arm, holding both him and Jeff still.

“What the hell is this about?” I asked.

“What do you sodding care?” Jeff asked. He jerked his arm from my grasp and walked away, joining those heading inside. Arlis’ mouth twisted.

“And he accuses me of showing you my backside.” Pulling away, he went to where a mixture of Mountain and King’s Road patrollers were sorting through the kits, trunks, and royal baggage that had been stored in the barracks. A moment later there was a brief burst of laughter.

“According to some of the lads, Jeff thought Arlis was talking out of turn.”

Turning, I saw that Ryson had remained. “About the king?” I asked, frowning. “Damn. No wonder why Jeff’s upset. I suppose I’ll have to talk to Thadro—”

“No, not about the king,” Ryson said. “About you.”

The last of the castle folk were entering the keep, leaving behind isolated pockets of groomers, servants, and the troopers who were stacking our baggage to be stored elsewhere. There was another burst of laughter from where Arlis stood with the troopers. It cut off quickly, though, when Groskin wandered over. Deciding that I didn’t want to face my former lieutenant after all, I started for the keep, Ryson falling in alongside.

“You are his lieutenant, Rabbit,” Ryson said, unfazed by my silence. “Of course he would talk to his mates about you. Just like we’d talk about our commanding officers.”

“I never bad-mouthed the captain,” I said.

“No,” Ryson agreed. “Then, no one says anything bad about Suiden. No one dares. But you did say plenty about Groskin and the other lieutenants and captains. Even Commander Ebner.”

That was true. And though some of it was gently poking fun, some of it wasn’t so gentle, nor was it done in fun. But as Ryson pointed out, complaining about one’s commanders was a time-honored tradition. “That was different,” I said anyway.

“Was it?” Ryson shrugged. “Maybe so, seeing as you were never mates with Groskin and the rest.”

That was true. And the time that we could’ve become mates, Groskin took off after Slevoic, becoming the Vicious’ echo. I started to cast a dark look at my former lieutenant, then frowned. That had been dealt with and was now water under an increasingly distant bridge. Facing front again, I saw Kveta, standing nearby with some of the castle servants, and I relaxed—somewhat—in relief. So the wolf was safe.

“And maybe Arlis could’ve been a little more . . . careful in his word choices,” Ryson said, reclaiming my attention. He caught my glance. “No, I’m not going to tell you what he said.”

I blinked at that. Ryson passing up an opportunity to weasel was even more shocking than him bathing. Not that he smelled as sweet as he had earlier, but then neither did I, and both of our faces and clothes were smudged with soot and ashes. My afternoon bath was in the dim, distant past.

The reformed weasel let out a breath, and despite the smoke-and-ashes smell permeating the air, I realized he’d been not only using his toothstick, but chewing parsley too. “Did you know that I used to be a sergeant?” he asked.

There were shocks and then there were lightning bolts from out of the blue. Forgetting about both fresh breath and what Arlis had been saying to my former troop mates, I stared at Ryson. “No, I didn’t know.”

“Three times,” Ryson said, crooking a smile as we started climbing the stairs. “And three times busted back to trooper. I was a sword master, drilled both basic and advance forms.”

“You were?” Ryson was older than me, true, but he was nowhere near the age most masters were. If he had made sword master, then he was extraordinarily gifted. I tried to remember whether I’d ever seen him in the practice yard, but I had generally avoided him when we were at the garrison, as he tended to hang around the Vicious.

“Yeah.” Ryson’s smile faded. “One thing I learned is that punishment delayed festers.”

“What?”

“It’s been damn near a month since you’ve found out about Arlis and Slevoic,” Ryson said.

So it had. And unlike Ryson, Arlis had been much more involved in Slevoic’s plots and schemes involving smuggling goods, slaves, and body parts from the Border to Iversterre and markets beyond. However, Arlis said that he had no idea that the Vicious had also been heavily involved in the Spring Rebellion. I had believed him, but now I wondered if that weren’t the case.

“You know something I don’t?” I asked.

Ryson waved my doubts away. “No, as far as I can tell, Arlis spilled his guts,” he said. “But you’ve done nothing about it.”

“Oh,” I said. I shrugged. “That was Suiden, Ebner, and Thadro’s call as it was before he became my guard.”

“He knew about the plot involving Helto and the acting troupe after he became your guard, and he told nobody,” Ryson pointed out. “He should at least be told off for withholding information.”

“But he reports to Thadro,” I began. Jusson had made it very clear when he appointed Jeff and Arlis as my personal guards that the chain of command bypassed me to go directly to the lord commander.

“You’re his lieutenant,” Ryson said, not caring about the king’s directives. “You’ve got to do something, Rabbit, and do it now. It’s not fair to put it off any longer. Not to him, not to the other guardsmen, not to the troopers. It’s part of the reason why he’s acting the way he is.”

“Part?”

Ignoring my question, Ryson frowned—and suddenly it was easy to believe that he’d been a sergeant and master. “Everyone’s waiting to see what you’re going to do. And maybe that’s why the king and lord commander haven’t done anything—they’re also waiting to see what you’re going to do.”

I nearly tripped over my feet. “You think they’re testing me?”

“Maybe,” Rison said again, “but whatever reason, something must be done.”

“Truth,” Groskin grunted, and I looked back to see that the lieutenant had left the baggage troopers and joined us. “My advice is if you bust him back to trooper, don’t return him to his old unit. Give him to Suiden. Javes is a good captain, but Suiden has had more experience with lads who have made a mess of their lives. He’ll keep Arlis on the straight and narrow.”

“Yeah,” Ryson said, grinning. “Look at us. Once excuses for troopers, but now riding with the king—”

“I’m not busting him back,” I said.

Both Groskin and Ryson stopped climbing to stare at me, and I stopped with them. “You want him guarding your back?” Ryson asked, his voice rising.

My mind flashed to Freston’s town square and Arlis, down on one knee in front of a makeshift altar, his eyes red-rimmed, his sword bloody. Jeff lay beside him, so pale and still, all around them the dead and dying, the wails of grief from the few living muted and distant as they held in their arms family and friends that they’d just killed in their demon- induced delirium. I closed my eyes, but still saw it, vivid and fresh as the day it happened.

Shaking my head, I opened my eyes and started climbing again. “I will deal with Arlis,” I said quietly.

Silently trudging into the great hall, we were met by Lady Margriet, who, unlike her husband, had removed her earlier finery and wore a much plainer gown. If she were dismayed at the soot and ashes being dragged into her home, she didn’t let on. Though busy seeing to the smattering of light burns and bruises, she signaled as we appeared and a circulating servant carrying a tray with steaming cups headed our way. I didn’t take one, however. The last thing I wanted was more mulled wine. Apparently Jusson hadn’t wanted wine either. He was standing empty-handed as he spoke with Thadro, Idwal, and Suiden. As I watched, another servant walked up to the royal klatch and proffered a tray. Shaking his head, Jusson turned and headed for the grand staircase. Lady Margriet hurried after him.

“Shall I send hot water up for you, Your Majesty?” Lady Margriet asked. So maybe she was dismayed a little.

“For ourselves, no,” Jusson said as he started to climb. “For our guards and soldiers, if they want it.”

Figuring that Finn could heat some water for me to rinse the worst of the grime off, I followed Jusson up. It seemed that very few took Lady Margriet up on her offer of refreshments as the same amount of folks were with us. The aristos did angle off at the top of the gallery, and the mass of troopers peeled off at the lower floor of the royal chambers, but those staying in the king’s chambers continued up the winding steps, where we were bowed in by Cais. Sighing, I unbuckled my sword and headed for my room.

“A moment, Cousin.”

At Jusson’s words, I turned, retraced my steps, and was waved to a seat as the king conferred with his majordomo. Sitting, I propped my staff against my chair, and waited, staring blearily at the butterflies still sleeping on the mantelpiece despite the commotion of our return. Though there wasn’t as much noise and bustle as there could’ve been. I’d expected that the King’s Own and servants displaced by the troopers on the lower floor would move to the top floor, but to my mild surprise the minihall contained only the requisite number of both. A number that didn’t include Jeff or Arlis. Apparently my personal guards were still nursing their snits. Frowning, I started to push back to my feet, but at that moment the door opened and Thadro and Suiden walked in. I continued rising but at a faster rate.

“Good,” Jusson said when he saw the lord commander and the captain. He walked over to a tea tray that was placed on the table and poured a cup. Instead of the dark brown brew I’d expected, it was a pale straw color and the scent of chamomile filled the air. Stirring in a couple of dripping spoonfuls of honey, Jusson took a sip.

“The troops settling in?” he asked.

“Yes, sire,” Thadro said. He too loosened his sword belt and gave a discreet stretch. “Lieutenant Groskin has them well in hand. Other than some bumps, bruises, and a few minor burns, we’ve escaped injury.”

“Good,” Jusson said again. “Cais will provide salve for any who need it or they can wait for the Faena cat to return from seeing to the horses.”

“Most have what they need, Your Majesty,” Suiden said. “There was some damage to property, but nothing that can’t be easily replaced.” He glanced around the minihall. “May I ask where Javes is?”

I blinked at that, then looked around myself. Apparently Jeff and Arlis weren’t the only ones missing.

“He went to see Captain Kveta, to confirm with her our meeting tomorrow,” Jusson said. “I’m sure he was held up by all the commotion from the fire and should return shortly.”

“ ‘See Captain Kveta’?” Suiden echoed. “I found Rabbit with Kveta just before the fire alarm sounded, Your Majesty. Javes was not with them.”

“No, he wasn’t, sire,” I agreed. “We ran into her on our way back here. She was by herself.”

“Was she?” Jusson said, a line appearing between his brows. Thadro, also frowning, went to the door. After a moment’s murmured talk with the guards there, he shut it again, but not before I could hear footsteps going down the winding stairs. Carrying his teacup, Jusson sat in his crown chair by the fireplace.

“Perhaps he has been caught up in the confusion caused by the fire, Your Majesty,” Suiden offered.

“Perhaps,” Jusson said. “But if he was in the arms yard, then he should’ve returned with us, if only to see his men settled.”

That was very true. Suiden remained silent and Jusson smiled even though his frown line remained.

“First one, then the other of my captains disappearing on me,” he said. “Leaving no word about where they’re going or when they should return.”

“Your Majesty,” Suiden began.

“Where were you?” Jusson asked.

“I went out riding.”

Of all the possible answers my former captain could’ve given, that one was totally unexpected. Jusson’s frown deepened.

“A ride?” The king glanced out a window, as if to make sure that it was still night. “Was there a particular reason?”

For a rare moment Suiden looked uncomfortable. “I was going to my ship, m’Aurflagrare.”

“You were?” Jusson asked. “Why?”

“I wanted to see if any of my old crew was on board.” Suiden’s uncomfortable look became tinged with embarrassment. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”

“I see,” Jusson said, his voice mild. “And were there any?”

“I don’t know, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I got about halfway there before realizing how silly it was. Especially since I didn’t bother to bring a hat, greatcoat, or gloves.”

“Cold, were you?” Jusson asked.

“Damn cold,” Suiden said. “I turned around and came right back as fast as I could.” Dropping his hand, he frowned at me. “And walked in on Rabbit, Groskin, Ryson, and Captain Kveta lost in the hallway near the kitchens.”

“Yes, so you said.” Taking a sip of tea, Jusson leaned back in his chair and thrust out his feet, folding his hands over his stomach. “Please, everyone sit and have some tea while you tell us, Rabbit, how you became lost and alone in the bowels of the castle.”

I had started to sink back into my chair, but at Jusson’s words, I froze, just barely avoiding flashing a look at Suiden. Then realizing that I’d announced to the room that there had been problems with my night, I sat. But the damage had been done.

“Ah,” Jusson said. “I trust you weren’t abandoned because you took advantage of our host’s hospitality, Cousin.”

It took me a moment to figure out what Jusson meant. “No, sire,” I said, my face flushing. “We were properly chaperoned the entire time we were together.”

“Servants playing gooseberry or not, I’m sure Berenice is safe from untoward attentions from Rabbit, Your Majesty,” Thadro said. “From anyone else probably too.”

“Lord Huegon seemed entranced,” Jusson said. “But then, he likes women who can palm a beer keg or two while knocking heads together in the middle of a riot.”

I was startled at Jusson’s and Thadro’s comments. While Berenice had not lived up to the promise of her parents’ good looks, she wasn’t a cold shower either. Far from it. The memory arose of her leaning close to me, her face in shadow, her wicked dark eyes sparkling. “She’s not that bad, Your Majesty,” I said, my flush deepening.

“I’ve seen worse,” Suiden ventured, agreeing. “There’s nothing wrong with Sra Berenice that a little style and clothes sense wouldn’t cure.”

“There you go, Cousin,” Jusson said. “Something with which to woo Lady Berenice. Offer to help with her wardrobe selection.”

“Yes, sire,” I said faintly.

“I don’t know, Your Majesty,” Thadro said. “The world may not be able to handle another with Rabbit’s splendor.”

“Ha, yes,” Jusson said, grinning. Draining his cup, he leaned forward and poured another. “So, tell us, Cousin. What did Lady Berenice want? And if you didn’t importune our host’s daughter, why didn’t she at least have a servant return you here? Does it have to do with the fact that you left with just an air sphere and returned with several of fire?”

Jusson, Thadro, and Suiden all listened intently as I launched into my adventures on the broad walk. Figuring that they didn’t need to know about Berenice and my near kiss, I glossed over it, going directly to the acrobatic eavesdropper. Suiden did frown when Her Highness appeared in my telling (I left out that near kiss too), and his frown abruptly deepened when I talked about Princess Rajya’s questions. But he did not interrupt and I was able to get to our meeting up with Kveta before the others spoke.

“None of that makes sense,” Thadro said after I’d finished. “We’re here mainly because of Idwal’s demands for redress of Hilga’s breaking her troth by Rabbit marrying his daughter. And even if, as Lady Berenice has strongly hinted, her father has changed his mind, why did she publicly whisk Rabbit off for a private tryst?”

“Good questions,” Jusson said. “Another question is who was spying on whom, and who would fear discovery so much that they’d risk a broken neck to get away?”

“We didn’t get a good look, Your Majesty,” I said.

“So I gathered,” Jusson said. “So we’ll shelve that question for another.” He looked at Suiden, one brow raised. “M’Hlafakyri?”

“I might have the pronunciation wrong,” I said.

“Close enough,” Suiden said. “The full term is Hlafakyri i’alDraconi.”

“Dragon Lord of the Dragon Lords?” Jusson guessed.

“Literally, yes,” Suiden said. “Dragon King is a better translation.”

“I see,” Jusson said.

“It means nothing to me, Your Majesty,” Suiden began.

“But it does mean something to Her Highness,” Jusson said. “And, just a guess, I would also say that it means something to the amir. I’d further guess to say that perhaps it means something to this ship’s crew that you were so anxious to see.”

Falling silent, Suiden rose and went to the teapot to pour his own cup of pale tea. Instead of finding his seat again, he remained standing, staring into his cup, his face distant. “Twenty-two years ago, Your Majesty, I came to your court a beggar.”

Jusson’s rather hard expression softened somewhat. “That’s not quite how I remember it, Captain Prince.”

“A beggar, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, looking up at the king. “No casim, no influence, empty pockets my fortune, the amir’s anger my inheritance. Yet you took me in, despite the protests of the then Turalian ambassador, over the objections of Her Majesty Queen Herleve herself.”

Jusson’s amusement grew. “Our royal mother did kick up something of a fuss, didn’t she?”

“Just a bit, sire,” Thadro said.

“This is my home and you are my liege lord,” Suiden said. “As I said before, the desires and wishes of others are irrelevant. I have sworn it. As Rabbit says, fiat.”

For a moment, the only sound was the subdued crackling of the fire in the fireplace, which was echoed by the fire spheres hovering over my shoulder. Despite the warmth of the room, I shivered. “Fiat,” I whispered.

“So witnessed,” Thadro murmured, his blue-gray eyes bright.

Jusson gave a swift, fierce smile. “Tomorrow’s meeting with Her Highness should be very interesting.”

“You’re meeting with Princess Rajya after Captain Kveta, Your Majesty?” Suiden asked, his face going blank.

“Yes, though she doesn’t know it yet,” Jusson began. He then stopped, turning his head to the door. A couple of moments later, I heard footsteps growing louder as several folks climbed the steps. Cais appeared from out of Jusson’s bedchamber and walked to the door, opening to reveal Javes. The formerly missing captain stepped inside and tripped over the threshold, but was caught before he fell by the two Own guarding the door. Pulling away from them, he straightened his clothes and bowed—and nearly fell over again.

“Your Majesty,” he said, enunciating very carefully.

“Javes,” Jusson said. He stood and quickly walked towards the door. “Where have you been, man?”

“I don’t know—someplace,” Javes said. He blinked owlishly at me. “Hallo, Rabbit. You’re awfully bright.”

Jusson’s concern turned into surprise. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Was talking about my uncle Jakub,” Javes said. “Mother’s brother, you know. Not m’father’s. Uncle Kuba’s Qarant, like Mama. Damas, daughter of the line. So’s Uncle Kuba. But a son, not daughter. Important difference.” Frowning over that, Javes just as carefully moved away from the doorway, allowing us to see Wyln and Laurel behind him. “Ran into someone else. Knocked the cat down. Sorry, sorry. Good thing, though. Helped me up the stairs.”

“We found him wandering in the barracks, honored king,” Laurel said. “Looking for his patrol.”

“They weren’t there,” Javes said, looking perplexed. “Nor were the barracks. Did someone take them?”

“There was a fire that was quickly put out, Wolf’son,” Wyln said, his voice soothing. “Your men are safe.”

“Good,” Javes said. “They can’t sleep there, though. All burned up.” He frowned again, then brightened. “They can bivoauc with me. Big arse bed, plenty of room.”

“They’re already in good beds,” Jusson said, his voice dry. “Which is where you should be.”

“Yes, big day tomorrow. Meetings and whatnot.” Swaying, Javes focused on Wyln and Laurel as they moved past him into the room, reaching for and missing his quiz glass. “You have a big day tomorrow too.”

“We do?” Wyln asked, amused.

“The wolf has messages for you. Ask Rabbit, he knows—” Javes hiccupped, looking astonished. “Oh, I say. Feel rather sick, what?”

“That’s not surprising,” Jusson said. He glanced at Cais, and the majordomo moved to one side of Javes, and together with the Own, hurriedly steered the captain to the archway into his room and the chamber pot inside. Sounds of retching reached us and we all winced, except for Laurel, who turned his head, listening.

“I have a remedy, honored king, which should ease his suffering. Somewhat.”

“In a moment.” Jusson turned to me. “Messages?”

“Kveta mentioned that she had some for Wyln and Laurel while we were coming upstairs from dinner, sire,” I said. “To tell the truth, I had forgotten about it in all the commotion.”

“Most likely from the High Council, Iver’son,” Wyln said, “in response to the Qarant’s mediation with Tural.”

“I see,” Jusson said. “Why did Captain Kveta tell you—”

“Captain Javes was there too, Your Majesty,” I put in.

“—tell you and Javes about messages for Lord Wyln and Master Laurel?”

“And does the good captain make a habit of telling the business of others?” Thadro muttered softly.

“Only if it’s to her advantage,” Laurel muttered back.

“Kveta said that she looked for Laurel and Wyln after dinner but couldn’t find them . . .” my voice trailed off as I realized how that sounded.

“I noticed that you two were missing,” Jusson said, picking up on it just the same. “Where did you go?”

“We tried to go down to the forest and see about this Watcher,” Wyln said, his amusement growing.

“At night?” Thadro asked.

Both Wyln and Laurel looked at Thadro, one with glowing amber eyes, the other with eyes aflame. “Night has never been an issue with cats, honored Lord Commander,” Laurel said.

“Nor with elves,” Wyln said. “In fact, some prefer it over day. However, this night the outer gate was closed so we took a stroll around the castle grounds.”

“Closed?” Jusson asked. “Yet Suiden was able to get a horse and get out all right.”

Laurel gave a rumble of surprise while Wyln lifted a winged brow. “You did, Your Highness?” Wyln asked. “Any particular reason why?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Suiden said. He looked at Jusson. “I left with the guests, Your Majesty. Given Sro Mearden’s disposition, I’m sure the gate was shut as soon as possible.”

“Slammed shut and if it happened to catch Mistresses Emlyn and Frauke on their way out, so much the better,” Thadro said.

“Probably,” Jusson said, a faint grin appearing. “Did you see anything unusual in your strolls, Master Cat, Lord Wyln?”

“Other than a keep filled with symbols and motifs of the People? No, honored king,” Laurel said.

“It was most likely once a fae castle,” Wyln said, echoing my earlier thoughts.

“So is the Royal Palace in Iversly,” Laurel began.

“Morendyll,” Wyln murmured.

“Morendyll,” Laurel said, waving technicalities such as names away with a paw. “Even so, all overt traces of the former occupants were obliterated—”

“I wouldn’t call a Witness Circle inscribed on the throne room floor subtle, Faena,” Wyln murmured some more.

“No one knew what the Circle was until Rabbit stepped into it last spring and even then it wasn’t associated with the fae.”

That was true. And it was only because of the dire circumstances I was in that I did step into it.

“It was considered a legend, along with Locival and his companions,” Thadro said. “Something out of our past.”

“And so what wasn’t destroyed was converted.” Laurel waved a paw again, this time at the hunting tapestry. I did not look. “But here, there is no attempt to convert, to hide what was once the People’s—”

“Truth,” Wyln said, his face sobering. “It is a fae castle, Iver’son, down to the lintel carvings and wall hangings. And its enchanted forest.”

“Enchanted, perhaps,” Laurel said. “Perhaps not. Whatever it is, it’s a strong presence in a land where your Church said such things are evil. However, honored Mearden, who is not fae and who also appears to be in good standing with his church elder, shrugs it off and says it is nothing—”

Laurel broke off as another wave of retching washed over us, once more turning his head to Captain Javes’ room. Jusson sighed.

“Go see to our overindulging captain, Master Laurel,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

Laurel bowed and disappeared into Javes’ quarters. Frowning, Jusson walked back to his crown chair and picked up his by now cold tea and drank it. “There are many things we need to discuss,” he said, setting the cup down again, “but I think I’ll wait until Javes recovers. Somewhat,” he added as more retching reached us. “Tomorrow, though, we will explore thoroughly all implications and ramifications of this night’s questions and revelations.”

“So we shall,” Wyln murmured over Thadro’s and Suiden’s “Yes, Your Majesty.” He then took hold of my arm, keeping me from leaving. “Bide a moment, Two Trees’son.”

I obediently stood still. Wyln waited as Jusson and Thadro headed for the royal chambers, and Suiden walked into the room he shared with Javes.

“You leave for dinner with no aspects,” Wyln said when Suiden closed the door on Javes’ retching, “and return with two. I know you summoned the one; tell me, did you summon the other?”

“Yes, honored cyhn,” I said. “I summoned fire.”

“Any particular reason?” Wyln asked.

I felt the flush start on my face again. “I was—startled—and needed light to see.”

“Were you? But you’re not startled now, so why do you still have—” Wyln counted. “Four fire spheres hovering about you?”

I shrugged, though my flush deepened. “I tried to dismiss them, but they wouldn’t go.”

“And why do you think that is, Two Trees’son?” Wyln asked.

“Hell if I know,” I began.

“And damn if you will know,” Wyln said, exasperated.

“I do want to know,” I snapped back, but then stopped as my truth gave a hard twinge.

“No, you don’t,” Wyln said, his exasperation increasing. “The talent is there in spades, but the will is missing. But what you also refuse to understand is in this you have no choice.”

“Because if I don’t, the bloody aspects will do as they will?” I asked. I cast a surprisingly bitter look at the spheres floating around me. “So what? They do anyway.”

“Partly,” Wyln said. “But mainly because it’s who you are. You are mageborn, Rabbit. Nothing you can say or do will ever change that. And in rejecting your talent, you are rejecting yourself. The aspects aren’t overriding your wants and desires. They’re acting in the absence of same.”

I opened my mouth to argue back, to say that neither me being mageborn nor my wants, desires, and will had anything to do with it, but the words became tangled and I couldn’t get them out. Something must’ve shown on my face, though, for Wyln’s own expression abruptly gentled. “You’ve had a terrifying experience,” he began, his voice quiet.

“Wasn’t just me,” I muttered, finding my voice. I rubbed my palm against my tabard. “Honored cyhn.”

“No,” Wyln agreed. “It wasn’t.” He caught my hand and turned it over, revealing the symbols and rune shimmering in the candlelight. After studying it for a moment, he gave a singing sigh and let it go. “One day I will tell you about my first encounter with a Damned One. But for now, we’ve delayed your training long enough. As we discussed earlier, tomorrow morning we will begin again.”

My gut abruptly tightened. “But we’re guesting—”

“Honored Idwal knew exactly who and what you are when he invited you here,” Wyln said. “And if he somehow managed to forget, you reminded him very well this evening. In any case, I highly doubt a session or two of magecraft will upset him. Especially since we’ll be here in Iver’son’s chambers and not out on public display.”

“Honored Berenice said they had plans for the morrow,” I said, grasping at straws.

“So we will start at first light,” Wyln said. “Get a good night’s sleep, Two Trees’son. I want you fresh and alert.”

Once more something must’ve shown on my face, for his own gentled even more.

“You’ve already summoned two of the aspects, Rabbit. Despite your fears, the hard part is over. Do not worry, summoning earth and water will go just as well.”

He didn’t wait for my response, but headed for Javes’ room, I supposed to tell Laurel the morning’s schedule. Suppressing the surprisingly strong urge to stomp off, I grabbed my staff and, leaving the butterflies slumbering on the mantelpiece, aimed for my own room, trailing fire and air spheres behind me. I wasn’t afraid, I told myself. The reason why my stomach was churning at the thought of talent work was that I was concerned. Despite all my experiences of the past months, I was still only a journeyman and, given the string of mishaps that had happened in our short time at Mearden, the last thing needed would be for me to maybe lose control of my aspects.

Or have control taken away.

Wondering where the hell that thought came from, I passed the hunt tapestry and my eye caught a glow. Slowing, I turned to look and found the stag looking back at me, the hounds sitting at his hooves. We stared at each other, I in shock, the stag and dogs with a weighing contemplation, and for a brief moment, I caught a whiff of autumnal forests and fallen leaves. Carefully backing away, I turned and fled through the archway into a small antechamber that held a couple of small beds for my personal guards or other attendants. Jeff and Arlis were who knows where, but Bertram was there, bundled up asleep on a pallet on the floor. After waiting for my heart to stop pounding, I carefully moved around him and entered my bedchamber proper to find Finn waiting for me.

Alone.

I paused at the doorway. Having three older brothers meant that I always had to share a bedroom growing up. I did have a room to myself for the brief time I was Magus Kareste’s apprentice, but I then ran away and joined the army, which was notorious for mass sleeping arrangements. Even after I’d been co-opted into the King’s Own, I had shared a room with not only my two personal guards, but Laurel too. However, now Jeff and Arlis were with the other Royal Guards and displaced troopers, while Laurel was busy with Javes.

It would be my first time sleeping alone since the demon attack.

Seeing Finn’s inquiring look, I moved inside and leaned my staff against a wall before removing my tabard. Finn was there immediately to take it and my shirt too. I took my time undressing and lingered over a sponge bath with the hot water the servant provided, but all too soon, I was reasonably soot free. Clad in my robe and flannel nightshirt, I watched Finn pass the warmer over the sheets of my bed. Like Javes’, it was big, but so was the rest of the chamber, with a clothespress, a washstand, a settee, and a couple of chairs thrown in with room to spare. And now I had all that space to myself.

Finished with the bed, Finn took my robe from me and patiently waited as I put my feather and boot knife under my pillow before climbing in. Then, hanging my robe in the clothespress, he extinguished all the candles except one. Picking up my clothes and boots, he took the last candle and left. However, I wasn’t in darkness. My fire spheres hovered above my bed, lighting the room, as did the flames in the fireplace. I watched the shadows they cast flicker and dance about, creating changing shapes on the ceilings and walls, leaving deep wells of inky black underneath the furniture and in corners. After a while, I slid out of bed and, grabbing the blankets and counterpane, I took my staff, feather, and knife and went out to the antechamber. Once again I stepped around Bertram on his pallet, this time to place my staff against the wall. Slipping into one of the narrow beds, I draped the covers about me before tucking once more my feather and knife under my pillow. The aspects had followed me and now the fire spheres arranged themselves over me, the air sphere hovering closer, a comforting hum in my ear. The hum mixed with Bertram’s quiet, steady breathing and I listened to both until the room blurred and I fell asleep, to dream of flying dragons and pale acrobats somersaulting off ledges into the night.

Twelve

The next morning I awakened to the crash of breakers in the distance and the sound of the morning breeze rising. I threw my arms over my head and gave a good, hard stretch, then relaxed. My fire spheres still lit the room, but they were competing with the beginning of predawn light creeping in from the arched doorway into my bedchamber. Judging from the quiet, the rest of the royal household wasn’t stirring yet and figuring that I had at least another hour before anyone awakened (more in Javes’ case), I sat up, preparing to gather the extra bedclothes and slip back into my bedchamber. If I moved fast enough, I could leave before the threatened lessons and planned entertainment, maybe snag a horse and go down to the town and explore—

“Good,” Laurel said from the doorway. “You’re awake.”

So much for escaping. I braced myself, but Laurel didn’t mention me appropriating one of my personal guards’ beds. Nor did he say anything about talent work. He walked past me—and past Jeff sleeping quietly in the other bed to step carefully around Bertram and Arlis sleeping on the floor and enter the bedchamber. Getting up, I too edged around Bertram and Arlis, only to stop at the sight of Suiden sleeping in my bed, covered with blankets and a counterpane purloined from elsewhere. Laurel kept going to the clothespress and, opening the door, he rummaged in it.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.

“Javes is not doing well,” Suiden said, sitting up. “At least, he wasn’t when I went to bed.”

“He still is not,” Laurel said, emerging with a large satchel.

While I’d experienced hangovers that had lasted well into the following day, I figured Laurel and Suiden both knew the difference between suffering the consequences of overindulgence and something more serious. “Is he sick?” I asked.

“There’s no smell of contagion on him,” Laurel said. He opened the satchel, revealing bundles, packets, and vials of herbs in various forms and liquids. I stepped back quickly as I caught a whiff of the vile tea that the Faena had so frequently dosed me with a few weeks ago. My stomach twinged in sympathy for the ailing captain.

“We think that whatever he drank was tainted,” Suiden said. He rose and threw on a brocaded robe that was lying across the foot of the bed. Reminded that the room had chilled enough to be cold, I pulled my dressing robe out of the clothespress and did the same, before sliding my feet into my slippers.

“Lord Idwal will not be happy to hear that, sir,” I said.

“What Javes drank didn’t necessarily come from honored Mearden’s cellars,” Laurel said. “Given the nature of a seaport, it could’ve come from anywhere, off any ship—even Kveta’s.”

I frowned at that. “Kveta didn’t seem sick last night,” I said.

“Kveta does not drink,” Laurel said. “Though one would think she’d notice if the wine or spirits she served had gone bad.”

“Apparently Javes didn’t notice either, and he proved yesterday that his nose is just as keen as any wolf’s,” Suiden pointed out.

“That is true,” Laurel admitted. Selecting a few bundles and a couple of packets, he started to put the satchel back into the clothespress, hesitated, then apparently decided to keep it with him. “In any case, tracking down the tainted drink will be the honored Mearden’s responsibility. For now, I need your help, Rabbit.” Turning, he headed out the archway, Suiden with him. I fell in with them, all of us stepping carefully around Bertram and Arlis, still slumbering on the floor.

“My help?” I asked. I pulled my feather and knife from under my pillow and placed them in my robe pocket. “I’m not a healer.”

“No, you’re not,” Laurel agreed, not stopping, and he and Suiden disappeared into the minihall.

I stared after them a moment. Then, gathering up my staff, I hurried out with the aspects bobbing about me and quickly caught up, passing the hunt tapestry as I did. This morning it seemed normal—well, as normal as possible with the dogs and white stag running together under a moonlit sky. I had started to go join Laurel and Suiden when the shadows under the trees caught my eye. In the bright morning light I could make out what looked like another set of antlers, but the height was wrong for it to be another stag—

“Rabbit.”

I looked around to see Suiden staring at me and I quickly joined him, stepping into Javes’ chambers right behind the Faena and the captain. Unlike my chambers, the room was warm with a blazing fire in the fireplace and had a steaming teakettle hanging from the fireplace hob. Javes was still in the bed, but instead of heaving his insides out, he lay quiet, his face pale and sweating. Sitting in a chair drawn up to the side of the bed was Cais. He looked up as Laurel, Suiden, and I entered.

“No better, Your Highness,” Cais said to Suiden. “But no worse.”

“Good,” Suiden said. “Go get some rest, Cais.”

Cais gave a desiccated smile. “Sleep is overrated. However, I will have to attend to His Majesty shortly.”

Laurel rumbled absently as he set his satchel down on the washstand. “See to your duties, honored Cais. I have enough help. Rabbit, if you’ll get the teakettle and bring it here, please.”

Despite my worries, Laurel assigned me the unalarming role of sickroom attendant. I poured the hot water from the teakettle into a porcelain bowl as directed, while Faena tossed in the contents of his vials and packets. I did tense some as Laurel extended a claw and drew a rune over the surface of the concoction, but he merely waited as the shimmering symbol sank into the bowl’s contents. I took an experimental sniff and then stood as far away as possible as Laurel strained some into a cup. Even Suiden winced as Laurel walked past him to the bed. Setting the cup on the nightstand, Laurel gently bat-ted his paw against Javes’ face until the captain came to semiconsciousness. Suiden and I both lifted Javes up to a sitting position and Laurel poured the concoction down his throat. We then carefully laid him back down until Laurel came back with another cup. When he finished dosing Javes with half the bowl’s contents, Laurel went around the bed, drawing lines of earth, anchoring them at each of the bed’s four posts. At each anchor point an earth sphere spun off to hovering about the bed. I stared at the shimmering lines and spheres of green and brown, fragrant with the scent of spring, and felt first a yearning, then a tug, and I took a step forward. I then frantically backed away, bumping into the air sphere hovering behind me. I jumped, this time bumping into Wyln.

“Careful, Two Trees’son.” He set me aside, going into the room. He cast a critical eye over the lines. “Beautifully drawn, Laurel.”

“It can be as hideous as a goat’s backside,” Suiden said. “As long as it works.”

“Will it, Master Cat?” Jusson asked, and we all turned from the bed to see the king and the lord commander standing in the archway, their faces grave. “Will it work?”

“It should leach the taint out of him, honored king,” Laurel said. Returning to the washstand, he covered the remaining concoction with a cloth before putting his herbs and vials away. “All he needs now is rest.”

“Good,” Jusson said.

“I have taken the liberty of sending a messenger both to Captain Kveta and to Idwal, Your Majesty,” Thadro said. “To see if she knows where the tainted spirits came from.”

“Excellent,” Jusson said. “Let me know as soon as you find out—” He broke off as Cais briskly walked past the archway and a moment later I could hear the door open. We all looked at each other and rushed out of Javes’ room into the minihall to see Lieutenant Groskin and Trooper Ryson walking in, bright eyed and grinning, both of them bundled against the chill, and their faces lightly flushed from the cold. They pulled up short at the wall of people that greeted them, coming to attention as they immediately sobered.

“Sir!” they both said, saluting.

“At ease,” Thadro said, his mouth quirking. “We just thought you were a messenger returning with libations intelligence.”

Ryson looked blank- faced, but Groskin’s cheerful-ness returned as he grinned once more. “Don’t know about a messenger, sir, but there’s plenty of libations downstairs.”

Jusson had started for the table where a tea service had been placed, but at Groskin’s words, he stopped, frowning. “There is, Lieutenant?” he asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Groskin began, but was interrupted by Jeff, Arlis, and Bertram erupting from my room. Apparently Finn had been busy, for they all were fully dressed. They also had shining eyes full of excitement, even Arlis, his face as cheerful as I’d seen it in several weeks.

“Sirs!” Jeff said, his grin matching Groskin’s. “Have you seen? They’re setting up archery butts outside.”

“Yeah,” Groskin said. His gaze shifted to Suiden. “Ryson and I went downstairs to the barracks, sir, to poke around and see if there was anything left behind that needed to come up. And we saw—well, not only archery butts, but straw men for tilting and rings for spear throws and other stuff. We’re having a tourney.”

As Jeff and Groskin spoke, distant shouts and thumps began wafting up from below. Once again, we all looked at each other and, this time messengers and Javes’ illness forgotten, hurried to a window to stare down.

“The castle’s blacksmith is going to lift weights and wrestle all comers,” Ryson said, finding his voice as we pressed our noses against the glass. “And there’ll be jugglers and tumblers, musicians, dancers, artisans, and crafters—”

“They’ve paced off a yard for a sword competition,” Groskin interrupted, “and later there’ll be a horse race—”

“Hot pies and drinks,” Ryson said. “Merchant stalls with stuff from foreign places.”

“Dagger tosses and pugilist matches and dressage,” Groskin said. “And the prizes—”

“We’ve seen two, a sword and shield,” Ryson said. His eyes glistened. “Exquisite work.”

“Heigh-ho,” I said softly. I let out a breath, fogging the pane. “We probably shouldn’t compete. It wouldn’t be fair as we’re soldiers.”

“Well, not in the swordplay and stuff—at least not against farmers’ sons and what have you,” Ryson said. “But against other soldiers and armsmen, sure, and maybe in the dagger toss and archery and horse race. And there’s one you have to join, Rabbit. They’re holding a conjure competition.”

Wyln looked away from the window, aiming his gaze at Ryson. “A ‘conjure competition’?”

“Yes, Lord Wyln,” Ryson said. “Apparently Lord Idwal has been to several in Caepisma and he thinks he should be able to officiate one here.”

“A Caepisma anvea,” Wyln said, his own eyes bright. “But are there enough talent workers?”

“I know of four offhand,” Laurel said, “including ourselves and the Turalian wizard, and there are probably more, if we take into account the weathercrafters on the various ships in the harbor.” A wistful look crossed his face. “Perhaps honored Javes should be well enough for me to attend—”

Laurel broke off as Cais moved to the door again and, reminded of Javes’ illness, we all quickly turned once more, expecting to see Kveta. But instead of the she-wolf, Lord Idwal stood in the open doorway. Gone was the raging green-eyed lord of last night. Dressed in a robe of crimson embroidered with gold thread that picked up the gold in his sandy hair and hazel eyes, Idwal smiled as he saw us standing at the windows. He did look momentarily startled as he took in my mussed braid and vivid robe, but he quickly recovered his good humor as he stepped inside the minihall and bowed, sweeping his feathered cap off with a flourish.

“Good morning, Your Majesty, my lords, and gracious sirs. I’ve come to invite you to break your fast with us before we journey to the fair.”

Thirteen

It was a perfect day for a tourney. The sky was clear, the sun bright, and the day crisp, with just enough morning breeze to snap and flutter the pennants and flags dotting about the fairgrounds. We were on the south side of the castle compound, a broad expanse that had the smithy on one end and a small apple orchard on the other. It was against the orchard that the archery butts had been set—I supposed to minimize the danger of a wayward arrow hitting a guest—and in between both ends were the roped-off yards, a tilting run, booths and stalls, and a platform draped with a banner that had Mearden’s crest. (The stag on the crest rippled as we went by, but careful study proved that it was only the wind making it move.) I was walking with Berenice—and with Jeff, Arlis, Bertram, Berenice’s maid Godelieve, and a castle servant who kept a discreet few steps behind us as we meandered to nowhere in particular.

I had met Berenice—along with all the other castle guests—at breakfast in the great hall. Unlike the prior night’s evening meal, it was an informal affair with heaping platters, racks, chafing dishes, and tureens set up on long tables pushed against one wall. Folks helped themselves, piling plates high before sitting down with whom they wished at other long tables, the cheerful din that had been lacking the previous night filling the sunlit hall.

And the royal party was right in the middle of all the chattering and chewing.

Jusson hadn’t hesitated at Idwal’s announcement, but headed for his rooms, telling Idwal that we’d be ready very shortly in one breath and calling for Cais in the next. The rest of us also scattered, Suiden coming with me to my room, where we were greeted by Finn presiding over hot water, shaving kits, and freshly pressed uniforms.

A very short time later we all were dressed and ready to be escorted down to breakfast by our host. Except for Laurel, who’d stayed behind with Javes.

“I will send up our healer to assist, Master Laurel,” Idwal had said, frowning as he was told about Javes’ illness. Shifting, he stared through the archway into Javes’ room, his eyes narrowed. But if he could see the lines, runes, and spheres of earth surrounding the captain, he didn’t say. “I will also have my steward question around, see if he can discover what Captain Javes drank and where.”

“If they find any bottles, honored Mearden, please have them sent up to me immediately,” Laurel said with a brief bow. “If I can discover what contaminated the spirits, perhaps it will help in honored Javes’ recovery.”

When we entered the great hall. Bertram immediately went to the tables and began assembling plates for us, while our host guided us to our seats with his wife and daughter. Dressed in another arse-ugly brown dress, Berenice gave me a decorous greeting with her eyes modestly lowered. To my surprise, whatever reservations Lord Idwal had about me as a potential son-in-law were set aside. I was directed to sit next to Berenice by Lady Margriet, with whom I enjoyed innocuous conversation accented with Lord Idwal’s genial smiles with my breakfast. And when we arose a short time later, Berenice accepted my arm and offer of escort to the fair.

And now the daughter of the House walked sedately beside me, her hand still firmly tucked in my arm. She seemed to have thrown off any lingering stiffness from the pummeling she took from the scrum last night and moved easily, her head turning as she took in the sights, sounds, and smells. There was plenty to take in—strolling musicians competed with the shouts of tumbling acrobats that mingled with vendors calling out about their wares. The town’s baker and his assistants were busy measuring and mixing, kneading and pouring, comfortable in the warmth put out by the brick oven erected in the back of their corner booth. Despite my very recent breakfast, I inhaled deep, enjoying the aroma of their baking mixed with the spice of the hot cider that wafted from the booth next to them. There was a thunder of hooves and a roaring cheer as someone flashed by on horseback over on the tilting run, lance lowered as he aimed at the ring that hung in front of the straw man. In the farthest yard, a strongman was displaying feats of strength; in the near yard a sword contest was starting while a little ways away brightly painted clubs were being tossed in the air by jugglers, and off in the distance I could see blanketed horses being led off to an unseen starting line.

And mixed into all this were people. Lots and lots of people.

Some were the same folks from last night: the lords in Jusson’s train, the local gentry, the town’s upper crust—bruises and all—and Princess Rajya and her entourage. But there were also some of the less exalted from the seaport town, along with local farmers and their families, all in their fair best. And threading in among them were castle and royal servants, the lords’ armsmen, troopers, off-duty royal guards, Turalian soldiers, and sailors with a polyglot mixture of faces, forms, and features. There were red-haired, beard-braiding Svlet, Qarant sailors with their distinctive breeks, jackets, and striped hosen, dark hued and tattooed Turalians from the warships, and a mishmash of Border races off Kveta’s the Good Jest who walked, trotted, pattered, flew, and darted through the crowd, eyes bright with excitement. To my surprise, Idwal’s people took their appearance in stride; there were none of the shrieks, snorts, and starts that had accompanied Laurel’s journey to the Royal City just a few months ago. As I watched, a stout farmer’s wife bobbed a curtsey at a bowing winged faerie, the woman’s broad vowels flat against the piping tones of the fae as they wished each other good day.

“This is the best part of living near a harbor,” Berenice said, watching a group of Turalian sailors passing by. Their tattoos of fish, dolphins, and sea dragons were brilliant in the sunlight while the liquid tones of their speech were accented by the clatter of bangles on their wrists, the clacking of metal and bone bits woven into their hair, and the jingling of the mixture of bells, shells, and beads worn around ankles. “You never know what you’ll see when you turn a corner.” She looked back at me. “Was it like this where you grew up?”

“Yes and no,” I began.

“Oh, how I enjoy your ambiguous answers!”

Grinning, I glanced at a cluster of Border crew clustered around one of the stalls. “While my Weald has multiple races, it’s rather . . . well, parochial in its outlook.”

“Really?” Berenice asked. “That is not something I’d expect from the tales I’ve heard of the wild, wild Border.”

“If it wasn’t done by someone’s great- great-grandsire, then it was newfangled and suspect,” I said, “and folks were very militant about the ‘proper’ way of doing things. Which made for some very interesting Weald council meetings.” I watched the local doyen walk by with one of the townspeople, both of them holding hot drinks, the marks of last night still prominent on their faces. “Speaking of sires—were you able to make it back to your room all right?”

“Yes,” Berenice said, her own gaze on Wyln and Kveta doing their own meandering through the crowd, and I idly wondered if Kveta was finally delivering her messages. It didn’t appear that the she-wolf had any of whatever Javes drank; she looked hale and hearty, her winter’s coat thick and shiny as it rippled a bit in the breeze.

“And you, my lord? How did you and Princess Rajya fare?”

I slid a glance back at Berenice’s demure face, keeping my own expression bland. “I didn’t stay long but left soon after you did.” Just not soon enough.

“I see,” Berenice said, now looking in a different direction. “Well, it looks as though Her Highness wants to pick up where you left off; she’s heading our way.”

Now keeping the alarm out of my face, I glanced to see that Princess Rajya was indeed walking towards us, her tunic a palette of fall colors over reddish orange trousers. She wore another gold torque around her neck, this one made of what looked like braided gold, with matching earrings dangling from her ears. Beside her walked Munir, who had forgone his gray robe for one of sapphire blue embroidered with silver runes and symbols. Over it he wore a heavy cloak of black, its hood thrown back to show his bald head and flowing tattoos in the same blue as his robe. The wizard and the princess made a striking appearance, and the crowd moving out of the way had little to do with Her Highness’ Turalian soldiers surrounding them. Wyln paused to watch their progress, giving the Turalian wizard an assessing look. Munir looked calmly back. He then shifted his gaze to me, his eyes going to the air and fire spheres hovering over my shoulder. He smiled and nodded, but at that moment Captain Suiden walked by with Jusson, and Lord Thadro, all of them escorted by Lord Idwal and Lady Margriet. Princess Rajya immediately changed course, the determined expression back on her face as she stalked her father. Without missing a beat, the Turalian soldiers changed directions with her. Munir, however, was caught off step. He hesitated a moment, looking between me and Suiden, before joining Her Highness in her new mission.

“Reprieved,” Berenice murmured.

“I’m sure Her Highness will get back to us,” I murmured back. And thinking that it might be best to be somewhere else when she did, I looked around for a safe place. Over in the sword ring, two of Idwal’s armsmen were going at it with dulled blades. They weren’t half bad and I stopped to watch a moment, but my attention was caught by a glimpse of someone on the opposite side of the yard in dark, nondescript clothes with pale smooth skin, slipping through the crowd. Frowning, I turned my head, tracking him, shifting a bit as the man disappeared behind a clump of people.

“The archery range is clear,” Berenice said.

Distracted, I once more slid a glance at Berenice, who looked back with a faint smile.

“So it is. Are you two going to give us a demonstration?”

I looked down to see Kveta had trotted up beside me, Wyln having abandoned her for Jusson’s group. Or maybe the king had nothing to do with it. The royal train had merged with Her Highness’ entourage and the enchanter now was behind the king, his gaze on Munir.

“No—”

“Sure,” Berenice said over me. Her brown eyes sparkled merrily as she pulled me away from the ring. “Do you shoot, Lord Rabbit?”

“My skills lay more with the sword than the bow, Lady Berenice,” I said. “And the little bit of bow skill I have is with crossbow.”

“Good.” Berenice didn’t slow down but continued tugging me towards the archery range, air and fire spheres, guards and servants streaming out behind us. “Then we should be evenly matched.”

“You shoot?” I asked.

The merry spark in her eyes turned wicked. “Some.”

Kveta gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Perhaps I should find Javes Wolf Damas’son and place some bets on the outcome.”

I stopped short, Jeff, Arlis, and Berenice’s servants nearly crashing into me. In all the excitement of the fair, I’d forgotten about Javes.

“Was Captain Javes with you last night, Kveta?” I asked.

Kveta’s ears pushed forward though her grin remained in place. “Wyln asked the same question, but he took off after Munir before I could answer. Yes, Damas’son brought me confirmation last night of our meeting with His Majesty. Why?”

“He’s very ill,” I said. “Laurel thinks he might’ve drunk tainted wine or spirits.”

“Tainted spirits?” Berenice echoed, her hand tightening on my arm. “Does Papa know?”

“Lord Idwal was told when he came to fetch us to breakfast this morning,” I said.

Kveta’s smile disappeared. “I wondered why I wasn’t summoned to the royal chambers this morning. But then I figured it was postponed in favor of the fair.”

“Some,” I admitted. “But fair or not, your meeting with the king probably wouldn’t have happened. At least, not with Javes attending.”

“Damas’son’s uncle Jakub had sent him a half dozen bottles of spiced rum and he insisted on opening one immediately.” Kveta made a face. “I declined joining him in lifting a glass, but it seemed to go down all right with him. And he seemed just as all right when he left—a little on the go, yes, but still steady in his step.”

I frowned. “Javes didn’t have any bottles with him when he returned to the king’s chambers. Did he leave them with you?”

“No, they’re not in my quarters,” Kveta said, scanning the crowds. “You two go on and enjoy your archery bout. I’ll go tell your king about Wolf Damas’son.”

With that, Kveta disappeared into the crowd. I stood there a moment debating whether or not I should follow. Then deciding that, one, Kveta didn’t need me to hold her paw and, more important, two, I didn’t need to be in reach of Princess Rajya, I continued towards the archery range, Berenice with me, her hand still clutching my arm.

“Papa needs to know about the rum,” Berenice said.

“And that it didn’t come from his cellars.”

“Your father is with the king, so I’m sure he’ll hear all about its origins,” I said. “I’m more concerned about where it is now. Six bottles is a lot to go missing—”

“Five and a half,” Berenice said, the merry sparkle returning.

I grinned. “Probably more like five and three-quarters,” I said. “Judging from His Majesty’s comments last night, Captain Javes is not much of a drinker.” My grin faded. “But however much he drank, he did not have the remainder with him and Kveta said she didn’t have them, so that means that those bottles are floating about for someone else to pick up and take a swig.”

This time it was Berenice who came to an abrupt halt. She stared up at me in alarm, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then turning, she beckoned her maid Godelieve to her and quickly gave her instructions to tell the castle steward about the stray bottles. As the maid took off at a surprising brisk trot, Berenice tucked her hand more firmly into the crook of my arm and continued walking. The troubled look remained on her face, however.

“The last thing we need is for guests to become sick, no matter where the tainted rum came from,” she said. “There have been enough catastrophes, beginning with last night’s disaster of a dinner.”

“The fair seems to be going well,” I offered. I caught another whiff from the baker’s stall and made a note to wander by later. “Very well, in fact.”

Berenice gave a sigh and seemed to shake herself. “You’re right. So why search for trouble? It’s a glorious day—”

“So it is,” I agreed.

“—with plenty of sunshine and just the right amount of wind—”

“So there is,” I agreed once more.

“—and I’m about to engage in my favorite sport.”

“So you are—Wait, what?”

Laughing, Berenice pulled me to where bows of various sizes and shapes were overseen by the castle bowyer. I expected her to choose a dainty shortbow, but instead she picked up a longbow that was nearly as tall as she was and, with casual expertise and surprising strength, strung it. She then wandered over to the arrows and began to competently sort through them.

“Uh—”

Jeff and Arlis had been quiet as they trailed behind Berenice and me during our journey over the fairgrounds, but I now heard snickers coming from their direction.

“Does my lord have a preference?” the bowyer asked.

The snickers increased and I glanced over my shoulder to see not only my personal guards grinning like loons, but also Berenice’s remaining servant with a smirk on his face. I let out a sigh. “Whatever you suggest—”

“Is this a closed contest or can anyone join?” Princess Rajya said.

Oh, hell. Turning, I saw that not only Her Highness, but also Jusson, Thadro, Wyln, Suiden, Lady Margriet, several aristos, and a double handful of Turalian soldiers and King’s Own. But no Lord Idwal or Kveta and, as the bowyer placed a bow in my suddenly nerveless hands, I vaguely wondered if they’d gone off to search for the missing bottles of rum.

“Do you shoot, Your Highness?” Berenice asked.

Princess Rajya flashed her teeth in a smile. “A little.”

Berenice smiled back, her teeth just as white. “Then how about a friendly three-way match—”

Wyln appeared at my side. “This is open to all?” Both Princess Rajya and Berenice blinked at the elf. “Well,” began Berenice.

“Good.” Wyln looked down at the bow I was just given. Lifting one brow, he pulled it out of my hands and gave it back to the bowyer. He then looked over the bows, selecting one for me before choosing a bow for himself. “Best of three, Rabbit and me versus Princess Rajya and you, honored Berenice?”

Berenice drew in a breath, then let it out, the corner of her mouth kicking up. “Yes, that sounds good, Lord Wyln.”

After a little discussion, it was decided that the two women would go first and, after further discussion, that Berenice would start. Planting her arrows in the ground before her, Berenice stood at the agreed distance from the target that seemed a long ways away against an apple tree. Bringing her bow up, she swiftly pulled back the string, the muscles of her arm briefly outlined against her sleeve before she loosed her arrow. There was a soft thump and the small group of spectators around us, who had become steadily noisier, fell abruptly silent, all staring at the arrow sticking out of the center of the bull’s-eye.

“Bones and bloody ashes, did you see that?” Jeff whispered from behind me.

“I would have trouble with the pull on that bow,” Arlis whispered back, “yet she makes it seem easy as cake.”

Though I’d grown up in the Border where weapon mastery wasn’t gender specific and had spent my soldiering career posted in a part of the kingdom where women were prized just as much for their archery as for their housekeeping skills, I found that my mouth had dropped open. I swiftly shut it again, hoping no one had noticed.

Smiling a little, Berenice lowered her bow and indicated to Princess Rajya that it was her turn. Unfazed, Her Highness sauntered up to the line. Playing to the crowd, she held a wetted finger up to the wind and a smattering of laughter broke out.

“It’s fascinating to watch women play at war.” Wyln’s gaze remained on Berenice and Princess Rajya, but Jeff, Arlis, and I all turned to see that Munir had moved away from Suiden to stand next to us.

“I don’t think either is playing, Lord Munir,” I said.

“Got that right,” Jeff muttered. “This looks like it’s for keeps.”

“You have much to learn about the fair sex, Sro Rabbit,” Munir said, ignoring Jeff.

Thinking the same about the wizard, I opened my mouth, but Wyln spoke before I could.

“Stop teasing the child, Adeptus,” he said as he watched Princess Rajya nock the arrow, lift the bow, and pull. She stood for a moment, suspended between two heartbeats, the breeze teasing strands of her hair about her face, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. Then she released the arrow and an instant later there was another soft thump as it bloomed right next to the other. There was a muted roar from the steadily thickening crowd and Princess Rajya turned and gave Berenice an abbreviated arm-waving bow.

Munir ignored the byplay as he grinned at the enchanter. “ ‘Child,’ Sro Wyln?” he asked under the noise of the crowd. “Sro Rabbit is grown enough to shave every morning and have a healthy if uninformed interest in the opposite sex.” He gave me an appraising stare. “Though he is cousin to an elfin king, who doesn’t do or have either.”

“Not only does Jusson Iver’son claim him as cousin,” Wyln said, his face mild, his eyes full of flame, “His Grace the Fyrst Loran of Elanwryfindyll claims him as cyhn. And while His Grace does not have to bother with the inconvenience of a beard, Her Grace has no complaints in the marriage chamber—” The enchanter broke off, looking startled at what he’d just said about his sister and his liege lord’s married life to a bunch of whisker-sprouting humans.

Munir ignored that too. “I’ve heard the Fyrst had attached both Sro Rabbit and King Jusson to his line, declaring kinship through his daughter even though she was lost centuries ago.” His appraising look at me deepened, his gaze lingering on the fire and air spheres hovering innocuously over my shoulders. “His Grace is probably right—there is a strong family resemblance, for all that he says that he is human.”

Despite my family ties, I didn’t think I looked anything like Jusson or Wyln with their finely drawn, almost delicate dark elf features. But more important, while Munir was correct about certain aspects of the king’s maturity, I also didn’t think that this was the time, place, or company to discuss them. I kept my gaze on the wizard, deliberately not looking over where Jusson stood with his nobles and officers.

“Neither my nor my king’s ‘interests’ are a suitable topic for discussion, Lord Munir,” I said, keeping my face pleasant.

Munir’s grin merely broadened. “Oh, ho, such a staunch and loyal partisan.” His head cocked to the side, his tattoos bright blue in the sunlight. “Or perhaps loyalty has nothing to do with it. Tell me, Lord Rabbit, have your racial memories started to emerge?”

Once more my mouth hung open. Closing it with a snap, I drew in a breath and let it out again. It didn’t help. “What?”

“That also is none of your concern, Adeptus,” Wyln said, making a recovery. Moving in front of me, he turned to more fully face Munir, damn near bumping the wizard’s toes. “In fact, there are very few things that are up for discussion, unless you wish to talk about the amir’s efforts in returning the Border folk who were stolen from their homes and sold in your marketplace—”

“Beg pardon for interrupting, Lord Wyln,” Jeff said quietly, “but Lady Berenice is trying to get your attention.”

Wyln broke off to stare at Jeff before turning to see Berenice and Princess Rajya watching us. The enchanter looked as if he’d forgotten not only that they were there, but why he was there too. He started to join them, then stopped, his flame-filled eyes once more going to Munir standing beside me. “You first, Rabbit,” he said.

Great. Thinking that I’d rather face a thousand fully armed bandits while dressed in just my smalls, I grabbed a handful of arrows, thrusting all but one into my belt, and stepped up to the line. Staring down at the shrunken target, I nocked the remaining arrow and once again took a deep breath as I lifted my bow, praying that I’d be able to draw the string without injuring myself.

“Son of a pox-ridden whore!”

I—and everyone else around me—shifted to see several hulking longshoremen facing a couple of Turalian sailors by the baker’s booth. On the ground between them were the squashed remnants of pies.

“Tosai,” Munir swore.

I was already moving, my bow and arrow lowered and forgotten as I looked for King’s Own and troopers to help separate the longshoremen. I wasn’t the only one. I caught Munir motioning out the corner of my eye and the Turalian soldiers also moved. As I pushed through the crowd, one of the sailors, a brown-skinned woman with wild black curls, blue clan markings on her face, gold and copper bangles on one wrist, and an anklet of bells, beads, and shells, gave a short bow and smiled apologetically. “I beg pardon, menhi; it was an accident. Please, let me buy you new pies and perhaps a tankard—”

The longshoremen ignored her.

“You’re an effing clumsy ox, Antero,” one said, glaring at one of his fellows.

The sailor stopped midbow and I faltered, surprised.

“I’m an ox?” Antero asked. “You’re the one who couldn’t watch where he was going, tripping over people.”

“You ran me into her and then you dropped the pies,” the first longshoreman said. “Just like you drop everything else. Remember that crate of Baern porcelain that Master Guilherme had ordered?”

“I did not drop it!” Antero shouted.

“Yeah, you did for all that you blamed it on the shippers,” said another longshoreman. “Someone should tell the old buzzard how much butterfingers here has cost him in breakages—”

“Lies!” Antero roared, and snatched a metal-studded cudgel from his belt, raising it high over his head. But before he could bring it down, there were a couple of soft thumps, one after the other, and Antero froze in mid-swing, his sleeve pinned to the booth’s wood side. Rolling his gaze up, Antero stared at the arrow holding his arm over his head. Then, dropping his head, he looked down at the arrow quivering in the booth between his legs, damn near brushing his promise of future generations. Berenice, her face calm, stood with another arrow nocked and ready and aimed once more below Antero’s belt. Cringing, Antero immediately dropped the cudgel, the sound of it striking the ground with a dull thud.

“All right, so what just happened?” Jeff asked in the quiet hush.

“You tell me,” I said, just as baffled.

“Strangeness,” Arlis said, giving me a sideways look.

“That was odd,” Wyln said, the startlement back on his face. He caught Arlis’ glance at me. “No, that wasn’t Rabbit. This time.”

Hearing our comments, Munir cast me another speculative glance, but before he could say anything, there was a stir and castle armsmen appeared. One wearing a captain’s insignia on her tabard strolled over to Antero. With a wide grin, she surveyed the arrows before grabbing Antero’s upraised arm, ripping it from the booth and leaving a strip of coat sleeve flapping in the breeze. She then hustled the longshoreman and his friends away, once more followed by the armsmen. As they disappeared, I again started towards the sailors, who were standing surrounded by an increasing knot of Turalian soldiers.

“It was an accident,” the first sailor said, bewildered. “None of us were watching where we were going—”

“Jasry?”

I turned once again to see Suiden had also shoved through the still thick crowd. A quick grin split the sailor’s face as she saw the captain, and she bowed much lower than she had for Antero. “That’s Caefan Jasry to you, menhi,” she said, coming up for air. She pulled aside the collar of her coat, showing a worn amulet hanging on a silver chain around her neck. “M’Aurflagrare is mine.”

Suiden gave an answering grin and suddenly I saw a man capable of swinging a daughter up for shoulder rides while showering her mother with kisses. “Yours?” he said, moving closer. “I see that you’re as nimble a thief as ever. From whose pocket did you pluck it?”

Jasry also moved closer. “No one’s pocket,” she said. “Though there was a matter of a card game . . .”

The two of them met in the middle of the clearing in a massive hug and the Turalian soldiers fell back; however, the sailors mobbed Suiden and Jasry, liquid voices raised in excitement. And off to the side, Princess Rajya appeared, her face benign.

“Interesting,” Jusson said softly from behind me.

I turned once more to see the king and the lord commander standing in their own knot of royal guards. Munir had moved off to stand closer to Suiden and Jasry, his hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his robe, his attention now fully on their reunion.

“Yes, sire,” I murmured. “I wonder if the amir knows what’s happening.”

Jusson’s eyes were bright and a smile quirked Thadro’s mouth and was gone. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” the king murmured back.

The soldiers were now also diffidently pressing close to the captain, softly saying sa Abbe over and over, their faces alight. Princess Rajya, however, was now watching us, one brow raised in challenge, but before she could speak, Lord Idwal appeared and climbed up on a convenient barrel.

“Your Majesty,” he bellowed, “Your Highnesses, my lords and ladies, gracious sirs and gentlewomen, guests of Mearden. After conferring with the contest master, I announce a tie between my daughter, Berenice, and Princess Rajya.”

Apparently there was to be no mention of Wyln’s and my turn at shooting, which was fine by me. I quickly edged over to the bowyer and handed him the bow and arrows before joining in the smattering of applause. Lady Margriet popped out into the clearing carrying two gleaming longbows and quivers full of arrows, which she presented to Her Highness and her daughter.

“It was some of the prettiest shooting I’d ever seen,” Idwal said, “especially the last couple of shots.”

There was more applause mixed with laughter.

Idwal smiled, his hazel eyes glinting. “And in celebration, there will be free pies for everyone.”

Folks gave a faint cheer and started edging towards the baker’s booth, where Bertram had appeared standing next to the baker.

“And the cost of a tankard of ale is on the House.”

This time there was a roar of approval and the crowd surged, some towards the baker’s booth, but many more to the ale kegs to get theirs before supplies ran out.

“One last thing!” Idwal shouted. “Those who are entering the horse race, be at the starting post in a half hour!”

Completely distracted from the recent pending violence, the crowd splintered, some continuing in their quests for free food and drink, others hurrying to check out the entries in the horse race and place bets. Idwal himself jumped down off the barrel and also hurried off. As folks rushed about, I stepped closer to Jusson to help keep the area around him clear of jostling elbows and stumbling feet. Princess Rajya made her way to us through the crisscrossing currents, her own guards keeping the press away from her.

“Sro Idwal is a very wise man,” Her Highness remarked, reaching us.

“Yes,” Jusson agreed. “However, we wonder whether others have thought out the consequences of their actions.”

“I’m sure Caefan Jasry knows exactly what she’s doing, Your Majesty,” Princess Rajya said, deliberately misunderstanding. “She was my father’s second officer upon the m’Aurflagrare.”

“Then she was a potent choice for the amir to include in your train,” Jusson observed.

Princess Rajya shrugged, a gentle movement of her slender shoulders. “His Glory is grateful to you for sheltering his sister’s oldest son during uncertain times,” she said.

Jusson rolled easily with the princess’ change of subject. “And now that the uncertainty has passed, he expects us to give Suiden back?” he asked.

“Is he yours to give, Your Majesty?” Princess Rajya challenged.

“Oh, yes,” Jusson said. “Very much so.”

“Perhaps, then, there is a compromise,” Princess Rajya said. “His Glory has remarked often on the potential benefit of closer ties with Iversterre.”

“Has he?” Jusson said, his face mildly interested.

“Yes,” Princess Rajya said. “And in expanding that potentiality, he has given me authorization to negotiate.” Her gaze shifted to me. “There are seventeen royal princesses whose children would be in line for the throne, including myself. As Lord Rabbit is not committed to anyone—”

Once again I found myself drawing in breath through my open mouth. Beside me, Wyln made an elfin exclamation, his eyes going near round before narrowing to slits. But before either of us could react, a voice spoke up from beside me.

“But he is committed, Your Highness,” Berenice said. “To be at the starting post.” Dropping a curtsey, she smiled, taking my arm. “Your Majesty, if you’ll excuse us. We have a horse to race.”

Fourteen

At Jusson’s nod of permission, I hurried away with Berenice, Jeff, and Arlis once more following after us, doing my best not to break into a run. While I wasn’t worried—much—that Jusson would seriously entertain Princess Rajya’s proposal, I was very concerned that Her Highness would start to enumerate the reasons why the king should agree to it, starting with what had nearly happened on the broad walk last night. I did slow down some when there was a roar and I turned my head to see Ryson in the sword yard, fighting with a rapier in one hand, a long dagger in the other. He was poetry in motion and I came to a halt, staring.

“Bones and bloody ashes,” Jeff said, awestruck. “Do you see that?”

“Yes,” Arlis said, his voice faint.

It was my turn to drag Berenice as I made an abrupt turn and went to the yard, fetching up against the ropes next to several troopers from both units, off-duty royal guards, and Lieutenant Groskin. The troopers and guards also had stunned expressions on their faces, except for Groskin, who looked like the proverbial cream-filled cat.

“Just missed the wagering, boyos,” Groskin said, his eyes glinting gold.

“Good thing,” I said. “Else I think I would be several coins lighter.”

“Me too,” Jeff said. “Where did he learn to fight like that?”

“He told me that he once was a sword master,” I said. “Drilled both basic and advanced forms.”

“He was?” Arlis asked, him and Jeff goggling. “He did?”

“Yeah,” Groskin said. He gave a smug smile as he looked at the royal guards and King’s Road patrollers, all who looked as though they were already missing their money. “All sorts of surprises in the Mountain Patrol, right, lads?”

At that moment, Ryson’s opponent’s sword went spinning into the air to land on the ground some distance away.

“Damn,” I whispered.

“Weren’t you all in the same troop unit?” Berenice asked as Ryson walked over to the water barrel and drank down a dipper. “Haven’t you seen him fight before?”

“Battle is altogether different from the practice yard,” I said.

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “In the yard it’s one versus one with dulled blades and referees and other witnesses. In the battlefield it’s chaos magnified—if you’re lucky.” He touched my arm. “Look.”

“Oh,” I said as a Turalian soldier walked into the yard. Ryson grinned and, along with the contest master, went to meet him to confer over fighting style and weapons. I leaned over the ropes, wanting a closer view. However, I was brought up short by a hand tugging at my arm with surprising strength.

“We can watch later,” Berenice said. “Unless you want Her Highness to catch up with us? Surely she will want to witness one of her men’s bouts.”

Reminded of the seventeen royal princesses, I started moving in the opposite direction, fast. Groskin’s rough chuckle followed on the wind behind me.

“You know,” Berenice said, once more easily keeping up, “Her Highness’ offer makes me wonder exactly what happened between you two last night.”

“Nothing that would cause the banns to be published,” I said, my gaze on the line of mounted horses just inside the gate.

“Oh, so something did happen,” Berenice said.

I again came to a halt, the notion suddenly occurring to me that in my eagerness to escape Princess Rajya’s frying pan I just might’ve jumped into a very hot fire. But before I could say anything, a hand clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to nearly send me sprawling.

“There you are!” Idwal said. “Come along, we’ve got to get you mounted.”

“Mounted, Lord Idwal?” I asked, regaining my balance.

“Yes,” Idwal said. “The race is starting in a few moments.” Releasing my shoulder, he grabbed my arm and, spheres bobbing, hustled me over to the line of horses, coming to halt in front of a big, rawboned brute of a stallion with wicked eyes.

It was the horse from the stable fire.

“Dandelion?” I asked, my voice going hoarse. “You want me to ride the horse from hell?”

Jeff made strangled noises behind me while Arlis fell into a suspicious cough fit.

“His normal rider could not be here for the fair,” Idwal said. “Family emergency.”

“I bet,” I said, eyeing the horse.

Laying his ears back, the beast of a horse bared his yellowed teeth at me and made a sound that was more like a growl than a whinny, and I unashamedly took a step back.

“I can place one for you if you wish,” Idwal said. He saw me hang back and gave a glinting smile. “His Majesty said that you could handle any horse. That wasn’t true?”

About to argue that wasn’t what Jusson had said, not exactly, I paused when I realized we were the focus of everyone’s attention. Including Berenice.

I let out a sigh. “I’m sure I’m about to find out.”

“Good,” Idwal said, jovially. “Up you get.”

I barely had time to give Jeff my cloak, staff, and sword before Idwal tossed me into the saddle. Adjusting the stirrups, Idwal went behind the horse. The wicked beast cocked a hind leg, but Idwal punched him. Finished with the stirrups, he punched the horse again, this time in the side. The horse let out his breath in a whoosh and Idwal tightened the cinch. Balked at destroying Idwal, the horse snaked his head around to see if he could reach my foot and mangle it some. I quickly shifted, at the same time hauling back on the reins. The evil brute merely rolled a glowing red eye at me as it again growled.

“Sheesh, Rabbit,” Jeff said, snickering. “It’s Groskin’s horse’s sire, Fiend the Elder.”

“Ha, ha,” I said, not amused.

“We called him Dandelion because he was so fuzzy when he was born,” Berenice said, the prim set of her mouth at odds with the merriness of her eyes.

“And cute and cuddly too,” I muttered.

“Oh, he was never that,” Berenice assured me, her eyes dancing, and all of a sudden instead of Mearden’s badly dressed plain daughter, a beautiful woman stood in front of me. Dazzled, I stared at her but before I could say anything, Idwal emerged from the shadow of the beast, wearing a grin that reminded me forcibly of the horse. “All right, Lord Rabbit?”

I turned my dazzled gaze on Lord Idwal. “What?”

“Good,” Idwal said again, and, grabbing the lead, he quickly led us to a spot in the starting line, where two groomers held a rope holding the horses in place. He then nipped to the side of the starting lineup, clambering up on a small platform over which a banner with his crest also hung. It too was rippling in the wind, making it seem as though the white stag was winking at me.

“Attention, everyone,” Idwal shouted. “The race is to Gessom’s farm and back. The race course is marked with red markers; there are also spotters to make sure no one goes astray—”

“Or to help if someone falls off,” one wag called out with a pointed glance at me.

“Even so,” Idwal agreed. “When you reach the farm, you will be handed a cloth like this.” He held up a bright yellow square of silk that had been embroidered with an outline of the castle. “Do not lose it; it is your proof that you completed the course. You will then return here and the first one across this same line is the winner. Any questions?”

Idwal didn’t wait for any queries, but immediately held the silk square out over the ground. “When the cloth touches the ground, the rope will drop. One.”

Dandelion, who’d been fighting the rein, suddenly brought his head up, his muscles bunching and quivering.

“Two.”

Having a bad feeling, I eased my grip on the reins and leaned forward.

“Three.” Idwal released the cloth and a moment later the rope dropped.

I’d done my share of wild rides—charges down nonexistent mountain paths, blind jumps over gullies and narrow ravines, and most recently the one I and Jusson did one night through the back alleys, gardens, and side streets of Freston under a waxing moon. But those were all sedate canters in a southern lord’s manicured park compared to my ride on Dandelion. The beast exploded with a flurry of hooves. I blinked and we were out the main gate. I blinked again and we were on the tor road, the wind causing my eyes to tear. I clutched the reins as if they were lifelines and the thought flashed through my mind that I could either hold on for dear life, or I could actually try to ride the damn horse and go out in a blaze of glory. Bending lower over Dandelion’s neck, I gently thumped my heels against his side.

“Hah?” I whispered.

Dandelion screamed and dug up more speed. We flew down the road, my braid whipping behind me, my feather fluttering against my cheek, the fire spheres streaks of flame. Though the mass of the other horses thundered behind us, there were a few in front. Dandelion screamed again, this time in challenge, and stretched out his long neck with his teeth bared, ready to savage any who stood in his way. The rider just in front of us looked over his shoulder and saw us coming, and pulled over as far as he could to let us by. Then he and his horse were gone. We hit a switchback, careened around the corner on one hoof, then went straight again, running into two riding side by side, filling the road.

“Hah,” I said a little louder with another, slightly harder thump of my heels.

This time Dandelion growled and I felt the low rumble of it against my legs. His ears pressed flat against his skull, he reached out with delicate precision and nipped one horse on the rump. The horse shied as if bee-stung, and Dandelion used his shoulders to push through the resulting opening. The beast grunted, as if in satisfaction, and we flew past them. We hit another switchback and we leaned into it, coming out of the curve to see the last rider in front—the wag who quipped about me falling off.

Grinning, I thumped my heels hard. “Hah!”

Dandelion seemed to rise up off the ground. We flashed by in a blur of color and hoofbeats, soared around one last switchback, and then we were off the tor, riding through the forest. Dandelion’s stride lengthened and I laughed as we streamed beneath tree branches filled with fall leaves, the smell of fast approaching winter filling the air. It wasn’t my hoped for escape to town, but I was out of the castle, away from imposing demands, pressing concerns, and gut-clenching fears. And best yet, I had managed to stay on a horse whose notion of racing was to fly. We certainly flew around a curve in the road, but as we rounded it, I caught out of the corner of my eye the streaking flames of my spheres and sobered a little. Fire in a fall forest with dry leaf cover was never a good idea. I reached up to try to bring the spheres closer—and almost fell out of the saddle. Catching myself, I looked around to see what had caused my near unseating. And nearly fell again. Looking down at the horse, I saw that the beast’s ears were again lying flat against his head. It seemed that I’d spoken too soon. Dandelion’s gait slowed and became uneven and flat-footed, each step jolting through my spine. He growled again, and I readied myself for the move that would either throw me from the saddle or take us under a convenient tree limb. As I did, I caught another flash out of the corner of my eye and I turned my head.

It was a white stag, trotting alongside us, antlers held high.

I sat upright, dropping the reins in my surprise. Dandelion shrieked in triumph, but before he could bolt, the white stag pranced in front of us, danced a moment, then bounded off down the road.

Dandelion came to a halt, his ears pushing forward in astonishment, his rumble rising in a question before trailing off. Hearing the hoofbeats of the other riders as they drew nearer, I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “Well, you evil bastard, are you going to let him win?”

Dandelion snarled, lowered his head, and took off like an arrow shot from Berenice’s bow. We caught up with the white stag and Dandelion stretched his neck to nip at the stag’s rump. But the stag leapt, coming down just out of reach, and Dandelion’s teeth snapped on air. Then, with a taunting look over his shoulder, the stag put on a burst of speed, leaving us in his dust. Dandelion bellowed in rage and ran after him, the horse’s stride once more lengthening until we again skimmed over the surface of the road.

“Hah!” I shouted as my air sphere laughed and my fire spheres cackled in glee.

We thundered through the forest, the sounds of the other racers fading behind us, the white stag staying just out of reach ahead of us. We erupted out of the trees together, stag and beast-horse, pounding up the road to the front of the farmhouse where Farmer Gessom stood, yellow cloths in hand, his eyes staring from his head. The stag leapt again, seemingly changing directions in midair, and went back the way we came. Dandelion went into a controlled slide with a clatter of hooves, swerving around the yard, and I leaned out from the saddle to snag the cloth from the man’s limp hand. I then hit my heels hard against Dandelion’s side.

“Hah! Hah! Hah!”

We sped past the other riders on our way back, the stag bounding up the switchbacks, the fire spheres hot flames at my shoulder, the air sphere’s song a descant over our laughter. We roared past the portcullis, coming to a stop in a shower of sparks as the horse’s steel shoes struck fire against the paving stones. Rearing up, Dandelion screamed once more, this time in victory. He then came down and lashed out with his hind legs at the groomers rushing up. Holding on, I looked around for the white stag, but it was gone.

“My lord!”

Looking down, I saw Berenice standing with her father and mother well out of range of Dandelion’s teeth and hooves, all three of them slack jawed. Holding up the yellow cloth, I flung myself out of the saddle and picked Berenice up, swinging her around before giving her a smacking kiss. Then we were separated and I was swallowed up by cheering Freston soldiers and King’s Own, the spheres swooping above us. Dandelion, despite his hard ride, eluded his groomers as he strutted back and forth, trumpeting taunts at the returning riders that echoed within the walls. Jusson, Thadro, Suiden, and Wyln stood on the edge of the mob of uniforms that swirled around me, Thadro and Suiden both looking very pleased, but Jusson and Wyln were eyeing His Evil-ness Dandelion before shifting their eyes away, Wyln lifting his gaze over my head to the laughing and singing spheres, Jusson aiming a mildly interested gaze at Lord Idwal. Princess Rajya was standing close to her father with her soldiers around her. The princess saw my gaze and gave a short bow. At that moment, though, I was distracted by Jeff pounding me on my back.

“You won!” Jeff shouted.

“Forget ‘won,’ ” Arlis said. “You lived!”

I gave a wild grin. “Hell, yes!”

“Ryson won too!” Jeff shouted.

Hearing his name above the din, Ryson also grinned and held up a beautiful sword in an elegant scabbard. I grabbed the sword and, howling, “King’s Own Griffins and Mountain Patrol Hawks!” quickly withdrew it from its scabbard and laid it on the ground. Taking mine from Jeff, I placed it over Ryson’s crosswise, and began to dance over them.

The King’s Own and Freston Patrollers roared in approval before pushing back and clearing the space. They formed a ring around me, as did the lords’ armsmen and the Turalian sailors and soldiers, the soldiers and armsmen watching critically, the sailors yipping and clapping in time with my steps. Laughing again, I flung my hands over my head and leapt, only to feel a shove in the small of my back.

“Cheat!”

Fifteen

The air sphere whirled around me, catching me in midair before I could trip over the swords. The crowd fell abruptly silent, the Mearden townspeople and farmers starting to frown. But their looks were nothing compared to the dark expressions of the armsmen, soldiers—both Freston and Tural—and sailors. I saw Caefan Jasry shake her head, her wild curls bouncing as she made a warding sign against evil. Then the air sphere eased and I was able to put my feet down, carefully avoiding the sharp edges of the blades. Turning, I saw the wag who had predicted that I would fall off. My hands clenched into fists, but before I could do damage to him, Jeff, Ryson, Groskin, and several others of the Mountain Patrol pushed through the crowd to the still cleared space. Ryson gently pulled me back, then faced my accuser.

“Have you lost your ever-loving mind?” he demanded quietly.

The wag pushed his chest out, his eyes hot. “He’s a cheat! He used magicks to win, like he used magicks just now—”

“I don’t care if he turned into a giant frog and hopped his way home.” Ryson grabbed the man’s shoulder and after an extremely brief struggle, forced him to look down at the crossed swords. “Those are sharp enough to slice through leather, flesh, and bone, and you pushed him, making him stumble—”

“Trooper,” Thadro and Suiden said from where they stood with the king, and Ryson released my accuser.

“I don’t care,” the man said, jerking away. He spat on the ground at my feet. “Fraud!”

“Lisle,” Idwal said, and the man fell silent. The Lord of Mearden joined us in the cleared circle, his eyes distant, his mouth tight. “Perhaps we should take this into the hall.”

“No, we won’t,” Jusson said, also entering the circle. “The accusation was made here, so here it will be settled.” He looked at Lisle. “How did Lord Rabbit cheat, Master Lisle?”

Lisle sent a glance around at his fellow riders who’d appeared to back him up. He then thrust his chest out again, this time at the king. “He summoned a familiar, Your Majesty!”

“The hell I did,” I said over the muttered agreements of the other riders and the shocked exclamations of the bystanders.

Jusson waved and the rumbling trailed off.

“And what did this familiar look like?” the king asked Lisle.

“A stag,” Lisle said. “But it was an unnatural pale color.”

“Like a ghost, it was,” one of the other riders piped up among another chorus of muttered agreements.

“You mean transparent like mist?” Jusson’s gaze lifted. “Or white like the one over there on your lord’s crest?”

Everyone turned to look at the crest hanging over the small platform by the starting line, except for Lord Idwal. He stiffened, the distant expression disappearing from his face. “A white stag?” he asked me. “A white stag ran with you?”

“Up to the gates, my lord,” I said. “I thought he came in here but I didn’t see him when I stopped . . .” I trailed off, eyeing the crest as it rippled in the wind, the stag on it once more appearing alive. The rumble started again, this time accented with the voices of the Border crew of the Good Jest as they pointed at the prancing and winking stag.

Jusson waved everyone quiet again. “Well?” he asked Lisle. “Which one was it? A ghostly apparition or a flesh-and-blood white stag?”

Lisle had also turned to the crest and was now staring, his mouth hanging open. “Uh, the second one,” he finally managed to get out. One of his fellows kicked him and he jumped. “I mean, it looked like the one on the crest, Your Majesty.”

“I see,” Jusson said. “And what did this stag do?”

“Ran in front of him?” Lisle said, his voice rising in uncertainty. He cast a glance at Idwal and met hazel eyes turning green. Sweat began to bead on his forehead.

Jusson waited a moment and when Lisle said nothing more, lifted a brow. “Anything else?”

“Your Majesty?” Lisle asked, worry now mixing in his uncertainty.

“You said this stag ran in front of Lord Rabbit,” Jusson said patiently. “How was that cheating?”

The beads of sweat began to drip down Lisle’s face, the words apparently stuck in his throat. The riders with him shuffled their feet, suddenly looking self-conscious, one or two also casting agonizing glances at Lord Idwal.

“Dandelion doesn’t like anyone on his back,” I said into Lisle’s silence, “except when racing. But it has to be a true contest. If he gets too far out ahead, he loses interest and tries to dislodge his rider. I reckon he runs best when kept behind a front runner, letting him pass only when near the finish line. No one told me and I let him get far ahead of the others. He was about to try to throw me when a white stag appeared and he became interested in racing again. However, I had nothing to do with the stag’s appearance—I was too busy looking for a soft place to land.” I pulled off my glove, showing the truth rune, faintly shimmering in the shadow of the wall. “Truth, Your Majesty. I swear it.”

“Well, Master Lisle?” Jusson asked the rider. “Is what Lord Rabbit said true about the horse?”

“I—I—”

“Yes,” Lord Idwal said. “It’s true.”

“So this rogue of a horse was about to dislodge Lord Rabbit when a white stag—just like the one in Mearden’s crest—appeared and they started to race,” Jusson said. “Again, how is this cheating?”

Lisle remained silent.

“Did the stag make Lord Rabbit’s horse go faster?” Jusson asked, his voice once more patient. “Or make yours go slower, or make the racecourse more difficult, or lead His Lordship to a different, shorter route?”

Lisle shook his head, looking miserable. “No, Your Majesty.”

“So the only ‘cheat’ is that Lord Rabbit was able to stay on the horse?” Jusson pursued.

Lisle nodded just as miserably. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“A horse that you knew would do its best to throw him if certain conditions were met,” Jusson pursued, “which conditions you kept secret from His Lordship?”

“That was not their fault, Your Majesty,” Idwal said, his gaze still intent on me. “Dandelion is mine, and it was I who kept quiet about his predilections. A jape, you see.”

“We gathered that,” Jusson said, “but that’s not our concern. For now. What concerns us are accusations the other riders have made. We will not have rumors of Lord Rabbit cheating swarming the kingdom, Mearden. Rumors based only in pique that a jape rebounded on the pranksters.”

I didn’t particularly care for that myself. My fists, which had started to loosen with the telling of the race, once more tightened.

“That concerns me too, Your Majesty,” Idwal said. He frowned at the sweating Lisle. “You will apologize and admit your fault. Now.”

“Yes, of course, my lord,” Lisle said. He fell to his knees, his hand reaching out as if he was going to take hold of my tabard. Then he got a good look at my face and thought better of it. “I most humbly beg pardon, Lord Rabbit,” he said, bowing his head instead. “I was wrong. Please forgive me.”

I didn’t spare Lisle a glance. “I was slandered, sire,” I said to Jusson.

“Yes, you were,” Jusson agreed.

“I will make it right,” Idwal began.

“How?” I demanded. I motioned at the packed crowd, most of them with avid looks on their faces as they stored up the accusations to recount to family, friends, and chance-met strangers in taverns and inns, with who knew how many embellishments, half-truths, and outright lies. A cold, distant rage began building within me. “How can you fix this?”

“You want satisfaction, Lieutenant?” Thadro asked, his voice mild.

“We can’t duel, sir,” I, Jeff, and every single one of the Mountain Patrollers said in unison.

“And if we do, the winner has to fight Captain Suiden,” Ryson added.

“A proper officer, in control of his men,” Princess Rajya murmured.

A brief smile flashed on Jusson’s face. “So he is. You’ve trained them well, Captain Prince.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Suiden said. “And Lieutenant Rabbit knows there’s nothing he can do, don’t you, Lieutenant? Your accuser has apologized and withdrawn his accusation, and restitution has been offered.”

One of the things I learned both at home and in the army was when to back off and leave an insult alone. And certainly Lisle’s accusations hadn’t been as bad as some I’d had lobbed at me over the past few months. Even so, I glared at the kneeling man, wishing he’d do something to give me a reason—any reason—to pound on him, my anger increasing, my vision turning red—

There was a large booming crash of a wave that sounded as if it were right next to me, and I jerked, the world snapping back into view. My heart pounded in my chest as if I’d just run the race again, this time carrying Dandelion on my back. But the anger that had clenched me like a vise was gone, as was the red mist. Thinking that I was more on edge than I realized, I dragged in a cleansing breath and let it out again. “Yes, sir,” I said to Suiden in a surprisingly ragged voice. I swallowed to keep the shakes out and looked down at Lisle. “I accept your apology.”

Lisle’s eyes closed and he swayed in relief. “Thank you, my lord. I am truly sorry. I don’t know what came over me—”

“So witnessed,” Idwal said over the babbling man. “Is there evidence in this matter that anyone else wishes to have heard?” No one said anything and he turned back to me. “Then, I declare Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan the true winner of this race.” He suddenly grinned, lines fanning out from his green eyes. “And any and all wagers must be honored.”

The silence that had surrounded us abruptly disappeared as the Freston patrollers and King’s Own exploded into cheers. Apparently some heavy betting had been happening during my wild ride. I wasn’t thinking much about coins changing hands, though. My mind had gone back to Lisle and how close I’d come to waling on a kneeling man.

“This is bad,” Ryson said, his voice quiet in the cheerful pandemonium of people settling bets. The cleared space around us had mostly collapsed, though a knot of Own surrounded Jusson, Thadro, and Idwal.

“It could’ve been,” I said. I took another deep breath and let it out. “But I didn’t touch him—”

Ryson frowned at me. “What?”

“He means the effing sod interrupting you, Rabbit,” Jeff said.

“Truth,” Groskin put in. “Idiot.” They all glared at Lisle now standing with the other riders, all of them surrounded by a group of Idwal’s armsmen. Retraction or not, I supposed His Lordship wasn’t done with them yet.

Then on the other hand, it might have been because of the continued dark looks not only the guards and soldiers, but also the sailors and armsmen were casting at them. To have interrupted a sword dance was bad enough. To have interrupted it with false accusations was a portend of doom. Despite their fattening purses, I saw troopers follow Jasry’s example and aim warding signs against evil at the miserable riders, and I tried to ignore how my spine wanted to stiffen.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, it’s bad. It’s very bad.” Reaching down, I picked up the two swords, handing Ryson his before sheathing mine. Then I took my cloak from Jeff and settled it over my cold shoulders, before taking back my ash-wood staff. The sun had passed the midday mark and began its downward descent to evening, with all the accompanying chill.

“Here,” Jeff said, handing me a purse. It was heavy.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Your winnings,” Jeff said. “Mearden didn’t place a bet for you like he said he would, so Groskin, Ryson, and me staked you.”

Despite the recent happenings, I found myself grinning, hefting the weighty purse before attaching it next to my slimmer one on my belt. “Thanks—”

“Betting? What did I miss?”

Readjusting my cloak, I aimed my grin at the wolf who’d suddenly appeared among us. “Everything.”

“Oh?” Kveta asked. “And here you are, little Rabblet, dab smack in the middle of it all.”

“Seems like,” I said, my grin fading. “Where’ve you been, Kveta? Searching for Captain Javes’ rum?”

Kveta made a face. “Goodness, yes, with honored Idwal’s steward. Think we’ve been in just about every nook, cranny, and hidey-hole the castle has to offer. Still didn’t find them, though.”

“Did you check the barracks or stables?” I asked. “I think that was where Laurel and Wyln found him last night.”

“Ah,” Kveta said as she looked towards the scorched buildings. Then she shook her head. “I’ll let someone else search there; I’ve stuck my nose in enough dusty places.”

“Ryson and I have been through the barracks early this morning, Captain Kveta,” Groskin said, “and we didn’t see any stray bottles of rum. But I can send a couple of troopers to search more thoroughly.”

“No, no,” Kveta said. “Don’t interrupt their time at the fair. The steward or, better yet, head groomer can search.” Her gaze went to Lady Margriet and Berenice as they slipped through the crowd to join Lord Idwal. Though some of the crowd had drifted back to the fair booths and attractions, many more still lingered in hopes that there was still more drama to be had, their gazes riveted on Lady Margriet as she laid a tentative hand on her husband’s arm. Leaning down, Lord Idwal listened a moment as she murmured to him. He then spoke quietly with Jusson, with the king shaking his head a couple of times, before turning to the still avidly watching mob.

“The anvea will be held shortly. Those who are competing please make your way to the staging area.”

A slight stir of disappointment at the lack of further drama went through the remaining folks before they too dispersed, heading for the fairgrounds proper. Figuring I’d watch Wyln competing against all comers, I also headed that direction—and came face-to-face with Dandelion, still on the lam. The horse and I eyed each other and despite myself, I started to grin once more. “You’re an evil bastard,” I said, “even if you can race the wind.”

Dandelion lifted his lip at me, showing his yellowed teeth. He then allowed a groomer to catch his bridle and actually stood patiently with a bored look as Kveta gave the groomer a message for Kell, Idwal’s head groomer.

“Interesting,” Kveta remarked, watching horse and groomer head off. “So, tell me, what did happen?”

The wolf listened as I spilled out the story of my wild ride and its aftermath. Kveta’s ears pushed forward when I got to the part of the white stag, but she remained silent until I got to the end.

“Lady Gaia’s consort or not, you must be an exceptional horseman to have remained seated on that,” Kveta said when I was done.

“He is,” Ryson said. “Best in the unit.” He saw the side stares Jeff and Arlis gave him and he shrugged. “It’s true. Even Groskin’s horse Fiend tolerates him.”

“Hasn’t bitten or otherwise maimed him,” Groskin agreed. “Yet.”

Actually Fiend and I had an agreement—I wouldn’t try to ride him and he wouldn’t try to kick me into the middle of next week. I shrugged at Kveta as I started back towards the fairgrounds. “It was more about self-preservation than anything,” I said.

“Preservation, certainly,” Kveta said. She fell in with me, as did Ryson, Groskin, Jeff, and Arlis. “Are you going to take part in this competition, Rabbit?” she asked.

“No,” I said. Despite being surrounded by air and fire spheres, I was still leery of doing talent work, especially after Master Lisle’s accusations. Besides, I had no intention of going head-to-head with Wyln or Laurel. Nor of performing in front of Munir. Or in front of anyone else, for that matter. “I’m only a journeyman mage.”

“A pity,” Kveta said wistfully. “I would’ve enjoyed seeing you compete.”

I made a noncommittal noise, my attention on Berenice. All traces of the beautiful woman I’d seen earlier were gone. Instead she looked just as ordinary as ever in her ugly-arse brown dress, without even her usually merry spark to liven her features. She remained standing next to her mother, and the contrast between them was almost painful. And though I’d expected her to latch on to my arm once more—especially after the hearty kiss I’d given her after the race—she didn’t look my way as we passed by, but stayed in deep conversation with Lady Margriet. Princess Rajya also ignored me. Munir had disappeared in the direction of the competition area, but Her Highness remained on the outskirts of the mob of sailors and soldiers that surrounded Captain Suiden and Jasry. Her benign expression was gone; in its place was something more intense, almost fierce as she watched her father.

“Abandoned by your ladies fair,” Kveta murmured.

I was about to say that a little quiet time with the lads was all right when the smell of warm pies washed over us. We all came to an abrupt halt and Kveta lifted her nose, sniffing.

“Goodness gracious,” she said, her tongue flashing over her muzzle.

“I saw Bertram at the baker’s booth earlier,” Ryson said, also sniffing.

We stood there a moment, salivating.

“There’s time for a pie and a pint before Ryson and I have to return to duty,” Groskin said, judging the sun.

“And it looks like the anvea isn’t starting right away,” I said, looking over at the small crowd in front of the competition stage.

Another wave of good smells hit us and we turned as one and headed towards the source. Even with the free pies Idwal had distributed earlier, the baker’s booth was doing a brisk business and we had to fight our way to the front. Bertram was still there and as soon as he saw us, he disappeared towards the back of the booth and reappeared with a tray full of hot- from-the-oven pastries and rolls, his face glowing as he served us. We then walked past the arrows still stuck in the side of the booth to purchase tankards of hot spiced cider in the next booth over. Whipping around behind both booths, we stopped behind the baker’s, and though we were in shadow, the back of the brick oven radiated enough heat to keep us comfortably warm. I ate my two cheese rolls and apple tart, washing it all down with drafts of cider, the rest keeping pace with me bite for bite as they demolished meat pies and baked custards. Sighing with satisfaction, I leaned against the wall, letting its heat loosen tight muscle. It had been a long day, full of incident, and anvea or not, the thought crossed my mind to return with Groskin and Ryson, maybe going to my room and taking a nap—out of the way of princesses and daughters of the House.

“So tell me, Rabbit, did you use magic during your race?”

I looked sleepily down at Kveta, wondering at her conversational swing back to the race. “I didn’t want to win that badly.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Kveta said. She licked the crumbs of her meat pie off her muzzle, the silver and turtle bones about her neck winking and gleaming in the sunlight. “Did you use magic at all?”

My drowsiness fading, I started to frown. “No,” I said. “I did no talent work whatsoever.”

Done with her grooming, she raised her gaze to the spheres hovering over me. “If that’s so, where did that come from?”

Without taking my eyes off the wolf, I lifted my hand and felt something flit into it. Lowering my hand, I brought it before me and stared down into an earth sphere, swirling with gentle greens and browns.

“Heigh-ho,” I whispered.

Sixteen

Kveta gave a short laugh. “Didn’t know that was there, did you?”

I said nothing, my silence speaking for me. A rich aroma arose from the earth sphere, but instead of sweet grass and rich loam, it smelled of orchards and leaf-strewn forests. Without thinking about it, I inhaled deeply.

“Goddess-touched,” Kveta said, observing. Her ears went back against her skull even while her muzzle dropped in a grin. “Or at least Faena-touched.”

“I don’t think the Lady and Her Consort do Laurel’s bidding,” I said.

“No, I’m sure they don’t,” Kveta said. “However, last I knew, you weren’t a follower of either.”

I looked away from the sphere to meet Kveta’s sharp gaze. “No,” I agreed. “I am not.” I had my faith in my God and my Church confirmed firmly in Freston. So much so that I sometimes woke up to the sound of the ocean in my ears. As I thought that, there was another large booming crash of a breaker, and I controlled a jump, my eyes involuntarily going towards the sound.

“Yet, here you are, with something of the Lady’s that you did not summon, correct?” Kveta said, reclaiming my attention. She didn’t wait for an answer. “So if you didn’t, who did?”

“Sometimes the aspects do as they want,” I began.

Kveta let out a breath. “No, they don’t,” she said softly. “Even gods and goddesses do not interfere without express permission, let alone the elements. There is always a will behind their actions.”

“But, Captain Kveta,” Ryson said, his voice hesitant, while beside him Groskin frowned. “Honored Laurel wasn’t there.”

“And you think castle walls would stop him from doing what he wanted to do?” Kveta asked. “He is the only earth master here.”

Somehow I couldn’t see Laurel neglecting Captain Javes just to throw an earth sphere at me. Then, on the other hand, he had done it before. And there was the truth rune he’d drawn on my palm without any say-so from me. I frowned down at the sphere in my hand.

“You know, after you ran away from Magus Kareste,” Kveta said, “most of us lived through years of not knowing where you were or what was happening to you, believing that you were alive only because Moraina said you were.”

“Dragoness Moraina knew I was alive?” I asked, surprised.

“Of course. How else could she have sent Laurel for you?”

“I thought the High Council sent Laurel,” I said.

“Oh, they made it official, with speeches and resolutions and recording it in their Acta for them to read on nights they can’t sleep,” Kveta said. “However, it was Moraina who first proposed it to the Council. But even if the Council hadn’t blessed his excursion, Laurel was coming for you. He already had his affairs in order, another shaman assuming his Gaia duties, and his lieutenants in place to oversee the Faena in his absence when he received the summons to the Council.”

My surprise must’ve shown on my face, for Kveta grinned again, reminding me of every tale I’d ever heard of grandmas and big teeth.

“And broken indentures and Council directives notwithstanding, he never had any intention of returning you to the Magus, Rabbit.”

Shifting the sphere to my other hand, I nodded, rubbing my gloved palm against my tabard. “Yes, I know.”

Kveta’s ears pushed forward. “You do?”

A memory arose of Laurel and me standing on the deck of the Dauntless, ready to sail the next morning to the Border with a shipful of diplomats and a holdful of body parts. “Laurel swore it,” I said. “Before we left Iversly last spring, he said that I’d not go back to Kareste and swore it on his rune.”

“Did he, now?” Kveta said softly, her eyes lifting to the feather in my braid. “And did he say why—”

“Begging your pardon, Captain Kveta,” Ryson said, politely, “but I think His Majesty is looking for Rabbit.”

I blinked at Ryson’s helpful face, then shifted with the rest, looking between the booths to see that people had climbed up on the stage. I could also see Jusson standing in the middle of his personal crowd of royal guards and aristos in front of the stage, his head turned in our direction.

“So he is,” Kveta agreed, her affability returning. “And there’s the head groomer signaling me.”

“Oh?” I shifted once more, looking over the masses for Kell. “Think he has news about the missing bottles?”

“Probably got a garbled message and wants clarification, more like,” Kveta said. “Go on, I’ll catch up with you later.” Her face turned wry. “Unless I get dragooned into searching the stables.”

With that, she took off at a trot, leaving the rest of us to go in the opposite direction towards the stage.

“All right, what the hell was that about?” Groskin asked.

“Kveta is suspicious about Laurel,” I said, rubbing my hand once more against my stomach. “But that’s only fair as Laurel doesn’t trust her either.”

“Sort of like how Lord Wyln is suspicious of Lord Munir?” Ryson asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Though honored Wyln’s issues with Lord Munir seem more of the Border not trusting the Turals. Whatever’s bothering Laurel and Kveta is personal.” Personal and not just limited to Laurel, but apparently honored Moraine too. I started to wonder exactly what happened in the Weald after I’d left.

“Huh,” Groskin grunted. He too watched my hand, but then the faint sound of bells marking the quarter hour drifted to us from the town, and he again gave an expert glance at the sky.

“We have to get back, sir,” Ryson said.

“Yeah,” Groskin said. “I suppose we do.” He glanced once more at me, then at Arlis and Jeff behind me. “Hinky things are happening—”

“Hinky things are always happening around Rabbit,” Arlis muttered. “Sir.”

“Yeah,” Groskin said again, giving a brief grin. “Still, watch your backs.”

With that, Groskin and Ryson disappeared into the crowd, Ryson tenderly carrying his sheathed sword. I watched them go, before turning my stare on Jeff and Arlis. Jeff was looking at something past me, but Arlis met my gaze, giving me the same blank expression that he’d been dishing out for the past few weeks. I remembered what Ryson had said the previous night about punishment deferred—

“His Majesty’s looking this way again, Rabbit,” Jeff said.

However, that was going to have to wait. Holding in a sigh, I turned and plunged into the mass of spectators, making our way to the front of the stage, eventually winning through to Jusson. The king stood front and center in his own cleared space surrounded by royal guards. He gave me his mildly interested gaze but before he could say anything there was a small disturbance and I turned to see Lady Margriet and Berenice slipping inside the royal circle. I eyed Berenice, more than halfway expecting her to again latch on to my arm, but Lady Margriet placed herself between me and her daughter. Giving Jusson a curtsey, she looked up at me, her vivacious smile matching in brilliance both her gown and jewel studded combs holding back her dark brown hair from her heart-shaped face.

“Isn’t this exciting?” she asked, her eyes bright.

I bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

Lady Margriet’s smile turned anxious. “Though you’re not participating, Lord Rabbit. I hope that’s not because of the recent unpleasantness.”

“No, it’s because I’m only a journeyman mage,” I said, giving her the same excuse as I had Kveta. “I’m not skilled enough to compete against masters.”

“Ah,” Lady Margriet said, brightening once more. “I see. Well, I’m disappointed but we have a good number of participants in any event.”

So they did. Apparently Javes was no better as Laurel was absent. But Wyln and Munir were on the stage, as were a couple of wild-haired, multibangled and tattooed forecasters off the Turalian warship, a red-haired, beard-braided weather witch from the Svlet trader, and what looked like a Qarant prescriber in colorful jacket, breeks, striped hosen and with his own tattoo of a jewel-colored hummingbird on his neck, all gathered around Idwal as they went over last moment rules and regulations. Idly wondering what aspect Munir had, I scanned the spectators and saw Suiden and Jasry standing together, their faces alight as they spoke. Princess Rajya and her guards were a little ways away, Her Highness’ own face once more benign.

“I saw you talking with Captain Kveta, Cousin,” Jusson said. “How goes the search for the tainted rum?”

Both the king and Lady Margriet listened intently as I relayed Kveta’s and the steward’s search of the castle and her joining the head groomer in a search of the barracks and stables.

“Oh, dear,” Lady Margriet said. “I hope Kell and Kveta will find the bottles. I must admit that I find it very worrying that they’re still missing.”

“Yes,” Jusson agreed. “Especially with all of the sailors about, who, if they did find them, would drink first and ask questions later.”

“Good heavens,” Lady Margriet said, a horrified look on her face. “Perhaps I should have my husband offer a reward for the unopened bottles.”

“Offer two for one, Lady Margriet,” Jusson said, grinning. “That would motivate the most determined guzzler.”

Lady Margriet’s horrified look disappeared as she bit her lip, her eyes suddenly flashing with mischief. “I’m sure it would, Your Majesty—”

She broke off as Idwal stepped to the fore of the stage, everyone quieting as the Lord of Mearden raised his hands in the air. “Your Majesty, Your Highnesses, lords and ladies, gracious sirs and gentlewomen. Those of you who have come from foreign lands are most likely familiar with anveas. For those who aren’t, we are about to see wondrous feats of magic not witnessed in Iversterre since days of yore.”

Or at least since the last war when the Border Militia’s mages, enchanters, and other talent workers took over the job of pounding what was left of Iversterre’s Royal Army into the ground after the Faena were done with it. Fortunately, it seemed that the memory of our swift defeat at the hands of the People did not linger this far south. All around me eyes were wide with excitement and anticipation of seeing said wondrous feats.

“However, we have a slight problem,” Idwal said. His gaze swept the spellbound crowd, his smile glinting like a horse trader’s. “There are four aspects that all schools of magic ascribe to, based on the elements that make up the seen world: air and fire, water and earth. Fire, water and air are well represented here. But we do not have earth.”

“What about Laurel Faena?” an aristo shouted out from the crowd. “Isn’t he an earth master?”

“Yes, the Faena cat is a shaman and earth master. Unfortunately, though, he is not able to participate,” Idwal said. He waited a moment as sounds of disappointment welled up from the crowd before aiming his horse-trading smile at me. “But his pupil, Lord Rabbit, is here.”

The groans of disappointment immediately changed to encouraging shouts from the spectators. Berenice remained quietly standing next to her mother with her hands folded before her, her eyes demurely lowered. However, Lady Margriet laid her hand on my arm and sparkled up at me.

“I know you hadn’t planned to, Lord Rabbit,” she said, “but if you would?”

It was my day for being sandbagged. I glanced up at Wyln, who motioned to me with a slight movement of his hand, and then at Jusson, who gave a very small nod. Giving in, I bowed. “Of course, my lady.”

People whistled, clapped, and stamped their feet as I walked on to the stage (more excitement over the horse race and wagers won than any promised feats) and found a place beside Wyln, who made sure he was between Munir and me.

“So we meet on a battlefield of sorts after all, tiro,” Munir said across the enchanter.

“So it seems, Lord Munir,” I said. I then shifted closer to Wyln. “This is not a good idea, honored cyhn,” I murmured.

“I think that I’d rather have you up here than down there. And when this is over, I further think that we will leave the fair and return to Iver’son’s rooms. There is something in the air that is disturbing,” Wyln said back, his voice just as low. “In the meantime, since we missed your lesson this morning, this is as good a place and opportunity as any to work on your skills.”

“That is very true, Sro Rabbit,” Munir said, proving nothing was wrong with his hearing. “An anvea is an excellent way to develop control, critical thinking, and—how do you call it? Talent work on the fly. At least my teacher thought so. Many’s the time I’d been flung head-first without any warning whatsoever into impromptu competitions held by His Glory’s senior wizards.”

“War training, Adeptus?” Wyln asked.

“No,” Munir said, a wry look on his face. “Court training—”

“All right,” Idwal said, rubbing his hands together.

“Let’s get started.”

Munir and Wyln fell silent as Idwal strode over to a small, cloth-draped table where a large hourglass rested.

“There will be a series of tasks given,” Idwal said, addressing us, “in increasing levels of difficulty and complexity. Those of you who successfully complete the tasks in the allotted time frame will advance to the next round. When there are just two remaining, they will duel, with the winner of the duel also winning the anvea—”

“Is calling the element part of the trials, Harn Mearden?” the Svlet weather witch asked, interrupting.

Idwal stopped mid-explanation. “It’s the first one—”

“Then he has an unfair advantage, yes?” the witch asked, pointing at me.

I stared at the man, before following his blunt-tipped finger to the spheres hovering above my shoulders.

“Fire, air, earth,” he said. He waved his thick fingers near his ear. “And his pretty feather in his braid, whatever it does—”

There was a rumble of laughter from his shipmates down in the audience, but they all broke off as I gestured and the air and fire spheres winked out (to my relief). The earth sphere, however, remained where it was.

“My feather stays,” I said to the witch.

“So it will,” Idwal said before the witch could speak. He reached for the hourglass and swiftly turned it over. “The rest of you, summon your aspect!”

A fire sphere appeared next to Wyln and a small tongue of fire also appeared next to Munir, the flickering flames reflecting on his bald head, highlighting the flowing tattoos. The two Turalian forecasters produced what looked like tiny water spouts, the Qarant prescriber a rain cloud, and the Svlet weather witch a miniature whirlwind. I counted. Two with fire, one with air, three with water, and me with earth.

There were exclamations from those watching, which increased as Munir split his fire into several individual flames that encircled his head. Deciding that they too could show off, the two Turalians made their water spouts dance and the Qarant prescriber had his cloud begin to rain, creating a damp patch on the stage. The witch, though, did nothing with his whirlwind but instead glared at me, as did his mates in the audience.

“Is not fair,” the man said.

“What?” I said, glaring back.

Wyln touched my arm. “He is right, Two Trees’son,” he said. “Dismiss and resummon.”

Obeying my cyhn, I gestured again and the earth sphere winked out (to my further relief). I then held up my gloved fist and opened it, expecting to see the same sphere slowly turning. Instead a tiny oak tree sprang up from the palm of my hand, complete with green leaves on its branches.

There were more sounds of awe mixed with applause, though the Svlet weather witch and his shipmates looked even darker.

Munir moved closer. “That is truly interesting,” he said, intrigued. “I’ve never seen earth manifest like that.”

“Sprites of ancient oaks sometimes summon earth in that manner,” Wyln said, his flame- lit eyes on the tiny tree.

“Not in Tural they don’t,” Munir said. His flames a halo around his head, he reached out across Wyln. “May I?”

I started to shift my hand away but wasn’t fast enough as Wyln took hold of my wrist and moved it and the aspect out of reach. “I think not, Adeptus—”

“No touching and transferring essences,” the witch said.

Munir, Wyln, and I all stopped and looked at the weather witch, who folded his beefy arms across his chest and glared back. The two Turalian forecasters edged slightly away, and though the Qarant prescriber stayed put, he cast the witch a considering look.

“Time is up,” Idwal announced, his voice hearty. “And everyone will advance to the next level.”

“As I said, something’s not quite right,” Wyln murmured under the applause at Idwal’s announcement.

Our slight tussle momentarily forgotten, Munir first frowned at Wyln, then looked around the crowd, his gaze lighting briefly on the Svlet crew members with their near identical expressions of malcontent.

“You’re right,” he said, a line between his brows. “It does feel off, like standing on an uneven surface.”

One of the Turalian forecasters moved closer to us. “You feel it too, Sro Adeptus?” She glanced up at the cloudless sky. “Heavy, like a storm is coming—”

“No whispering either,” the weather witch said. “Wizards, elves, and mages plotting together—”

“In this next level,” Idwal shouted, “each contestant will further demonstrate his mastery over his aspect by changing its appearance. It can be larger, smaller, change shape or colors, but it has to be noticeably different.” He reached for the sand-filled glass timer. “Ready. Set. Go!”

I looked down at my tree, wondering how to make it different, when it changed by itself, its leaves turning autumnal hues. Pretending that I meant to do that, I glanced around to see that Munir had changed the colors of his flames, alternating between red, yellow, and orange, while Wyln’s sphere took on the backlit delicacy of a window in front of a lit hearth. The two Turalian forecasters had bent their waterspouts into arches and the prescriber’s rain cloud had small jags of lightning arcing within it.

The only person who hadn’t successfully changed his aspect was the Svlet weather witch. He was trying—the whirlwind would grow, but then would shrink back to its original size. With increasingly desperate glances at the sand slipping through the glass, the witch redoubled his efforts, his crewmates shouting encouragement. Finally, with only a few grains of sand to spare, the witch managed to keep his whirlwind at roughly twice as big. He shot me a look of triumph mixed with scorn, once more folding his arms.

“Ha! I have prevailed despite the unfair whispering essence exchanges of others—”

“Time’s up!” Idwal shouted. “And again, everyone will advance to the next level.”

“Should it be doing that?” I asked.

The other contestants had been ignoring the witch, their gazes politely on Idwal, but at my question, they all looked at the whirlwind to see that it had continued to grow and was now three times its original size—and getting larger.

“Sas Beisa!” Wyln hissed, and dropped to the stage floor, taking me down. At the same time, Munir also dropped, reaching a long arm to pull a startled Idwal with him.

“Ach, frightened by a little wind?” the Svlet weather witch asked, his face smug. He sneered down at us, blindly reaching out to the whirlwind, now almost as large as him. “Little girls wanting their muoters—Maene Gedt!”

As the witch’s hand was swallowed by the whirlwind, Munir turned his head to where Princess Rajya stood in the audience. “He’s lost control of his facet! Get down!”

Wyln also looked down at the audience, his gaze aimed at Jusson and Thadro. “Cover Iver’son!”

“Naen!” the witch said, struggling to free his hand as the two Turalians and the Qarant swiftly backed away. However, the Qarant prescriber stumbled in his haste, knocking one of the Turalian forecasters into the witch. The witch fell into the whirlwind and, with a shriek, was engulfed. The Turalian managed to escape, but her waterspout didn’t and the whirlwind became a cyclone with air and water whirling together, gaining strength and momentum before passing over us with the roaring sound of a mountain avalanche to sweep down into the crowd. Jusson, Lady Margriet, and Berenice were on the ground, the Own and soldiers covering them. Princess Rajya was also down, her guards protecting her. A few of the crowd also managed to hunker down while others grabbed hold of the stage supports. But most were blown about by the violent storm, their screams part of the howling winds as they were pummeled by flying debris. I saw the straw man from the tilting run go whipping by, immediately followed by a couple of brightly painted juggler’s clubs, which in turn were chased by one of the archery butts, the arrows from Princess Rajya and Berenice’s match still stuck in it.

“Heinrich!” one of the Svlet crewmen shouted over the roar of wind. He turned enraged eyes on me, somehow staying upright. “You have killed him!”

The Svlet crewman produced a dagger and, flipping it in his hand, started to throw it at me. Jeff, though, down by the king, managed to get to his feet and leapt on the seaman, immediately followed by several King’s Own and troopers. The other Svlet sailors waded in with fists swinging, and more Own and troopers followed. Stumbling back, one Svlet fell into the Turalians surrounding the princess. One of her guards tried to push him away, and he swung on him too. Several Svlets joined their crewmate, one reaching in and grabbing Her Highness by the tunic.

“Rajya!” Suiden bellowed. Rolling to his feet, he flung himself at the melee, followed by Jasry and her crew. At the same time, the princess produced her own dagger, slashing at the Svlet sailor. He fell into a knot of castle armsmen, the captain putting an armlock on him. More Svlet crewmen poured on them, their grunts and the thuds of their fists sounding over the gale, and the aristos armsmen joined in.

“Fire!”

“Damn it!” Idwal shouted, staggering to his feet. “Not again!”

Rising up a little, I turned to see that several of the booths had collapsed, including the baker’s. Flames were erupting from the mishmash of broken boards and bunting near the brick oven.

“Bertram!” I shouted, also pushing to my feet. The wind snatched at my braid and it unraveled, my feather disappearing into the gale.

Despite the horizontal rain, the flames rode the wind to the next booth, setting its bunting on fire. The spreading flames, however, did not stop the Svlet crewmen as they started beating on everyone around them.

“This is insane!” Munir shouted, also struggling to his feet. He raised his hand, his fingers crooked. “I’ll take the fire and, Lord Rabbit, you try to control air—”

I slammed my staff down against the stage. The fires winked out, the rain ceased, and the howling cyclone stopped, spilling the Svlet weather witch on the ground, where he lay blinking up at the sky. Everyone else froze and in the quiet all that could be heard was the dripping of water. It was broken by the sound of my boots as I ran across the stage and jumped off, hurrying to the baker’s booth. Folks shook off their paralysis and they too hurried to the collapsed booths, helping vendors and customers alike out of the debris. Others joined me as I flung aside boards and posts, my heart in my mouth. But, after I lifted a board, a slender hand came up and, grabbing it, I gently pulled Bertram from the wreckage, unharmed. A few moments later, the baker and his assistants were also freed, with nothing more serious than a few bumps and bruises.

My hand gripping Bertram’s shoulder, I turned to go to Jusson—and came face-to-face with a spinning water orb. I stared at it—and as I did, fire and air reappeared, and earth floated from the stage to join them, all four spheres hovering at eye level. They looked back, considering.

“AlDraconi capen nus,” Munir breathed softly.

Dragon lords keep us? Shivering with wet and cold, I turned to see the wizard next to me.

“Others’ summonings controlled and dismissed, as effortlessly as falling off a log,” Munir said, his face avid.

Wyln pushed between us. “Of His Grace Loren’s line, Adeptus.”

“And I’m not surprised that he snatched at so potent a wizard,” Munir said. “Human or not—”

I was distracted from Wyln and Munir’s verbal shoving match by a hollow thump. Jusson had climbed on the stage, Thadro with him. Sodden, his hair plastered to his face, his gold circlet lopsided, his cloak dripping, the king did a slow circle, taking in the remnants of the fairgrounds. There wasn’t much left—the yards were destroyed, the tilting run nonexistent, the booths heaps of rubble. Here and there were folks who remained on the ground, injured. The Svlet weather witch was also still stretched out, his crewmates surrounding him—at least, those who could get away from the armlocks and choke holds the various armsmen and soldiers had on them. Jusson’s gaze rested on them a moment before moving to Suiden standing with his arm protectively around Princess Rajya. He then looked down at Idwal, standing with his own arms around his wife and daughter, holding them close.

Jusson drew in a deep breath. “We declare the fair ended and the tourney closed—”

“Sirs!” a faint voice shouted. It was accompanied by the sound of approaching running feet.

“Too late, sire,” Thadro murmured.

Jusson closed his eyes. “Pox rot it, yes.”

The running feet came nearer, and a moment later Ryson appeared flanked by several troopers and King’s Own. They paused only briefly at the disaster scene before them before locating Thadro on the stage and hurrying over.

“Sir,” Ryson gasped. “The entire royal chambers have been ensorceled and Captain Javes and Master Laurel are gone.”

Seventeen

“When Groskin and I got here, we found everyone like this, sirs,” Ryson said to Thadro and Suiden.

Jusson hadn’t wasted any time but at Ryson’s announcement turned and strode back to the castle, his wet cloak flapping. The rest of us followed quickly behind him, squelching, dripping, and tracking mud into the great hall. However, like the previous night, it hadn’t fazed Lady Margriet. She once more set the servants bustling, building up the fire in the massive fireplace and providing towels, blankets, and hot drinks to her guests who could stand and placing pallets near the fireplace for those who couldn’t. The castle healer moved among them, administering comfort and aid to the injured, which included Kveta. Apparently the wolf had been returning from the stables when a flying plank hit her. She limped on three paws to the castle, growling at my offer to carry her. She was placed on a pallet and she lay there with her eyes closed, her ears pressed against her head. But I only saw that in passing as Jusson hurried up the stairs to his chambers, Idwal, Thadro, Suiden, Wyln, me, and those who could walk unaided again following right behind. I glanced in at the bottom when we reached it; it seemed normal, if rather empty; the lucky sods who, for whatever reason, didn’t attend the fair were not in evidence. I discovered why when we reached the top floor.

The missing King’s Own, soldiers, and royal servants were in the king’s chambers. But instead of being awake, alert, and engaged in their various duties, they were sprawled or curled up on the floor, the guards and soldiers’ weapons scattered about as they dropped them—except for one guard. He was in full regalia, including his plumed helm with his visor down, hiding his face, his unsheathed sword resting across his knees, sitting in the crown chair at the fireplace, which was turned to face the door. Jusson came to an abrupt halt, his own face blank as he stared, the rest of us piling up behind him.

“God protect us,” an aristo said softly, making a warding sign.

“We searched for Captain Javes and Master Laurel, sirs, but couldn’t find them,” Ryson said to Thadro and Suiden. “So Groskin took some of the lads who were at the fair and went to the barracks, just in case the captain took it into his head to wander back down there and Master Laurel followed after to fetch him back.”

As Ryson spoke, Thadro, Suiden, and Wyln edged around the king, Wyln and Thadro stepping carefully over those on the floor to enter Javes’ room while Suiden went to the closest trooper and laid his hand on the soldier’s wrist, then his neck. I remained with the king, feeling as though I’d been punched in the gut as I looked upon former troop mates and current fellow guards sprawled about, still and unmoving.

“He’s alive,” Suiden said. He walked to the guard in the crowned chair and did the same. “This one also.”

“Yes, sir,” Ryson said. “First thing we checked. It seems like they’re asleep. But we couldn’t wake them for nothing.”

Ryson was right. They all did look fast asleep with faint color in their faces and their chests moving slowly as they breathed, their breaths puffing out small clouds in the surprisingly chilly air. Conscious of the cold, I started to again shiver and I reached up to undo my sodden cloak.

“The butterflies are gone,” Jeff said from the fireplace.

Forgetting about my cloak, I looked at the fireplace. It was dark, its flames out, the ashes gray, and no conspicuous bits of color on its mantelpiece basking in its rising warmth. I hurried over and ran my hand over the mantelpiece just to make sure the butterflies hadn’t turned invisible, but closer observation only proved that they were truly gone. As I stepped away from the cold hearth, Jusson turned his blank stare, first at Jeff and me and then at the empty fireplace, and his brows snapped together. Turning on his heel, he strode through the minihall to his quarters, shouting, “Cais! Cais!”

“Ah, hell,” Ryson said softly. “We didn’t think to look for Master Cais or Finn.”

At Jusson’s shouts, Wyln and Thadro popped out of Javes’ room and Suiden abruptly straightened from where he was checking another soldier. Thadro hurried after the king, as did Suiden. Wyln, however, returned to the minihall. Terrified for my diminutive servant, I started to join Jusson, but the enchanter stopped me.

“Finn,” I said.

“If he’s here, he will keep for the moment,” Wyln said. “If he’s not, then a moment won’t matter.”

“What happened, Lord Wyln?” Arlis asked. “Are all the magicals gone?”

“No,” Wyln said, a line between his own winged brows. “Except for Javes Wolf’son, just the ones who were capable of fighting back against something like this.”

“Then why carry off Captain Javes?” I asked.

“That’s one question,” Wyln said, his frown deepening. “But an even more worrisome question is how whoever did this managed to overcome not only Cais and Finn, but also Laurel and Queen Mab’s courtiers—”

“What dark wizardry is this?”

Wyln, Jeff, Arlis, and I all turned to see Munir standing in the doorway, taking in the sleeping guards, soldiers, and servants. The Own, surprised, also turned, blocking the Turalian wizard. But Munir proved just as nimble as Wyln, Thadro, and Suiden in stepping around them. Behind him was Lord Idwal, who followed the wizard into the room, his eyes wide as he stared about. Sidestepped, the Own looked at me, but I figured the last thing we needed was a diplomatic incident on top of everything else, and I gave a small shake of my head.

“Not wizardry,” Wyln said. He saw the glance Idwal shot me. “Nor is it magecraft.”

“Then what is it?” Lord Idwal asked, his breath misting out as he spoke. “And why the hell did it happen in my House?”

“Perhaps Laurel had a working that had gone astray,” Kveta suggested, limping into the room.

My shivering having started up again, I once more began to undo my sodden cloak, but stopped at Kveta’s appearance. “I thought you were staying downstairs, Kveta,” I said.

“She refused,” Berenice said, entering with the wolf. She came to a halt, her hands coming up to rub her arms. “God save us,” she whispered, staring down at the servant sprawled at her feet.

“No, it’s not a ‘working’ of Laurel—or any other earth master—honored Kveta,” Wyln said. Walking over to the guard slumped in the crown chair, he lifted an unresponsive hand. Pulling off the glove, he turned the guard’s hand over and studied the palm.

“What is it, then?” Idwal repeated, his voice patient.

“Some sort of enchantment, Eorl Idwal,” Wyln said, setting the guard’s hand back on the arm of the chair. “Cast by someone with a wicked sense of humor.”

“Or someone very, very angry,” Jeff said softly.

“Yes,” Wyln said. “Or both.”

“It looks like a pantomime gone awry,” Idwal said.

“Yes, my lord,” I agreed. I too had seen my share of children’s pantomimes where the princess and her castle’s occupants were cast under a spell that made them sleep until the handsome prince awakened the sleeping beauty with a kiss. Onstage, the scene of mass slumber was always one of innocence and charm, the good folks portrayed as if they’d just settled down for an afternoon nap. Here, however, the guards, soldiers, and servants looked as though they’d been overwhelmed, collapsing where they stood. Once more aware of my shivering, I pulled off my cloak and started to drop it on an unoccupied part of the floor. Before I could, it was taken out of my hand by Bertram. He draped the cloak on an empty chair, then knelt before the cold hearth and began to expertly lay wood and kindling.

“Enchantment,” Munir repeated. It was his turn to give a sideways glance. “You’re an enchanter, Sro Wyln.”

“So I am,” Wyln said. “But not a spellcaster. My talents lie in a different branch of the field.” He motioned to me. “Help me move the guard out of the king’s chair, Two Trees’son.”

“Good Lord, yes,” an aristo said, shaking himself. “Should’ve done that straightaway.” He and a couple of other aristos joined Wyln and me in lifting the guard out of the chair. Having no other place to put him, we laid him carefully on the floor, my spheres shifting about me as we did. I lifted his helm from his head and something unknotted in my spine when I saw that his face was like the others, slack with sleep. Sighing, I set the helm on the table.

“Kyrie capen, why is it so cold in here?” Princess Rajya said as she entered the minihall, her breath misting out before her and her guards walking in behind her.

Munir frowned at her. “You will go to your rooms, Your Highness. Now.”

I, Lord Idwal, and several others blinked at the wizard and then at Princess Rajya, Bertram pausing in his fire-making efforts to stare over his shoulder. However, Her Highness didn’t acknowledge us. She didn’t argue either. She turned on a slippered heel and left, her guards once more trailing behind her.

“What the hell?” Jeff whispered.

“And so royalty obeys a court wizard, Adeptus?” Wyln asked over Jeff. “Be glad that Prince Suiden was not here to see you command his daughter.”

It was Munir’s turn to blink, a disconcerted expression crossing his face. Then it was gone and he was once more his urbane self. “Her Highness’ safety is my concern, Sro Wyln. I would not want to answer to His Glory or, worse, to His Highness himself if something were to happen to her—”

Munir broke off as footsteps sounded and we all turned to see Jusson, Thadro, and Suiden walking quickly to us. Thadro and Suiden were still in their wet clothes, but Jusson had taken the time to change into his battle armor, his battle helm on his head, his sword strapped to his side.

“Cais and Finn, Your Majesty?” I asked.

“Not here,” Jusson said. “Gather the remaining soldiers, guards, and armsmen, Thadro. We’ll meet in the hall.”

“Sire?” Idwal asked.

“Your armsmen, also, Idwal,” Jusson said. Carefully stepping over the sleeping folk, he headed for the door. “And all other able-bodied people. We are going to search the castle and then the grounds and surrounding forest and even the town if necessary until we find our missing.”

The bemused look on Idwal’s face disappeared at Jusson’s commandeering of his castle and resources and he shifted to fill the doorway. “We’ve already had yon wolf poking into every crack and crevice for those damn bottles of rum, Your Majesty,” he said, indicating Kveta standing silently on three paws. “I’m sure if they were anywhere in the castle or its grounds, they would’ve been found.”

“That was before they went missing,” Jusson said. “So we will search again.”

“You don’t know that, Your Majesty,” Idwal began.

“Everybody was in their proper place when your steward and I searched in here earlier, honored Mearden,” Kveta put in.

Idwal didn’t miss a beat. “And if we don’t find them, Your Majesty?” he asked, not moving from the doorway. “What then? Will you tear my House down, brick by brick?”

Jusson’s black eyes flashed gold. “If necessary,” he said, his voice mild.

Idwal’s expression grew very dark, but before he could respond, Wyln moved away from the recumbent guard and stood between him and Jusson.

“I’m sure Eorl Mearden will afford us all that we need, Iver’son,” Wyln said. “But before we go on this great hunt, you should allow your guards, soldiers, and eorls time to get out of their wet clothes.”

Jusson turned his gold gaze on Wyln as the enchanter spoke, then moved it to where I, Jeff, Arlis, and most of the aristos stood next to the fireplace. Bertram had gotten the fire started, and we were all clumped in front of it, trying to garner its meager warmth.

“Yes, of course,” Jusson said, the gold fading somewhat. “Down in the hall, quarter hour.” He turned to motion Thadro and Suiden to follow him and stopped as he took in their bedraggled appearance. He let out a sigh. “We will wait until you’re ready.”

Bowing quickly, both the lord commander and the captain double-stepped it to their rooms, Jeff, Arlis, and I right behind. Judging by the sound of hurrying footsteps, I figured the aristos and remaining guards and soldiers were doing the same. Pulling off the rest of my wet clothes, I entered my chambers—and stopped short at the sight of Bertram at the fireplace, tending the fire. I stared at him and then back over my shoulder towards the fireplace in the main hall, but Jeff gave me a tiny shove.

“We’ve no time to be effing about, Rabbit.”

That was certainly true. Turning back to my bedroom, I quickly finished undressing, though I did cast Bertram a side glance as he poured hot water into the washbasin from a kettle that had been hanging from the fireplace hobb and then produced warmed towels to dry us off. A very short time later, wearing dry clothes and my hair combed and once more braided, I and the others trotted out to the where Jusson and Wyln waited. Idwal and Munir had left, but to my surprise Beatrice was still there. She stood in front of the autumn hunt tapestry, her brows knitted together as she stared at it. I stopped also, hoping against hope that everything was in its place. It was—sort of. The shadows under the trees seemed to have shifted and I could see the second set of antlers. I could also definitely see that it wasn’t another stag; not only the height, but the shape of the head was all wrong—

Berenice put a hand on my arm. “His Majesty and Lord Wyln are waiting for us, Lord Rabbit.”

Oh, yeah. Forgetting the shadows, I turned and hurried to the king and the enchanter. “You’re not going to change clothes?” I asked as we once more stepped around the sleepers.

Berenice shook her head. While her clothes had dried some, they were damp enough to cling, revealing a shapely body. And though her snood had miraculously stayed in place during the brief cyclone, enough tendrils of her hair had escaped to curl about her face and nape, emphasizing the graceful curve of her neck and her expressive eyes. I stared, momentarily startled out of my worry, as I wondered how I had ever found her plain and unattractive. She remained unaware of my scrutiny, bobbing a quick curtsey when we reached Jusson.

“I have the keys, Your Majesty, and will help you search the castle.”

“Good,” Jusson said. “Lead the way.”

As we followed the king and the daughter of the House down the winding stairs, I fell in beside Wyln, who frowned at me.

“Where’s your feather, Two Trees’son?” he asked, his gaze resting on my rebraiding hair.

My hand went up to the empty spot on my nape. “It was swept off in the storm, honored cyhn,” I said, feeling rather naked.

“I see,” Wyln said. “That is rather worrisome, especially everything else that’s been happening.”

“I don’t think it was done on purpose,” I began, thinking on the inept Svlet weathercrafter.

“Perhaps,” Wyln said. “And perhaps not. But why ever it was done, the feather’s gone.” He stared at the back of Jusson’s head. “I don’t like it and I don’t like this place, even with the Lady’s Consort plastered all over it. I shall be glad when we leave.”

I said nothing; while part of me was surprised at my cyhn’s peevish tone, another part was very much wanting to join in. And judging by the expressions of those around us, we weren’t the only ones. But it wasn’t just the events at the castle that had me on edge; I was very much aware of the aspects hovering about me and the fact that I hadn’t resummoned fire, earth, or air, and hadn’t summoned water at all. I turned my head to look at the spheres. They were over both shoulders, fire casting welcome warmth on my chilled face. But it and the rest were mostly silent, their only sound a quiet hum.

“I don’t like it here either, my lord,” Ryson said. He looked surprised that he had spoken, then shrugged. “Even before everybody went missing and enchanted and everything, it felt . . . I don’t know. Remember, Rabbit, when we rode into the big ambush last fall—?”

“Yeah,” one of the troopers muttered. “You probably knew all about it before it happened.”

Ryson stopped in his tracks. I reached over to grab his sleeve, but he evaded my hand, allowing those following behind us to swallow him up. Continuing down the winding stairs, I scowled at the trooper, who scowled right back.

“He tried to kill you, Rabbit,” he said. “You may have forgotten; we haven’t.”

“Rabbit seems to forget all sorts of things,” Jeff said with a pointed glance at Arlis. Arlis stared back, making a covert rude gesture.

I moved between. “I haven’t forgotten anything,” I said. That was the problem. “Ryson didn’t try to kill me, Slevoic did. Ryson’s crime was that he was stupid enough to get involved with the Vicious—like many others in the garrison. He’s trying to change—”

“He’s trying to suck up,” another trooper said.

“And Groskin?” I asked. “Is he also a suck-up?”

“He didn’t try to kill you,” the first trooper said.

“Ryson didn’t try to kill me!” At least not on purpose. Maybe. There was the kidnapping attempt at Dornel, though it wasn’t certain that Ryson had been involved in that. However, he had been very much involved in the weakened sword he and Slevoic had planted on me—and which had subsequently shattered when I’d been attacked by assassins set on me by the Vicious’ kinsman, Lord Gherat of Dru. And he was also involved in gathering the extremely venomous Pale Deaths that he and the Vicious had later let loose in my and Jeff’s room in the Border Embassy last spring, though he later said he hadn’t realized that the spiders were so deadly.

And there were rumors and lies he and the Vicious had spread among my troopmates and commanding officers to hopefully hasten my downfall and at least figurative destruction.

Suddenly feeling unsure of my ground, I shifted attack.

“And anyway, I didn’t see any of you leaping up to my defense when Slevoic made my life a living hell at Freston—”

“Two Trees’son,” Wyln said.

I turned my scowl on Wyln and realized that we’d arrived in the main hall. I glanced around to see if anyone noticed me shouting, but everyone seemed busy with organizing the search, including Idwal and Munir, who’d also taken the brief quarter hour allotted by Jusson to change into dry clothes. The king and the Lord of Mearden must’ve smoothed over the rough edges, for Idwal’s face showed nothing but goodwill and desire to serve his king. He was efficiency itself in helping the search teams form, each one made up of a hodgepodge of servants, troopers, royal guards, and aristos and their armsmen. Not to be outdone, Munir offered crew members and soldiers to help. However, his offer was turned down.

“I would’ve thought you of all people would want to avail yourself all possible resources so as to find your missing as soon as possible, Lord Idwal,” Munir said.

“I do,” Idwal began.

“Reverse it, Lord Munir,” Thadro said, interrupting. “Imagine that someone was missing in the amir’s palace. Then imagine what the amir would say if His Majesty offered the King’s Own to help search.”

Munir’s mouth quirked. “You do have a point, Sro Thadro.” He turned his gaze to Kveta. She had followed us downstairs and was now once more lying quietly on her pallet. “Too bad Sra Kveta is incapacitated. It would be so much easier for her to track them.” Sighing, he shrugged. “Both of us sidelined, by injury and politics—”

“But we do need you,” Suiden said, also interrupting.

Munir stopped mid-declaim. “You do?”

“You can help us search your ships,” Suiden said.

Kveta lifted her head from her pallet, her ears pushing forward, while Munir’s expression went from wry to wary. “You think your missing people managed to reach the docks?” he asked.

“Given the time frame, it is entirely possible that they were stowed in someone’s cart or carriage,” Suiden said. “We need to cover all eventualities.” He saw the protestations forming on Munir’s face and his green eyes glinted. “I’ve already spoken to Jasry about it—no, not about searching the ship, but about perhaps coming on board to visit old places and older friends. Imagine my surprise when she told me I had to ask you, Adeptus Munir.”

Munir blinked; then his expression evened out. “There is nothing surprising about it, Your Highness,” he said smoothly. Caefen Jasry and Her Highness were both new and untried in their positions, so His Glory asked me to keep an eye on things. Strictly in an unofficial capacity, of course, like Sro Rabbit’s position when His Majesty King Jusson sent his untried ambassador to the High Council.”

While true Jusson had asked me to help along Ambassador Berle’s efforts to secure peace with the Border, I did not control—officially or unofficially—anything. Including myself. Remembering his barked order upstairs to Princess Rajya, I eyed the wizard, wondering who actually was in charge of the Turalian embassy.

“Interesting that you know of that, Adeptus,” Wyln said, doing his own butting in.

“Not really, Sro Wyln,” Suiden said before Munir could respond. “In fact, given the extensive network of those who serve His Glory’s interests, it would be amazing if he hadn’t known. And interests and knowledge notwithstanding, we still need to search m’Aurflagrare.” He turned to Kveta. “Your ship too, Sra Kveta.”

“Yes, of course, Your Highness,” Kveta said.

Greatly aware of the king’s impatience, Idwal quickly led us in a very thorough combing of the castle. The group I was with was assigned the storage rooms in the castle’s nether regions and while we found bins filled to the brim with dried beans, lentils, peas, rice, barley and other grains, potatoes and other tubers, dried fruit and barrels of fall apples, plenty of smoked and dried meats, braids of onions and garlic hanging from rafters, wheels of cheese stacked on shelves, kegs of ale and tuns of wine, we didn’t come across Captain Javes and the rest. Finally, dusty and a little weary, we all trudged out into the courtyard where the Lord and Lady of Mearden had welcomed us to their home just yesterday. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows that plunged us into early twilight as the rest of the groups assembled. Judging from their faces, they had as much success as we did.

“I have sent messengers to the nearby farms and the word has been taken to the town constable and harbor authorities, Your Majesty,” Idwal said to Jusson. “I have also armsmen patrolling on the roads, so that just leaves the forest.”

“It’s rather late,” one of the aristos said, looking at the deepening shadows. “Perhaps we should wait until morning when we’ll have more light—”

“No,” Jusson said. The line was still between his brows and there were additional lines carved on either side of his mouth. “No waiting. If necessary, we can use dogs to search the woodlands.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Idwal said. “My huntsmen are getting them from the kennels.” He indicated a group of men dressed in forest green, some with torches under their arms. “I also have woodsmen to guide us.”

“Good,” Jusson said. Turning at the sound of hooves against paving stone, he swiftly walked over to the groomers leading horses entering the courtyard and just as quickly mounted. The shadows seemed to follow the new lines on his face, giving his countenance a saturnine cast as he stared down at us. “We will cover the entire forest and not stop until we reach either the sea or cultivated lands. Mount up and move out.” With that, he wheeled his horse and rode out of the courtyard, Thadro, Suiden, and his nobles scrambling to mount up and follow. Wyln hesitated a moment, his head turning between me and the king. Then, apparently deciding that Jusson’s need was greater, he murmured, “Stay with your guards” and, just as quickly mounting, he took off after the king with a clatter of hooves. As I gathered my own men, I saw Ryson standing off to the side and, feeling contrary, motioned to him.

“You’re with me,” I said.

“I don’t know, Rabbit,” Ryson said, eyeing the faces of the other troopers in the search group. “Maybe I should go find Groskin—”

My contrariness increasing, I slid my staff into the loops on my saddle and swung up on my horse. “It’s not a suggestion. Mount up.”

Ryson’s worried expression didn’t change, but he nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, and also swung into the saddle.

“You can’t save everybody, Rabbit,” Jeff said quietly from beside me. He and Arlis had also mounted and maneuvered their horses next to mine.

“Ryson can save his own damn self,” I said quietly back. “I just don’t want to explain to Suiden why I let Ryson be hazed—”

“I’m sure Suiden doesn’t care one way or another,” Arlis said, bored.

“He cares,” Jeff said. “But you’re not his lieutenant anymore, Rabbit.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to Suiden—”

“Ah, there you are,” Idwal said, trotting up to us on his horse. “You’re riding with me.”

“I am, my lord?” I cast a glance my group of searchers. “And the others?”

Idwal gave a glinting smile. “What I meant is that we’re all riding together. And we should hurry before His Majesty wonders where we are.” With that, he wheeled his horse and led us out the gate and down the same road where I had raced a white stag earlier. This time, though, I had a much more placid mount who was quite happy to be behind Idwal’s as we descended the tor into the wooded lands, where in the waning daylight the trees’ bare limbs rising up made me think of drowned forests. Deciding I didn’t need any more spooking, I turned my gaze from them and glanced back at folks strung out behind us on the narrow road, streaming out of the castle gate. There were twenty in our group, including Jeff, Arlis, and Ryson—twenty-one with Idwal—and as soon as we reached the bottom of the tor and the somewhat wider road, we bunched up some. Idwal stopped for a moment to talk with the huntsmen and foresters standing by the side of the road. He then gave a light tap to his horse’s side and started again, motioning for me to ride beside him. Tucking my cloak about me to ward off the late afternoon chill, I urged my horse forward.

“So you do have all four aspects,” Idwal said. His gaze flicked up to the hovering spheres before dropping down to where my ash-wood staff was fastened by loops to the saddle. He then looked at me.

Like with his daughter the night before, I had expected talk about my da or about the proposed betrothal—or both. Thrown off balance, I paused. “Yes, my lord,” I said after a moment, keeping my face blank.

Idwal must’ve caught something in my expression anyway, for he smiled. “I’ve heard rumors, Lord Rabbit, but in living by the sea I’ve learned to be skeptical of fish stories.” He cast me another glance. “I suppose, in your case, seeing is believing. Damn me if you’re not the spitting image of your grandfather—though I wonder what Lord Alain would’ve said about all the frills and furbelows you’ve decked yourself out with.”

“I wouldn’t know, my lord,” I said, my voice just as noncommittal as my face. “He died before I was born.”

“So he did,” Idwal agreed. “Died before any of Rafe’s children were born, though I understand your eldest—sister, is it? Anyway, her birth not only just missed his death, but also just made it past Rafe and Hilga’s wedding.”

Whatever my feelings were on the recently learned timing between my ma and da’s marriage and River Rain’s birth, I wasn’t about to let Idwal rummage about in them. I kept quiet.

Idwal was unperturbed by my silence. “Wonder also what he would’ve said about that,” he mused. “Just as I’ve often wondered what he would’ve said about Rafe running off and hiding in some far-flung land.”

Thinking I didn’t give a flying rip what my grandda might’ve said, I said nothing. Idwal gave another glinting smile.

“I remember when I first heard that one of Rafe’s sons had come to Iversterre and I thought, ‘That’s false, for surely, given the reason why his father left, he would know better.’ Yet here you are.”

When I didn’t answer that sally either, his smile broadened.

“Then I heard that the king had made this same son his heir and I thought, ‘Oh, no. His Majesty’s lords and advisers would never stand for that.’ Yet again, here you are, wearing the king’s colors.”

I kept my gaze between my horse’s ears and my mouth shut, and Idwal’s smile broadened more, his teeth white in the late afternoon shadows. “And then I heard that His Majesty was giving the House of Dru’s assets to his heir—”

What the effing hell? My gaze flashed to Idwal and he laughed, his hazel eyes decidedly green.

“Ah! A reaction. But is it because I know to ask, or is it because my lord Rabbit didn’t know himself?”

“Why did you invite me to Mearden?” I asked back.

“Why? Several reasons. Perhaps we’ll get to them before the visit’s over.” Idwal cast another glance at the hovering spheres. “In the meantime, try not to burn the forest down, if you can.”

With that Idwal kicked his horse, riding off the road and into the trees.

Stopping, I frowned after him, the members of our search group splitting about me to follow Lord Idwal. However, my personal guards remained, Ryson looking perplexed.

“I don’t understand,” Ryson said. “I thought he wanted you to marry his daughter.”

Jeff, Arlis, and I all looked at him. “Eavesdropping again?” Jeff inquired politely.

Ryson scowled. “No. You just hear things, is all. And the barracks was full of how we were coming here so that Rabbit could meet Lady Berenice.”

“Yeah, well, that was the rumor,” I said.

“It seems that whatever his intentions were, he’s changed his mind,” Arlis said.

Or Idwal never meant any match between Berenice and me to happen in the first place. Which meant there was another reason he had pushed so hard to get me here. Rubbing my gloved hand against my stomach, I urged my horse forward. “Right now we have more important things to worry about. Let’s go.”

As we caught up with Idwal, our search party slowed down to a walk and spread out, becoming a thin line that combed through our part of the forest, the huntsmen and foresters out before us with their torches and dogs. I kept my eyes ahead, fighting to keep my mind on the search as I scanned not only for our missing, but also for holes, roots, and other traps for the unwary in the deepening shadows on the ground. To my not so surprise, I wasn’t quite successful. But it wasn’t marriage proposals and the events of the past couple of days that my thoughts kept drifting to, or even the jabs Idwal had just thrown at me. Rather, I found myself wondering exactly what Jusson knew about Mearden’s intentions and where he himself figured in them.

“Damn it, Rabbit,” Jeff said.

Shaking myself out of my dark brooding, I withdrew my gaze from the ground and turned it on Jeff. “What?”

“Jeff said that the dogs are acting weird,” Ryson said. “And they are.”

Now that it had been pointed out, I could see that Jeff and Ryson were right. They were acting strange; there was none of the bounding exuberance of being out of the kennels and on the hunt. Instead, their tails were tucked tight, their ears flattened against their skulls, and the huntsmen had to damn near force them to go out beyond the horses. Frowning, I sat up straighter in my saddle and began searching more closely the trees and their shadows.

“If Suiden were here, he would’ve slammed you into next week for not paying attention,” Jeff said.

That was very true, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “I was paying attention,” I said, hiding my wince as the truth rune caused a stabbing pain in my palm.

“No, you weren’t,” Jeff said. “You were ignoring the dogs—and you were ignoring me. But that’s nothing new. You always ignore me.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Arlis muttered. “Here we go again.”

“I do not,” I said, ignoring Arlis. “You ignore me.”

“Did they argue like this when they were Mountain Patrollers?” Arlis asked Ryson.

“Some,” Ryson admitted.

“The hell I do,” Jeff said, ignoring Ryson. “I say something to you and you either stare through me or bite my head off. Usually both.”

“I do not bite your head off.”

“Yeah, you do,” Jeff said. “Like you did a moment ago.” He mimicked my expression. “ ‘What?’ ”

“Both of you take turns ignoring each other,” Arlis said before I could deny I’d sounded that surly. “And you both take turns aggravating the hell out of each other. Just like an old married couple.”

Jeff turned on Arlis. “Oh, sod you and your horse—”

“And like a jealous spouse, you get bent out of shape when anyone intrudes on your special relationship,” Arlis said, his face malicious.

“They’re just good mates,” Ryson said, frowning a little.

“While you’d cozy up to a midden to take advantage of the muck,” Jeff slammed back at Arlis.

I sighed, rubbing my head with my still stinging hand. “Jeff.”

Jeff gave me a hard glance before glaring back at Arlis. “In fact, you can have this trash heap. I’ll ride with the other guards.”

“Don’t bother,” Arlis said. “I’ll ride with my old patrol, so you can have Rabbit all to yourself.”

Jeff and Arlis wheeled their horses in opposite directions, leaving me with Ryson.

“You know, Rabbit, I think I should ride with my troop mates too,” Ryson said. “Before they accuse me of sucking up again.”

Before I could respond, he too rode off, leaving me alone. Well, as alone as I could be surrounded by twenty searchers, foresters, several huntsmen and their dogs, and of course, the aspects. I found myself looking at them, as if inviting comment on the spat between my personal guards. However, their only response was to shift about me, the water sphere moving out in front. With another sigh, I urged my horse forward once more to take my place in the line. The searchers on either side moved apart and I slipped in between them. They also gave me sidelong stares, but I ignored them as I resumed my scanning and brooding, thinking that my personal guards could go pound sand. I never wanted them in the first place, had never wanted to be in a position where I needed to have personal guards. I didn’t want to be Jusson’s heir, didn’t want sixty- four lines to the throne. I didn’t want anything to do with the House of Dru and whatever assets were salvaged from its fall. And I didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be married, most definitely didn’t want either Mearden or the amir as an in-law, and I didn’t want to be looking for missing friends in a forest where the huntsmen’s hounds cowered in what should be a familiar place.

I didn’t want any of this.

The thought arose again of slipping down to the town and maybe boarding the first ship leaving Iversterre. Granted the harbor was full of Idwal’s merchantmen, plus the Qarant and Turalian ships. There were also the windriders I saw arriving yesterday. But there had to be at least one ship with ties to other places. Places that would not care who I was if I were to wash up on their shore as long as I was able to pay my way. Mentally crossing off the Svlet ships, I reached under my cloak to weigh my purse and my hand brushed against the heavy one, full of the fruits of my race on Dandelion. I damn near grew light-headed as I realized that I had enough to go just about anywhere and probably still be able to establish myself wherever I chose to make landfall. And if it weren’t enough, then my back was strong. I’d started over once before without anything except the clothes I wore. I’d no problem doing the same once more.

My hands tightened on the reins of their own accord and I had started to turn my horse towards the road when a flash caught my eye. I looked up to see that the water sphere no longer hovered over my horse’s head, but had moved out a ways, as had earth on the other side. Glancing behind me, I could see that air and fire had drifted to the rear. Returning my gaze to the water sphere, I eyed it warily as I urged the horse once more towards the road. While my fat purse would ease passage in most places, there were those who didn’t care for wielders of the talent. And those who cared too much. When I left Magus Kareste and ran away to Iversterre, I just didn’t let on that I was mageborn. Now, however, I didn’t know if I could hide it, especially with all the changes that had happened to me in the past year. Including how the aspects seemed determined to manifest when and as they willed. On the other hand, there had to be ways to ditch my spheres, to cut myself off from the talent. I’d suppressed it when I’d first come to Iversterre, only to have it reassert itself when I’d come into my full power last spring. But I was stronger now, more in control. I could make the aspects obey me for once and banish them forever—

The wind shifted and the scent of the sea washed over me and I slowed before coming to a stop, frowning. I’d denied my talent once and things eventually went sideways. Denying it again was not a good idea. And running down to the harbor trying to buy passage on some strange ship while wearing my King’s Own uniform was even less intelligent. In fact, running off anywhere would be Ryson-sheep-biting stupid. Despite what I had said to Princess Rajya last night about Jusson not wanting unwilling liegemen, I had a strong suspicion that the king would be even more reluctant than Magus Kareste in letting me go—and breaking one’s indentures, while serious, did not hold a candle to breaking one’s oaths to one’s king. And there was my cyhn Wyln—and Thadro and Suiden. All who would take very poorly any disappearing on my part. A cold sweat broke out along my spine as I realized how close I’d come to being hunted down and brought back in chains.

Shivering, I quickly turned my horse once more to join the searchers, hoping that they hadn’t noticed my momentary change in direction—or if they had, didn’t realize the reason why—only to come to another complete stop.

I was alone.

Standing up in my saddle, I looked ahead, thinking that in planning my getaway maybe I had fallen behind. But though the trees had thinned, all I saw beyond the forest was harvested land left fallow for the winter. Falling back into my saddle, I scanned the trees in back of me, now thinking that maybe I’d pulled ahead. I saw no one.

Somehow I’d managed to get lost in Idwal’s forest. Or maybe not. I cast a suspicious glance at my water sphere, but it remained silent as it hovered out in front of my horse. After a moment, I tapped my horse’s sides with my heels and hurried back into the forest, my eyes and ears straining for the sights and sounds of other riders, other horses. Other than the muffled clop of my horse’s hooves against the leaf cover, though, the woods remained empty, silent, and unfamiliar. However, there was one landmark I did know. Turning my head, I could see the castle rising above the bare trees, the sun just slipping down behind it. Reorienting myself, I urged my horse towards the turreted silhouette, expecting to reach the road and catch up with my search party at any moment. But while I kept the castle before me, I saw nothing but tree trunks. The sun continued to sink until it completely disappeared and dusk settled in, bringing with it an evening breeze that caused the bare tree branches to sway in the deepening gloom. The castle was now a dark shape against the fading sky, and while I could hear the distant boom of the breakers against the cliffs, it was silent in the forest. I felt the hair on my nape rise. The Watcher was back.

Maybe.

And maybe it was just some nocturnal animal out scrounging for food. Stopping again, I listened to the oppressive silence and heard a twig snap. Remembering the dogs’ behavior, I quietly reached for my sword, my eyes straining as I searched the trees, my fire sphere casting dancing shadows. There was another moment of stillness; then several things happened at once: several men burst out from the trees, wielding swords, nets, and pikes, and a brick wall slammed into me.

I had been cut off from my aspects before, once by a sylph in Elanwryfindyll, and more recently by the demon in Freston. Both times it was done with the precision of a sharp, thin blade and I didn’t realize what had happened until afterwards. Now, however, there was no finesse involved; I could feel the effort to wretch control of the aspects from me. Contemplating giving them up, however misguided, was one thing. Having them stolen was another. Besides, they were mine. Howling in rage, I fought back both in talent and physically, my not so placid horse rearing up with a scream as I swung my sword at the rushing attackers while clutching hard at the aspects. At that moment, all the spheres winked out and the forest night fell upon us with a heavy weight.

Panting, I scrabbled after the aspects, but while I could feel them just beyond my reach, I couldn’t quite grasp hold, aware of the other talent wielder also straining for them, while all around me the attackers fumbled, as blind as I was. I heard one trip and fall, grunting as he hit the ground with a rustling thud. Controlling my shying horse with my knees, I blindly struck out with my sword again. There was the dull sound of metal hitting wood and I instinctively pulled back. But it wasn’t me who buried a weapon in a branch. Someone else got close enough to jab a pike at me and, feeling the air move close to my face, I ducked, lying along my horse’s neck. That attacker too must’ve hit a branch, for there was another dull thunk. Swinging my horse around, I started to strike out again with my sword, when there were more dull thuds.

“What the hell—?” someone said, his voice muffled and distorted as if he wore something over his mouth.

Startled, I sat up—and, feeling the swish of something moving close over my head, I ducked again, fast, while all around me the ambushers started to scream, their voices blending until they sounded like one long shriek. Up above, the first stars of the night appeared in the clear sky; down among the trees it was murky black as all around were the sounds of metal against wood as if the men were attacking the trees—and now the more disturbing sound of flesh being struck. Then, as abruptly as they began, the screams cut off, leaving the forest just as quiet as before. After a few moments of silence, I slowly sat up, sword still in hand, straining my eyes, but I couldn’t see anything. Cautiously, I reached for the aspects, and let out a silent sigh of relief when I felt their presence. Not blocked, then. I searched warily, ready to slam back at the first hint of the struggle being renewed. But the sense of the other talent wielder was gone. For now. Debating whether to resummon fire, I caught sight of a light in the distance. Taking a firmer grip on my sword, I waited as the light drew closer and I could make out a slender figure holding it.

It was Bertram, holding a lantern in front of him.

Eighteen

Jusson was coming down the tor as I was on my way back up.

I hadn’t wasted any time in the forest, but had, after a cursory inspection of the trees and ground, swung Bertram up in front of me and headed for where I’d last seen the castle. I almost immediately found the road and a short while later I left the trees and began the ascent, my horse’s hooves wearily plodding against the hard-packed dirt. As we climbed, I could see the lanterns bobbing madly as they rushed down to meet me. Jusson and I met midway in a circle of light, the king wearing his battle helm and armor and leading an army of aristos, soldiers, royal guards, and armsmen, facing me with Bertram. Jusson immediately stopped the column, his gaze resting on Bertram as I explained what had happened. But the moment the king heard “ambush” he started again.

“Ride with Thadro,” he snapped.

Keeping Bertram with me, I turned my horse and joined the lord commander—who was with Suiden and Wyln—as the column made its way back down into the forest. We were able to find the ambush site fairly quickly even though night had thoroughly fallen. In the increased light from multiple lanterns, I could see more clearly what Bertram’s single lantern had hinted: plenty of churned up leaf litter, but no people—dead or alive.

Suiden swung down from his horse to examine the ground. “Five or six attackers,” he began.

“We can see that, Captain Prince,” Jusson said, his eyes bright gold in the lantern shine.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Suiden said. Brushing away some of the leaf litter, he pulled up a pike. It was standard issue—something that foot soldiers carried the world over—except that it was painted entirely black. Wyln looked hard at it; then, making a discreet fire sphere, he lifted his head to examine the trees.

“I don’t think you were supposed to see this coming, ibn Chause,” an aristo remarked.

I didn’t think so either, but then, that was the nature of ambushes. I watched Thadro quietly pluck the pike out of Suiden’s hand and examined it before offering it to Jusson. The king waved it away, his gold eyes on me.

“What happened?” he asked.

At first there was only the normal shifting and creaking of saddles, folks falling silent as I continued my tale. However, when I got to the part where I became separated from the search party, there was a snicker or two and a muffled guffaw.

“Is that an occupational hazard, ibn Chause?” a southie lord asked, smirking. His gaze went to the castle, visible even in the night, outlined against the stars. “Getting lost in plain view of your destination?”

“Ha, ha, my lord,” I said.

“Was it because of water’s illusion, Two Trees’son?” Wyln asked over the increased laughter.

“No, honored cyhn,” I said. “At least not because of me. There was another talent wielder.”

All laughter ceased as I described the ambush, both the physical one and the one against my aspects. Following Wyln’s example, lanterns were raised as the rest of the group closely looked at the trees. There weren’t any marks on them at all—no gashes, no scratches, no nothing—and I saw more than one person bless themselves.

“Do you think this is connected with the disappearances?” another aristo asked, glancing nervously around.

I’d been eyeing the blackened pike but at the implication that our missing hadn’t been found, I looked up ready to ask. I then caught the expression on Jusson’s face and kept my questions to myself.

“Possibly,” the king said. He turned his horse full circle, examining the trees himself. “In any event, it seems that Mearden’s Watcher is alive and very much aware. If this is indeed its work. Search the area; let us see what we find.”

A wider search turned up a couple of swords and a dagger, also painted black. But that was it.

“Set guards,” Jusson said. “We’ll come back in the morning.”

Several soldiers were posted, all wearing unhappy faces, and Jusson led us back to the castle. I started to fall in with Wyln, Thadro, and Suiden again, but Jusson motioned to me to join him. As I urged my horse forward, I realized that both Jeff and Arlis were missing. As was Lord Idwal. And I hadn’t seen Ryson in the mix of garrison troopers. I cast a wary glance at Jusson—and met his gold gaze looking back.

“Become separated from your guards again and I will chain you to them,” Jusson said.

“Sire?” I asked, startled.

“This is not a game, Rabbit,” Jusson said.

“I know that—”

“Not from what I can see,” Jusson said. “You blithely wandered off, with no thought to the consequences.”

Actually I had thought about the consequences, just not soon enough. “I didn’t wander off, Your Majesty,” I began.

“Oh?” Jusson asked. “Several reported that you pulled out of the search line. That is not true?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, realizing that anything I said would dig me a deeper hole. Jusson’s face grew grimmer at my silence.

“You are my heir, Rabbit,” he said. “You cannot go around gathering rosebuds with your head stuck up your arse.”

I winced. “I know, Your Majesty,” I said.

“Pox rot it, then act like it,” Jusson said. “Right now you’re more a danger to yourself than Slevoic and his friends ever were.”

I shifted a bit, vaguely wondering whether Bertram had fallen asleep, for he was surprisingly heavy against my arm. “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said. “It was just that I was distracted—”

“No,” Jusson said, cutting me off. “Absolutely not. No excuses. None whatsoever. Especially with our missing and bespelled folk.”

“Laurel and the rest haven’t been found?” I asked.

“No,” Jusson said again, impatient. “And even if they had—” He broke off to skewer me with another look. “Do you know what would’ve happened to Mearden if that ambush had succeeded? What would’ve happened to your guards? What is going to happen because they returned without you?”

I sat up straight, alarmed. “It’s not Jeff’s fault—”

“You think I should wink at this? You think because he’s your friend I should let it slide?” Jusson asked. “Our mother the queen would’ve taken my guards’ heads off herself if they had ever misplaced me, and then she would have imprisoned me for letting it happen.” There was another flash of gold eyes. “Perhaps I’ve been too lenient with you, making allowances that never should’ve been made. That too will stop, beginning with you telling Guardsmen Jeffen and Arlis their punishment for losing the king’s heir—”

“Talent was worked, Your Majesty,” I said, desperate.

Jusson didn’t slow down. “So you said. And perhaps magic did cause you to become separated and lost. But tell me. Where were your guards when you were split off from the rest? With you?”

Apparently someone tattled about Jeff and Arlis’ spat. “They were in our group,” I began.

“That’s not what I asked,” Jusson said.

I closed my eyes. “No, Your Majesty,” I admitted. “They weren’t with me.”

“It seems that they too do not take their duties seriously,” Jusson said. “This we also will fix.”

“I don’t think it would’ve mattered where they were, sire. I was with the other riders and then I wasn’t.” I started to indicate the spheres hovering about me, then remembered that they had disappeared on me. Frowning a bit, I lowered my hand again. “And just before the ambush hit, the aspects moved into a defensive position.”

“Your guards didn’t know you were gone until they were almost back to the castle,” Jusson said. “If they were where they were supposed to be, they could’ve at the very least sounded the alarm that much sooner.”

“If the illusion hadn’t been cast—”

“We shall never know if they would’ve seen anything amiss because they weren’t there to see it,” Jusson said. He held up a hand. “Do not argue any further, Rabbit. It’s only by God’s grace and your own infernal luck that you were unharmed. They should be glad that is the case. They should be very glad.”

I fell silent, partly because of the royal threat hanging over my guards, but also because it finally sank in what Jusson had said about no one being aware of my disappearance. While I could see Arlis misplacing me in an irritated huff, it was incredible that Jeff—Master Notices Everything—hadn’t realized I wasn’t with the search group. But then, it now seemed incredible that Jeff had flounced off the way he did. Stay and make snide comments sotto voce, yes. Stay and stare holes in the back of my head, yes. Abandon his post, never. And what was even more incredible was that I let not only him do it, but Arlis too. Wondering whether Ryson had gotten rid of his sheep-biting stupidity by foisting it onto me, I shifted Bertram and scrubbed my hand against my leg, my spine tight and my gut churning at the thought of having to come up with a punishment for my best mate.

Too soon we reached the top of the tor and the castle, the sounds of our horses’ hooves against the courtyard paving stones echoing against the walls. Groomers ran up to take our horses and Jusson quickly dismounted, waiting as I set Bertram down before climbing down myself and pulling my staff from the saddle loops. He then turned and went up the stairs into the castle, with me following close behind him, pushing Bertram before me with my hand on the boy’s shoulder. Though they had stayed a discreet distance from Jusson and me as we rode up the tor road, a silent and grim- faced Thadro, Suiden, and several King’s Own neatly hemmed me in, the aristos following behind us, and we entered into the great hall with a clatter of armor, boots, and weapons.

The hall had been set up for the evening meal. Most of the pallets were gone and the injured, I supposed, moved to more comfortable quarters. In their stead were the long dining tables in neat rows, with servants moving about them as they finished the place settings. Lady Margriet and Berenice were overseeing the preparations for dinner, while Lord Idwal stood off to the side in a knot of royal guards. Princess Rajya, having escaped from her quarters, was standing with Munir in the middle of their own huddle of guards, while Kveta was on the sole remaining pallet by the fireplace, the castle healer with her. And standing surrounded by another group of King’s Own were Jeff, Arlis, and Ryson. Everyone paused, turning at our noisy entrance.

“Rabbit!” Jeff shouted, a profound look of relief on his and Ryson’s faces. He then scowled. Arlis, though, was blank- faced, his gaze more on Jusson and Thadro, than me. I looked back, my worry ratcheting up as I eyed their guards.

“You found him,” Lady Margriet said at the same time, her voice breaking. She put a steadying hand on a chair and Berenice quickly went to her mother, sliding an arm around Lady Margriet’s waist. Idwal also started to go to his wife and daughter, but the guard wall around him solidified.

Hell, I thought.

“Obviously,” Princess Rajya said to Lady Margriet.

Berenice’s eyes narrowed but before she could say anything, Lady Margriet pushed away from the chair and hurried to me in a rustle of her silk gown, her daughter still supporting her. “Are you all right, Lord Rabbit?”

I gave a quick bow. “Yes, my lady.”

“How fortunate for the casim that you are, Sro Rabbit,” Princess Rajya said, also moving towards me.

At their approach, Bertram slipped out from under my hand and went to the king, and began to help Jusson remove his armor. Surrounded, I fought the urge to step back. Way back.

“Fortunate for everyone, including our cousin,” Jusson said, his voice light in contrast to his gold eyes. Removing his battle helm, he exchanged it for his plain gold circlet Bertram presented on a cushion. Surprised, I looked around for the royal servants who brought it. I saw none. “Though fortune has not appeared to shine upon the ones who attacked him,” the king said, reclaiming my attention.

As Jusson spoke, Thadro and Suiden walked up to a table and spilled the pike, dagger, and swords onto its surface, rattling the surrounding plates. Either Jusson or Thadro must’ve given some signal, for the King’s Own surrounding Lord Idwal moved away, though the ones around Jeff, Arlis, and Ryson, remained. Going to the table to look down at the weapons, Idwal immediately raised his hand to signal a servant.

“Have my captain come here—”

“We’ve already searched for the attackers, Mearden,” Jusson said, “and have set guards over the ambush site. The morning light might yield more clues.”

Idwal slowly lowered his hand. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Seeing Idwal freed, Lady Margriet angled away from me and went to her husband’s side, leaving me with just Her Highness and Berenice. Sort of. While Jeff, Arlis, and Ryson were still guarded, a couple of King’s Own had sprouted at my back. My shoulders twitched and Ryson’s and Arlis’ faces began to show hints of worry. Jeff’s scowl, though, just deepened.

“You’re much too lenient, Your Majesty,” Princess Rajya said, noticing the changing of the guard. “My guards’ lives would be immediately forfeit if they had lost such an important charge. And if said charge was attacked, then their deaths would be talked about for all time.” She turned her head to Mearden. “As would anyone else who was involved.”

Berenice’s dark eyes reflected the flames in the fireplace. “You really don’t want to go there, Your Highness—”

“Berenice,” Idwal said. “Not now.”

Jusson ignored both father and daughter. “We trust that we know how to handle the affairs of our cousin and heir, Your Highness,” he said to Princess Rajya. Relieved of his armor, he went over to the table and picked up a blackened blade. “And the question of who is involved is wide open as magic was used.”

Worry spread to Idwal’s, Lady Margriet’s, and Berenice’s faces. Princess Rajya, however, let out a bright laugh with a sharp edge. “Like a sage’s riddle, the answer is contained in your question, Your Majesty,” she said. She waved a hand, the red on her fingernails flashing in the candlelight as she indicated the carved white stag over the hall fireplace. “This entire casim reeks of wizardry!”

Berenice moved as if she were going to go bump toes with Princess Rajya, but Idwal reached her first, gripping her arm to hold her still. “Whatever ‘wizardry’ is contained in my House, it does not lend itself to am-bushing guests, Your Highness,” Idwal said. “Trust me, it does not.”

“Ha!” began Princess Rajya. “This whole guesting has been a farce—”

“Well, that’s certainly true,” Berenice said.

“Glad you admitted it,” Princess Rajya shot back.

“Your Highness,” Munir murmured, and the princess fell silent, her eyes full of mockery. Suiden, standing with Wyln as they both examined the sword Wyln held, turned and gave a hard look at his daughter and then a longer one at Munir. The wizard didn’t notice.

“Is this ‘magical’ ambush why Sro Rabbit left with four of the major facets but returned with none, Your Majesty?” Munir asked, staring at the empty space over my shoulders.

“We don’t know,” Jusson said, putting down the sword. “We’re not a mage. But for whatever reason when Lord Rabbit was attacked, they disappeared—just like our captain, our servants, and the teacher of our cousin.”

Feeling warm in the heat flowing out of the massive fireplace, I had tugged off my gloves and started to remove my cloak, but at Jusson’s words I stopped, startled at the notion that my aspects had also been abducted—and wondering if I hadn’t noticed because I’d been blocked after all. I cautiously reached out and to my relief, I once more felt their presence, air sending a faint reverberation through my bones. I turned, expecting to see them ranged behind me. Nothing was there.

“I see,” Munir said. “Have you questioned the attackers, Your Majesty?”

“No,” Jusson said. Picking up the dagger, he made a couple of very competent passes with it. “We didn’t find any.”

“I don’t understand,” Princess Rajya said, leaving off accusing Mearden. She looked at me, noting the fact that I was without mark or scratch. “Did you fight them off, Your Majesty?”

“No,” Jusson said again before I could speak. “The fight was over and Rabbit was already on his way back to the castle when we met him.” He saw the questions forming on everyone’s faces. “Apparently it was the trees that fought them off.”

Berenice’s and Lady Margriet’s worried expressions changed to shock. “Trees?” Berenice whispered. “How could that be?” She cast an involuntary glance at the windows as all around the hall servants and ambulatory guests made warding signs against evil.

“The trees,” Idwal repeated, his own face blank. “They defended Lord Rabbit?”

“But trees don’t fight,” Princess Rajya said. “Do they?”

“They did in our last war with the Border,” Jusson said. “Helped take apart what little remained of our army after the Faena were through with it—” He stopped, the lines on his face deepening as he realized what he’d admitted in front of the Turals.

“I don’t think the events of an old war fought in our grandfathers’ time matter much now, sire,” an aristo said.

“Not everyone’s grandfathers,” Munir said before Jusson could respond. “Right, Sro Wyln?”

“Yes, I fought in the last war,” Wyln said absently. Setting down the one sword, he picked up the other. “I fought in all the wars started by the human kingdom. What of it?”

It was Jusson’s turn to speak before Munir could respond. “Nothing. None of it has anything to do with what’s happening here.” He put the knife back on the table. “Right now, we’re more interested in the failed attack. It seems that your Watcher is more than a story, Mearden.”

“I—” Lord Idwal ran a shaking hand over his face. “So it seems, Your Majesty.”

“Of course, the question about who the attackers were does remain,” Jusson said. “Despite sages’ riddles.”

“The Svlet sailors seemed hostile towards ibn Chause, Your Majesty,” an aristo offered.

“So they did,” Jusson agreed. “But they’re locked in the castle dungeon, and on the off chance that a few did evade Mearden’s excellent captain, how did they know where to find Rabbit? It had to be someone who not only knew that Rabbit was out searching, but also knew where he was searching.”

Princess Rajya stiffened at all the side glances that came her way. “Why on earth would I try to kill someone I’d just proposed a marriage alliance to?”

“Perhaps it’s someone who doesn’t wish to see you married?” another aristo suggested.

There was a moment of silence as eyes now slid to Berenice.

“That would explain the lack of bodies,” Princess Rajya murmured. “People familiar with the forest were able to drag them off.”

“No,” Berenice said. She impatiently waved away Princess Rajya’s accusation. “We would not poison our House by dealing such treachery and betrayal.”

“Truth, Your Majesty,” Lord Idwal said. “It would destroy our very foundation.”

“It would certainly destroy something,” Jusson said. “In any event, the bodies weren’t dragged off, as far as we could tell. Granted, night had fallen by the time we arrived and morning may tell a different tale, but from what we could see, there wasn’t any trail leading to or from the ambush site—”

“Perhaps the lack was because the attackers were phantasms,” Wyln said, looking up from the blackened sword.

There was another, longer pause. Kveta, still lying on her pallet, raised her head to stare at the enchanter.

“It is amazing how you always manage to come up with the most worrisome scenarios, Lord Wyln,” Jusson said into the quiet. “First Damned Ones in Freston and now murderous ghosts wielding knives, swords, and pikes.”

“Can ‘phantasms’ carry swords and knives?” Thadro asked carefully.

Wyln flipped the sword over to show a marking at the blade’s base near the hilt that was camouflaged by the blackening. “A summoning rune,” the enchanter said, tapping it with one slender finger. “Used by a competent earth or air master, it can summon all sorts of things, including specters that interact with the physical world with ease.”

Jusson looked down at the dagger in his hand and, finding the same rune, gently put it back on the table.

“But why would anyone go through the trouble of summoning phantom attackers, when flesh and blood would work just as well?” Lord Idwal asked, frowning.

“Perhaps whoever it was didn’t have access to hired men,” Wyln said. He turned his head, staring hard at Munir. “Or the men he had access to were easily recognizable. Could that not be the case, battle mage?”

I recalled the very brief glimpse I got of the ambushers’ faces before my fire sphere winked out. “They weren’t Turalians, honored cyhn,” I began.

“Of course they weren’t,” Munir said. “As Her Highness has said, why would I harm a potential member of the amir’s casim? Do not point the finger at me, Enchanter. For all my nom’clatura, I am human, unlike you, and unlike you I have no axe to grind against either this kingdom or Sro Rabbit’s forbearers. And while I might have served as a wizard of the Army of the Sun, I’m not the only one who has gone to war at the orders of his Abbe. From what I’ve heard, some of the things you have done in the last war between the Border and Iversterre are now the songs of troubadours.”

Wyln shrugged. “What foreign bards choose to sing about does not concern me. However, oaths and family are of paramount importance; none of His Grace Loran’s line would break faith by harming one we have pledged ourselves to. Nor would we try to destroy our cyhn and heirs because we find them speaking inconvenient truths about concubines and other leeches.”

“His Grace’s line?” Munir repeated, his face affable, his own dark eyes flashing. “You mean the one who lost one realm but is trying to gain another by unchallenged declarations and forced adoptions of grown men?”

“While interesting,” Jusson said, leaning against the table full of runic weapons, “this does not get us any closer to who attacked Rabbit and, just as important, where our missing are.”

Both Munir and Wyln slew around to the king. Munir recovered first, sweeping an arm-waving bow at Jusson.

“My humblest apologies, Your Majesty,” he said, coming up for air. “In any case, Sro Wyln’s speculations are moot as my major facet is neither air nor earth—”

“Who said you yourself did it?” Wyln asked. “I know of at least two competent air mages who are on your ship—and I’m sure you’ve learned how to delegate the more unpleasant tasks.”

“Caefen Jasry would not allow her ship’s forecasters to be used for court purposes, Sro Wyln,” Suiden said, his gaze still on Munir.

“Perhaps not, Your Highness,” Wyln said. “But has she said that those two were the only workers of the talent on board?”

Suiden dragged in a breath and let it out. “No,” he said. “No, she has not—”

“Our people have nothing to do with the attack on Sro Rabbit!” Princess Rajya said, glaring at Wyln. “Stop trying to shift the blame on us!”

“Our cousin has said that his attackers did not look to be Turalian, Lord Wyln,” Jusson said, his voice mild.

“They did not, Your Majesty,” I said.

“The Empire of the Sun is wide and encompasses many peoples, Iver’son,” Wyln began.

“Not from the Empire either, honored cyhn,” I said. “They were from a much more northern clime with fair skin and hair.”

“Like Iversterre?” Princess Rajya asked. “Or even perhaps from the Border?”

Kveta gave a low growl as her ears went back against her skull, but Jusson ignored the princess.

“According to you, Lord Wyln,” Jusson said, “the attackers might not have been from any worldly kingdom at all—”

“They looked pretty much of this world to me, Your Majesty,” I said, beating Wyln. I thought back to the site of the ambush and the dull thuds of flesh being hit. “They screamed like they were too.”

“Screamed?” Lady Margriet asked, her voice faint. Lord Idwal went to her, placing his arm around her.

“I see,” Jusson said. “Still, there’s the fact that no one was found—”

“Remember the runes, Iver’son,” Wyln said. “Corporeal or not, the ambushers could’ve been sent and then resummoned to whoever sent them.”

“A foul deed done in a foul place!” Princess Rajya said. Moving to Suiden, she tugged on his sleeve. “This wicked casim is not for you. Come home, Father. Come home and take your rightful place—”

“Rightful place, Daughter?” Suiden asked, his hand covering hers, stilling it. “And what is that?”

“You are crown prince—”

“The amir has other sisters who have sons,” Suiden said. “Let His Glory choose one of them.”

“No!” Princess Rajya’s other hand came up to clutch at her father’s arm. “There is no other! Hlafakyri i’alDraconi—”

“Your Highness,” Munir said again, his gaze on those frowning at the unfamiliar terms. But it was too late.

“Hlafakyri i’alDraconi?” Berenice asked.

“Dragon King,” Jusson said.

“A ceremonial title,” Munir said smoothly.

“Is it?” Jusson asked. “Well, ceremonial or not, Suiden is mine and I will consider any attempt to remove him from me an act of war.”

“And keeping the crown prince of Tural from his people is not an act of aggression?” Munir asked, moving to stand with Her Highness, both of them bracketing Suiden.

“His people?” Jusson asked back. “Not his uncle the amir’s?”

“As with any ruler, the amir is the people of Tural,” Munir began.

“But His Glory is not the people of Iversterre, and it was to the throne of this kingdom that Suiden made his oaths,” Jusson said. “Are we correct, Captain Prince?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Suiden said. “To the throne and to yourself.” He removed his arm from his daughter’s clutch and captured both her hands in one of his, holding them in a gentle but firm grip. “You say you want me to come home, Daughter. But I am home and have been for the last twenty years. I am not going back to Tural. Ever.”

“There are older oaths, Father,” Princess Rajya said. “Older than any given to any king, human, elf, or otherwise. Older than any given to even the amir. Nocerei. Hlafakyri i’alDraconi. Your place is with your people, nowhere else. If you want close ties to Iversterre, it can be arranged. Have I not made an offer for the boy? If I’m not suitable, you have other daughters. Even a son, if Sro Rabbit is so inclined—”

There was a brief burst of incredulous laughter from my former troopmates, while Berenice’s merry smile flashed.

“Oh?” she murmured. “What did happen last night, my lord?”

“Nothing.” I saw Berenice’s merriment increase. “And I’m not inclined at all.”

“Why is Adil being offered?” Suiden asked, ignoring my denials.

Her hands still held in Suiden’s, Princess Rajya looked disconcerted. “No special reason, Father—”

“Never mind your son, Your Highness,” Lord Idwal said, his arm dropping from his wife as he frowned. “I want to know about last night.”

“Older oaths than the amir’s, Your Highness?” Jusson asked at the same time, his voice rising a bit as he spoke over Idwal. “Does His Glory know that?”

Princess Rajya turned her disconcerted look on the king. “His Glory is well aware of what we’re doing—”

“Why don’t I believe that?” Berenice said, her merry smile turning into something sharper and harder.

“Believe as you will,” Princess Rajya said, making a recovery. “But I’m not in the habit of telling falsehoods—”

“Now, that I truly don’t believe, Ambassador,” Berenice said.

“—unlike some,” Princess Rajya said. Her smile was just as sharp. “Tell me, did you get all your tasks done last night?”

Lord Idwal’s frown changed. “Berenice?”

“I was just as productive as you apparently were, Your Highness,” Berenice said. Her wicked eyes found me. “Right, Lord Rabbit?”

“Daughter?” Suiden asked, his gaze also going to me.

“Uhm,” I said, profound as I tugged on my suddenly tight collar.

“All this is interesting, but again has nothing to do with the issues at hand,” Jusson said.

“Perhaps if you were to get rid of the sackcloth dresses you’d have more success,” Princess Rajya suggested, ignoring the king.

“Why?” Berenice asked. “I am the only child of a very prosperous lord of the realm—”

“Only a middling House, though,” an aristo chimed in.

“—and I can dress the way I want to.”

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Princess Rajya said.

“What?” Jusson asked, distracted.

“Use your eyes, Your Majesty,” Princess Rajya said. “Sra Berenice is not the frump she seems.”

“While you’re exactly as you seem,” Berenice said.

“If he could be taken away, then you didn’t really have him to begin with,” Princess Rajya said.

“What the pox-rotted hell are you talking about?” Jusson asked, distracted more.

“I don’t know, Your Majesty, but I will definitely find out,” Idwal said.

“Yes,” Suiden said. He glanced over where Ryson and my personal guards were under . . . well, guard.

“You were with Lieutenant Rabbit last night, Trooper Ryson?”

Ryson cast me a wild glance as he snapped to attention. “Sir!”

“What happened?” Suiden asked.

“Nothing happened, sir,” I said.

“Sir, nothing of importance, sir!” Ryson said at the same time.

“ ‘Nothing of importance’?” Jusson asked, thoroughly caught up, his gaze going from Ryson to me. “Did you leave something out of your recounting last night, Cousin?”

Munir gave a soft chuckle. “Perhaps the ambushers were really fathers and brothers coming to exact an accounting with Sro Rabbit.”

Wyln glanced down at the rune on the blackened sword he still held. “Unlikely,” he said, his face serious. “They would’ve had to have been talent wielders.”

“Didn’t I hear that Iversterre has rediscovered wizardry?” Munir asked.

Wyln stared at Munir, then turned that stare on me. “Hmm.”

“No,” I said. “They were not anyone’s family members. And I didn’t leave anything out, Your Majesty, because nothing happened.”

“Describe ‘nothing,’ Lieutenant,” Suiden said.

“And exactly where and when did this nothing happen?” Idwal asked. “And why is my daughter involved in it?”

Wondering how the hell we got from ambushments and world politics to my evening on the broad walk last night, I scrubbed my hand against my tabard and cast a glance at Berenice and Princess Rajya. Her Highness looked her usual delicately exotic self, her smooth dark skin and near black eyes reflecting the flames from the fireplace. And while Berenice’s ugly dress was definitely worse for wear, she herself was magnificent, the hair curling out of her snood emphasizing her large eyes and graceful neck, her ugly dress emphasizing her elegant spine and incredible figure. Even the bruise on her cheek didn’t distract but gave her a fierce look. Once more feeling surrounded, I waited a moment to see if either would explain her part in the goings-on but they remained silent, watching me with near identical expressions of deep interest on their faces.

“Rabbit?” Jusson asked.

Dragging in a deep breath, I opened my mouth. However, at that wonderfully opportune moment, the dinner gong sounded. Everyone turned to see Lady Margriet standing by the gong. Seeing that she had our attention, she gave her vivacious smile.

“Please be seated. Dinner is served.”

Nineteen

At first I thought Jusson was going to refuse to dine in the hall—and apparently he thought so too. He had started to shake his head when it occurred to him exactly what awaited him in his chambers. And who did not. Glancing up as if he could see through the ceiling to his chambers and the ensorceled sleepers, he allowed himself to be escorted to the same place he had sat the night before, everyone else sitting as they could, no one making any effort to change their clothes. But then, there was really no one to impress; only the castle guests were in attendance. Still, with the aristos, the Turalians, royal guard, Royal Army, and Captain Kveta, the hall was more than half-full of silent, rumpled guests.

Including me.

To my surprise and dismay, I was seated between Lord Idwal and Lady Margriet, the two Own crowding at my back. (After a murmured conference, it was decided that Jeff, Arlis, and Ryson would sit with the rest of the extraneous royal guard at their own lower table.) To my further dismay I also sat across from Wyln and Suiden. Wyln was distracted during the meal, staring at the blackened weapons that had been moved to a small table, with two more King’s Own standing guard over them. However, Suiden divided his gaze between Munir, his daughter, and me—which made me keep my head down, communing with my plate.

The rest of the king’s party were scattered around me, with Jusson on the other side of Lord Idwal, Thadro next to Suiden. Berenice sat on the other side of her mother and the few times I’d glance past Lady Margriet to Berenice, I mostly caught the back of her head and line of her cheek as she conversed quietly with the aristo on her other side. Once, though, I saw Berenice lifted her gaze to Princess Rajya sitting next to Suiden, the dark bruise along Berenice’s cheekbone underlining the silent stare she gave Her Highness. Unfazed, Princess Rajya stared back with a faint smile, and I thought of the quiet of battlefields and storms before all hell broke loose.

And over by the fireplace Kveta remained on her pallet. While the she-wolf was still debilitated by her injury, her brown eyes were clear and her appetite hearty as she delicately demolished her food.

Jusson also ate his food in short order, quickly working through the first course and shaking his head at all of the second-course dishes offered him. Lady Margriet, taking the royal hint, whispered to a servant. A few moments later, the stream of dishes from the kitchen dried up and Idwal signaled the end of the meal. I already was poised to spring up—and not just to avoid my former captain. The time I hadn’t spent worrying about fathers and daughters I’d spent trying to come up with punishments for Jeff, Arlis, and Ryson that would be heavy enough to satisfy Jusson but light enough not to leave scarring and I was anxious for Groskin to return so I could pick his brain. Judging by the shifting of the other guests, they too were ready to leave the table. But before we could make our excuses and escape, there was a chord of music and the strolling musicians, jugglers, and acrobats from the fair strolled, juggled, and tumbled into the great hall.

“Oh, dear,” Lady Margriet said. “With all the excitement I’d forgotten that I had engaged them to play for us tonight.” She looked past me to Jusson. “If you wish, I can dismiss them, Your Majesty.”

For one brooding moment, Jusson looked as though he was ready to assign the lot of them—along with recalcitrant heirs and other annoyances—to the darkest, deepest dungeon he had available. But Thadro had arisen to stand behind the king and he now bent and spoke in Jusson’s ear. The king then let out a long sigh.

“No, let them continue, Lady Margriet,” he said, rising from the table. “We shall be conferring with our nobles and officers, but the rest will probably appreciate a little distraction.”

Lady Margriet brightened. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said as she and the rest of us rose.

“Perhaps some refreshment, Margriet,” Lord Idwal suggested.

Nodding, Lady Margriet turned to signal to the castle steward. But at that moment Bertram appeared, followed by servants with trays of goblets and steaming pitchers. They in turn were followed by more servants with more trays, this time containing a variety of miniature desserts. The dinner guests also brightened and hurriedly took filled goblets and as many sweets as they could politely hold. There was a moment of reverential silence as the first sip and bite were taken; then a collective sigh sounded over the music as faces turned sublime.

“No wonder you keep him close,” Princess Rajya murmured. Controlling a start, I turned and saw that she had ditched both her father and Munir and was now standing next to me. She took a healthy draft from her goblet. “He would be exalted in my casim.”

I took a sip of my own hot drink and tasted honey, spice, milk, and something that warmed me down to my toes. For the first time since that morning I began to relax and though my immediate problems didn’t disappear, they did fade somewhat into the distance. I ambled away from the discreet bustle of the servants clearing the tables, heading towards where other servants were setting out chairs, not caring (much) that Her Highness ambled along with me, her slippers silent against the stone floor. Jusson’s crowned chair had somehow made it down from his chambers and the king sat, gesturing Lord Idwal, Thadro, and the rest of the conferees to do the same. Suiden was not with them; while Princess Rajya had escaped, Munir had not. The captain and the wizard were talking with two of what looked like senior Turalian soldiers flanking them. The wizard’s face was earnest as he spoke while Suiden’s expression remained bland—to the uninitiated. To one who’d served under him for five years, it was full of peril and I decided that, mellow-making drink or not, the farther away from them both, the better.

Seeing the direction of my gaze, Princess Rajya gave a soft laugh. “I judged it wise to give them space.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” I said.

Wyln was another one not with the king. The enchanter was talking to Kveta over at the fireplace, maybe trying to get information on talent workers in the crew of the m’Aurflagrare. On the other side of the hall, Lady Margriet and Berenice were standing together, the vivacious smile gone from Lady Margriet’s face as she spoke to her daughter. As I watched, Her Ladyship reached out and gently grasped Berenice’s chin, forcing her daughter to look at her. Thinking that was another conversation I’d no desire to be a part of, I turned at a slight commotion at the entrance to the hall and saw Groskin, the armsmen captain Remke, and several troopers and aristos’ armsmen enter. Captain Remke immediately joined his lord at Jusson’s klatch. Groskin, though, stopped as his gaze fell on Jeff, Ryson, and Arlis still under guard. Frowning, he started towards them but was intercepted by an Own who directed him also towards the king’s conference. Those speaking immediately stopped, their gazes fixed on Groskin and Remke. But apparently they had as much success searching the town and harbor as we had in the castle and environs as Groskin shook his head. Jusson’s expression darkened.

“I wish there was someplace private to converse without a thousand ears listening,” Princess Rajya said, reclaiming my attention.

“You might have to fight His Majesty,” I said, “but I’m sure Lady Margriet could show you and Suiden a place to talk—”

“I don’t think my father would agree either,” Princess Rajya said, her mouth wry. “I couldn’t have made a bigger mess of that if I tried. As I’ve also misstepped with you.”

I made a noncommittal noise, my gaze returning to Jusson. The king was now listening to his nobles speak; however, whatever they were saying wasn’t giving him any joy either, and the lines that showed up after Cais’ disappearance were very much in evidence. They didn’t make him look old—or even look his age. What they did do was give him a dark and forbidding cast, reminding me forcibly of a triptych I’d once seen of a long ago dark elf high king, whose reign was still talked about in whispers. His vicinity was another place I least wanted to be, but I figured it would be worse if I stayed away. Chugging the last of my drink for courage, I started his way.

Princess Rajya changed directions with me, amusement flashing over her face. “No chivalrous protestations of how I’m being too hard on myself? That I was, in fact, the essence of subtlety and eloquence?”

I dragged my mind back to the princess. “I think you know yourself best, Your Highness,” I said.

Princess Rajya’s smile changed, becoming more real. “You are being wasted on this provincial place, Sro Rabbit. You would more than hold your own in His Glory’s court.” Finishing her own goblet, she set it on a passing servant’s tray and snagged another one for herself. “In fact, that’s why I would like to find a private place. I would like to tell you more about my home and family, and to talk about yours. I heard you were tutored by a dragon?”

“Not exactly, Your Highness,” I said. “Our ma and da saw to our schooling, with Brother Paedrig picking up the slack. Though Dragoness Moraina did teach me chess.”

“You played chess with a dragon?” Princess Rajya asked, her voice careful.

“Well, mostly I lost to honored Moraina,” I said, grinning. I was suddenly homesick for the dragoness’ lair and the sight of her toothy smile as she arranged the board, her talons clicking against the pawns, rooks, and other pieces carved of semiprecious stone as she spoke of beginnings and endings, and how the latter were created in the former.

Princess Rajya drew in a breath and let it out. “Ah,” she said softly. “To be dragon-taught. You know, m’Kyri Draconi once ruled Tural.”

“Dragon lords, Your Highness?” I guessed.

“Yes,” Princess Rajya said. “It was a golden age for us, full of discovery and innovation, full of poetry and music and art—full of life. But one day m’Kyri left and in their leaving came the wars and power struggles. Now, instead of poetry, instead of art, we have carpets and conquest. I truly think that much of our ‘expansion’ is us trying to find our lords again—” She broke off, frowning.

“There are dragons in the Border,” I began, then stopped myself, glancing over my shoulder at Wyln and Kveta. Fortunately in the din the enchanter and wolf didn’t hear me point the Turals at the Border in their quest to find their missing overlords.

“Though noble, they’re not the same,” Princess Rajya said. “M’Kyri were shape-shifters, able to change from dragon to man—”

It was Her Highness’ turn to break off again, this time resting a red-tipped finger across her lips.

“Like your father?” I asked anyway. “Hlafakyri i’alDraconi you called him, right? What is he supposed to be? King of these dragon lords? Is that why you all of a sudden want him back? So he can usher in another golden age?”

“Our reasons are varied,” Princess Rajya said, her voice cool.

“Maybe so,” I said, shrugging. “But while I hold both honored Moraina and Captain Suiden in very high esteem, dragons do not make good rulers. Excellent advisers, yes. Kings and emperors, no.”

“That is your opinion,” Princess Rajya said, her voice colder.

“I grew up with them, Your Highness,” I said. “They do not think like us. Their tempers, their passions, their attachments, their worldview are all very different.” Beginning with the fact that they were at the top of the food chain and were determined to stay there. “Most are amused or bored by us and don’t bother. Dragoness Moraina does involve herself in the politics and affairs of the Weald and beyond, but even she is unpredictable.”

“My father is not inconsistent, nor capricious,” Princess Rajya said, her voice full of frost.

“That’s not what I meant,” I said. “Dragons are incredibly consistent. They are true to themselves, to what they believe, and to what they hold dear much more than we can ever be. It’s we who don’t understand them.” I shrugged again. “Poke a hornet’s nest with a stick and you know what will happen. Poke a dragon, though, and you have a cosmos full of possible reactions, all of which would make perfect sense to the dragon. Thing is, you couldn’t predict which one it would be.” I gave a crooked smile. “Imagine having someone like that on the Sun Throne, with all the might, power, and reach of the Empire.”

Princess Rajya was silent, the air crackling with ice around her.

“You’re right,” I said despite the deep freeze. “The captain is consistent and constant too. But though he’s a grown man, he’s also a very young dragon.” Especially as dragons lived well into their second millennium, sometimes even reaching a third. “As his second nature matures, he will become more—” I groped for a word. “Other, I suppose.”

Princess Rajya remained silent a couple of moments, then gave a slight bow. “We will talk later.” With a whisper of her slippers, she was gone.

Thinking that went as well as her offer of various siblings had done with me, I turned and watched Princess Rajya work her way to her father. Munir must’ve gone elsewhere, for Suiden was alone with the Turalian soldiers, also watching as his daughter approached. Then he shifted his emerald green blazing dragon gaze to me and I found myself taking a step back. Resemblances to tryptychs aside, safety lay with the king, and I quickly started that way again—only to run into Lord Idwal’s forest green stare. I faltered for a step or two, then came to a halt.

“Hard to know which way to turn, isn’t it?” a voice said in my ear, and I shifted to see Munir standing by my side.

Great. First Her Highness and now the wizard. I bowed politely. “I give you good evening, Lord Munir.”

Munir grinned. “Ah, so polite. It is gratifying to see young ones minding their manners. Even as their world is turning on its ear.”

“Yes, my lord,” I said, smiling back. “My ma taught me to always show the graybeards proper respect.”

Munir’s eyes began to gleam just as Princess Rajya’s had a very short while ago. “Very good, tiro. Very good, indeed. We really must sit down and talk.”

Having avoided Princess Rajya’s suggested private twosome, I had no intention of being snagged by Munir. About to use Jusson as a very real and present danger, I glanced over at the king. But just then a gaggle of acrobats swept between us. They and the jugglers and musicians were still working the hall. They were very good, the musicians providing music for the juggling and tumbling, and launching into slightly ribald songs about bold damsels and chance- met travelers when the others of the troupe rested. Waiting impatiently as the acrobats were finishing a complicated set of tumbles, jumps, and contortions, I caught sight of someone with dark clothes and smooth, pale skin moving behind them. Then the crowd shifted again and he was gone from view.

“In fact, if you have time now—”

“I beg pardon, Lord Munir,” I said absently, cutting the wizard off. “I see someone I have to talk to.”

Setting down my goblet, I plunged into the crowd. I once more caught a glimpse of the pale man but as I approached, he moved away, his back towards me as he wove through guests and servants, heading for a side door. I picked up my pace but he disappeared through it before I could reach him. I slowed, then came to a halt at the door and had started to peer inside, when I became aware of someone behind me. Several someones. Not only had my new guards followed me, but also a good handful of my former troop mates and other King’s Own. Apparently Jeff and Arlis’ plight after losing me had made an impression.

“Lieutenant?” one of the Own asked.

“There’s this person I keep seeing,” I said as I stepped inside a corridor, small and dim.

“Perhaps a servant, sir?” another Own suggested, his voice reasonable. “This is a service corridor.”

He was probably right. My face flushing slightly, I had started back out when I caught movement towards the end of the hall. Whoever it was stood in shadow, his clothes blending into the darkness, his face a pale blur. He held his hand up, waving it back and forth, and it took a moment for me to realize that he was holding something that was very familiar.

It was my feather that I’d lost in the anvea wind-storm.

I immediately took off running, the bootsteps of the others sounding behind me. The dark figure at the end waited until I was about halfway towards him, before he moved, seeming to fade into the shadows. However, when I reached the end of the corridor, I discovered that it continued at a right angle. Stopping and peering around the corner, I saw the pale man standing a ways down it, his face still a blur. As soon as he saw me, he lifted up the feather again.

“Hell’s bells,” a Mountain Patroller whispered.

“Yeah,” another agreed. “Maybe we should go get someone.”

I glanced at a King’s Own. “Go tell Thadro or Suiden.”

As the guard ran back to the hall, the pale man took a step backwards. I followed a step, then stopped. He didn’t move. I moved forward another step. He remained still. I took a third step, and he turned and ran, and I took off once again after him.

It was reminiscent of the wild run I did in Freston. But instead of racing horses through alleys and back gardens, we ran through that hallway, and then another, and another, crossing other corridors, going up stairs, down stairs, around corners, with the pale man always just ahead, his steps light and damn near soundless, his form fading in and out of the shadows. Turning one more corner, we burst out onto the same broad walk where first Berenice and then the princess and I had dallied. Crossing the paving stones, he leapt up onto the parapet and stopped, perfectly balanced. Barely visible in the thin moonlight, he turned to face me and once more held the feather up.

“You,” I said. “You’re the one who was spying.”

In the dim moonlight I thought I saw him smile as he once more waved my feather at me. My gaze riveted on it, I took a step forward and a guard stopped me. “Careful, sir,” he said. “He may have a knife.”

There was no telltale glint of metal, but remembering the blackened dagger, I halted. The pale man held up his other hand, fingers spread wide to show that it was empty. The guards and troopers formed a loose semicircle, some doing their own smiling as their hands rested on their swords. I stepped closer—and was knocked back hard enough to lift me off my feet.

“What the sodding hell!”

The shouting voices were muffled by the wind roaring around me as I hung in midair. Fighting to escape the whirlwind, I reached for air and the aspect appeared, only to spin around me in dizzying swirl as control of it was wrenched from my grasp. Struggling to gain it back, I felt something prying at my edges, pulling me out of shape. I raised my ash-wood staff to slam it against the paving stones, but the same something yanked it from my grip and the staff and air sphere orbited around each other as they also spun around me. Terrified, I cried out, my words snatched out of my mouth and swallowed by the wind as I hung helpless. The pressure outward increased and a second streak joined the air sphere, vivid against the night. Fire. Followed by another, reflecting the stars. Water. And finally one that filled the whirlwind with the smell of forests and fall orchards. Earth. My fingertips streaming in the wind, I wildly snatched at the water, but missed. I tried again, this time catching hold of earth. Both hands closed tight over it.

Once before during a desperate fight I had taken hold of an earth sphere and had a goddess speak to me. This time Lady Gaia remained silent, but I could feel a rumble, faint at first, but quickly growing in strength. Suddenly, it was as if two strong hands reached up and grabbed my ankles, pulling me down. The whirlwind about me intensified and for a long moment I strained between the two, with the wind pulling up and apart, and the earth pressing in and down. The stones of the castle began to groan, and in the distance I could hear the town church bells ringing as the ground shook. Then just as swiftly as it began, the whirlwind stopped and I fell to the paving stones, landing on my hands and knees, gasping for breath. Hearing running footsteps, I looked up to see Bertram speed past in a near blur and rushed at the shadowy figure still poised on the parapet. Before he could reach him, though, the pale man did a back flip into the air, disappearing from view. Pushing to my feet, I also rushed to the parapet and looked down. The pale man and my feather were gone.

There was a moment of silence. The shaking and rumbling had stopped and the church bells had ceased ringing, though dust and overtones from both seemed to hang in the air. Turning away from the parapet, Bertram hurried to me, his normally glowing face drawn in worry. There were footsteps that sounded behind me and I spun around to see the King’s Own I’d sent for help, along with Thadro, Suiden, Lord Idwal, Munir, Wyln, several aristos, more Own and troopers, castle armsmen, a Turalian soldier or two, and of course, Jusson.

“Well,” Munir said. “That was certainly interesting.”

Twenty

We were all back in the great hall. Soldiers and armsmen had searched diligently outside the castle, but the pale man was not found, dead or alive. The acrobats and other entertainers had been questioned but none even remembered seeing the shadowy figure, let alone claimed him as one of theirs. The castle servants likewise had been questioned, and they also claimed no knowledge. I now stood before Jusson, the King’s Own, and Mountain Patrollers who followed me out to the broad walk standing with me. My entire body ached as if I had been pummeled by a marauding army. Judging by the careful stances by the others, I wasn’t the only one. Many bore scrapes and bruises from being blown about by the same whirlwind that held me captive, and an Own lay on a pallet next to Kveta, dazed from being slammed into a wall. Jusson’s gaze wandered over the battered guards while I explained why I had thought it a good idea to chase a stranger through unfamiliar hallways in a castle not my own—after being ambushed in the forest.

“He had my feather, Your Majesty,” I said.

Jusson sat in his crowned chair, his elbows resting on its arms, his hands folded over his flat stomach with his feet thrust out as his gaze returned to me, his eyes bright gold.

“And so you didn’t think it wise to come to us to help you retrieve it?” Jusson asked quietly.

“If he had, Iver’son, then you most likely wouldn’t have found this person,” Wyln said before I could answer. My cyhn stood next to me. Of the king’s retinue and castle guests, he was the only one. On either side of the impromptu throne facing me stood Thadro and Suiden, with Jusson’s nobles arrayed behind them, all of them looking very unhappy. Princess Rajya, Munir, Lord Idwal, Lady Margriet, and Berenice also gave me wide berth, just in case the king’s anger spilled over.

“Oh?” Jusson asked, his gold gaze flashing to Wyln. “And why is that?”

“Because, from Two Trees’son’s account, it appears as if it was someone who was very skilled in the air aspect,” Wyln said.

“And therefore someone who can melt into thin air?” Thadro asked, looking momentarily intrigued.

“I suppose you could call it that,” Wyln said.

“Or perhaps he is part of those who ambushed Rabbit,” Suiden said. He nodded at the blackened weapons still piled on a table. “The ones who used the runes to escape.”

Kveta made a soft woof as she turned her head to the captain.

“That is also very possible, Your Highness,” Wyln said.

“Regardless of who or what this person is, if Rabbit had done what he should’ve, he would not have had to fight for his life,” Jusson said. “But not only did he endanger himself, he caused harm to those around him, shaking the very foundations of the castle in his efforts to win free.” His gaze returned to me. “We’ve had this conversation, Cousin. Several times.”

My spine stiffened at the king’s use of the royal “we.”

“Actually, you told him not to shake off his guards, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, “and that he didn’t do. Besides, if Rabbit hadn’t gone after this person, we wouldn’t have known there was another wizard actually in the castle until perhaps too late.”

Jusson stopped, sliding a look at the captain.

“What concerns me is that he does have Lieutenant Rabbit’s feather,” Thadro said. “What mischief can he work with it?”

“Plenty,” Wyln said.

“If he’s alive,” Suiden said. “Wizard or not, that’s a long drop.”

“Oh, he survived it all right,” Thadro said. “You heard Lord Wyln. Air mage. Besides, there was no body—”

Jusson rapped the arm of his chair and Suiden and Thadro fell silent, blinking at the king. Jusson drew in a breath.

“But I don’t understand,” Princess Rajya said. “If Rabbit is so strong in the facets, how could this other wizard overpower him?”

“He has had very little training,” Wyln said. “And even the most powerful and skillfully trained can be overcome if taken by surprise.” He frowned at me. “Still, you know better, Two Trees’son. Earth against air, and if you must, then water.”

“Yes, honored cyhn,” I muttered.

“According to Rabbit, he did use earth,” Thadro said.

“So he did,” Wyln said. “Eventually.”

“The problem is, trained or not, Rabbit doesn’t think like a wizard,” Suiden said. “He thinks like a soldier and responds as a soldier. Most times, his wizardry seems to happen by accident.”

“Understandable,” Princess Rajya said, her own gaze appraising. “But then, the trick is whether he can set aside being a soldier long enough to become a wizard?”

“No,” Wyln said. “The trick is to become both—”

Jusson rapped the chair arm a little harder, and Suiden and Her Highness now blinked at the king, while a line appeared between Wyln’s brows. Jusson waited a moment. He then opened his mouth to speak.

“It’s probably just as well this feather was taken,” said one southern aristos, a hint of disdain on his face that I hadn’t seen since Mayor Gawell sneered at me in Freston. “It is a pagan symbol gifted by a pagan priest.”

“A symbol that the demon was anxious to get away from ibn Chause,” another southie said. “Remember? It protected him and it protected those of us who were dying and already dead.”

“Protected?” Lord Idwal asked.

“ ‘Dying and already dead’?” Munir asked.

“Demon?” Princess Rajya asked, all at the same time.

“Long story,” Suiden said.

“The feather is a symbol of a covenant,” Wyln said. “Much like a crown is a symbol of the covenant between a king and his people. Or marriage tokens between a husband and a wife. Whoever said it’s worrisome that this talent worker has it is right. We need to get it back—”

Jusson slammed his hand down. In the resulting quiet, no one moved, no one dared breathe. Satisfied, the king returned his gaze back to me. “It has been suggested that there we weren’t clear in our directions, so let us speak plainly. You will remain with your guards, who will make sure that at all times you are where you are supposed to be. Do not let us find you otherwise. Understood?”

I violently suppressed the urge to ask where “where” was. “Yes, Your Majesty,” I said.

“Good,” Jusson said. He started to rise. “We will continue this upstairs—”

“Sire, your chambers,” Thadro began.

“We know about our chambers,” Jusson snapped. “We also know that the floor beneath them is fine. We will go there.”

Looking as though he was also suppressing words, Thadro bowed. “Yes, sire.”

Jusson took a deep breath. “In the meantime, we will need to organize searches again tomorrow morning at first light, not only for this fell mage, but also for the others.” Standing, he aimed his gold gaze at Lord Idwal. “Join us, Mearden.”

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” Idwal said, also bowing. “Allow me to see to the securing of my House and I will come straightway afterwards.”

Jusson hesitated, as if he were going to demand that Idwal join him immediately. Then, with a slight frown and a nod, he headed for the grand staircase. I started after him but came to a halt as I was surrounded by Own, and my spine tightened even more as they held off, not falling in line with the rest. As I waited, I felt a slight touch on my hand and I flinched, partly from pain, partly because I could still feel my fingers losing their shape. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Berenice standing behind me, her mother and father nowhere in sight. With a quick glance up the stairs to make sure Jusson was also out of hearing and seeing range, I turned and faced her.

“My lord, we must talk,” Berenice said softly. “Now.”

“I’m a little occupied at present,” I said.

Berenice’s mouth twitched in what might’ve been a smile, but it was gone too quickly for me to tell. “As soon as possible, then. I can meet you where we were last night in a quarter hour—”

Everything that wasn’t already tense and aching abruptly tightened and I hurriedly shook my head, fear blooming more at the thought of returning where I was so nearly taken apart than disobeying an angry king. However, I wasn’t about to let anyone know that. I made a discreet gesture at the guards around me. “I don’t think His Majesty is going to let me out of his sight.”

“You’re a mage, aren’t you?” Berenice said, impatient. “You can disappear without him knowing.”

“It doesn’t work quite like that,” I said. “In any case, I cannot—”

“You mean you will not!”

I gave a short bow, ignoring the pain that shot down my legs and across my back. “As you choose to believe.”

Frustration flashed across Berenice’s face. “So much time wasted!”

“I beg pardon?”

She waved my question away. “I suppose if there’s no help for it, we will meet tomorrow morning. Early.”

I shook my head a second time, but it might have been lost in the commotion as my guards began to finally move. “That would be up to His Majesty,” I said, borne on their current.

Berenice’s eyes turned fierce as she moved with me up the first flight of stairs. “Are you angling for a higher born wife?”

I gave a short laugh. “No. It has nothing to do with Princess Rajya’s offers.” Conscious of the Own around me listening, I lowered my voice more, softening it. “Whatever proposed alliance between us is dead, Lady Berenice. It is obvious that your father has changed his mind and whatever enthusiasm His Majesty had is gone—”

“When you fought the rogue mage, the stag moved.”

I broke off to first stare at Berenice, before lifting my gaze to the white stag over the hall’s hearth. The Own around me also shifted, also staring.

“Not just that one,” Berenice said. “All of them, in all the carvings and hangings. Just like the one on the tapestry in the king’s rooms.”

“They did?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“Yes.” We reached the first landing and Berenice stopped, allowing those climbing the stairs to push past her. “Please, my lord—Rabbit. Meet with me early on the morrow.”

“I—” I broke off as the guards pressed me up the second flight. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Berenice was swallowed in the remainder of Jusson’s train and I turned forward just as Jeff, Arlis, and Ryson came by with their own guards. I fell in step with them.

“His Majesty will not be happy if you slipped off, Rabbit,” Ryson said quietly, having apparently overheard. Jeff gave a soft snort at Ryson’s understatement.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “Maybe we can meet in the king’s chambers or something.” Someplace where the “where I was” was where Jusson wanted me to be.

“She was right, though, Rabbit,” Jeff said. He nodded at the same Stag over the hall’s mantelpiece. “It moved.”

“The Stag did breathe on the lieutenant in Freston,” Ryson reminded us.

So the Lady’s Consort did, at the end when the demon had been defeated. I’d thought then that he was just giving me back what had been stolen. But maybe there was something more involved. Something that had nothing to do with magecraft and talents and everything to do with gods and goddesses and the fact that I had a shaman of the earth goddess as a teacher.

“I am a good son of the Church,” I said softly.

Jeff and Ryson looked at me, their faces troubled. However, Arlis stared straight ahead as we climbed behind the train, our footsteps loud in the winding stair, echoing and reechoing about us as we trudged in an ever-upwards spiral. Entering the lower floor, I stopped short to see Bertram at the fireplace, tending the fire, and then glanced down as if I could see through floors to the great hall. But before I could say anything about being in two places at once, one of the Own murmured that I was blocking the doorway. Hiding my own frown, I continued into the room and kept on hiding it as Jeff, Arlis, and Ryson and I were herded to a corner. Turning, I saw Wyln walking in right behind a limping Captain Kveta. After them came more King’s Own, a couple helping the dazed guard, more Own carrying the blackened weapons from the ambush, and finally the armsmen Captain Remke, a handful of Mountain and King’s Road troopers, including Groskin.

It became very crowded very fast.

Groskin moved as if he was going to join us, but Suiden snagged his lieutenant and began to speak with him in a low voice. However, my main focus was on Kveta as she limped to a pallet near the fireplace. Seeing the she-wolf wince, I started to go help, but was gently but firmly restrained by the guards. This time, not bothering to hide my frown, I turned to Suiden—and met Thadro’s frosty stare. I decided to remain where I was, keeping still as the Own brought their fellow guard next to Kveta, easing him down on another hastily arranged pallet and tucking a blanket about him. Suiden, Thadro, and Groskin converged on the prostrate guard and after a moment of conferring, Suiden looked around and beckoned to Ryson. Slipping between our guards, Ryson squatted down before the dazed Own, gently lifting his face. After a few moments’ examination, Ryson rose and spoke with his superior officers before walking over to us.

“Slight concussion from getting his noggin banged from all I can tell,” Ryson said quietly. “He has a good-sized lump on the back of his head.”

“You’re a healer and a sword master?” one of the Own asked, surprised.

“No,” Jeff, Ryson, and I said at once.

“Just have a little field craft, is all,” Ryson said, shrugging his shoulders. “Usually there are a couple lads who take a bruising fall during a patrol, so you get to know the signs.” He gave a wry grin that momentarily chased the worried look off his thin face. “The Mountain Patrol did not have the luxury of a healer, so we learned to take care of our own.”

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “Not that we had that many healers at Freston to begin with.”

“And the ones we did get were immediately snapped up by one of the south patrols.” Ryson looked back at the concussed guard. “I’m sort of surprised, though, that Mearden’s healer isn’t here checking him over.”

I was too. Even so, I did my own shrug, then held still at the sharp twinge that flashed through me. “Nothing he could do for him anyway other than what is being done,” I said.

“True,” Ryson said. “Though he could do something for the pain.” He gave me a shrewd glance. “Same for you, Rabbit.”

I gave an absent grunt of assent as I shifted, trying to find a comfortable position in which to stand. There wasn’t one. My various aches had merged into one giant throbbing pain and I glanced around, wondering if I could snag a chair on the sly. But the closest ones at hand were filled with the other walking wounded, some hurt from the fight with the pale man, others from the anvea fiasco, and I figured neither Thadro nor Jusson would look kindly on me strolling across the floor to those that were empty. Holding in a sigh, I shifted again, leaning heavily on my staff. After seeing to the guard’s comfort, Thadro and Suiden joined Jusson and the aristos clustered about them, laying out plans for tomorrow’s search that was to begin at first light.

“What’s going to happen?” Jeff asked softly, watching them.

“I don’t know,” I said, deciding to leave out my choosing the punishment. “His Majesty was pretty ticked at what happened.”

Jeff ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t know you weren’t with us, Rabbit. I truly didn’t. And to leave you alone like that.”

“I should’ve been all right in the middle of the search group,” I said. And would’ve, if I hadn’t decided to make a break for it. Maybe. “Talent was worked.”

“Yeah,” Jeff said. “Think it was Slevoic?”

About to ask who else, I hesitated. “It’s possible,” I finally said. “And an ambush would be something he’d enjoy. But the enchantment in the king’s chambers doesn’t feel like something he would do, let alone could.”

“That’s true,” Ryson said. “If it’d been the Vicious, they would’ve been dead, not asleep.”

“And he wouldn’t have bothered abducting anyone,” I said. “At least, I don’t think so. But then, everything has been off-kilter—”

“Off-kilter?” Arlis asked, suddenly speaking, his voice low but hard. “This has been the guesting from hell. Then, this entire assignment has been hellish.”

Jeff’s scowl returned. “Be careful what you manipulate people for,” he began.

“Jeff,” I said quietly.

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Arlis softly snapped at Jeff, his mouth twisting in his goatee. “Like it was just happenstance that you became such good friends with the king’s cousin and heir—”

“Arlis,” I said.

“I had no idea who Rabbit’s family was,” Jeff said.

“Yeah, right,” Arlis said.

“He didn’t,” I said.

“None of us did,” Ryson said. “Except Suiden and Commander Ebner. And maybe Slevoic.” He gave another wry smile. “And me too, finally, but then the secret was out the next day anyway.”

“Rabbit kept it to himself,” Jeff said to Arlis. “But the sodding moment you found out, you were his new best mate.”

“And you’re jealous,” Arlis said. “Your smalls are all in a twist because you aren’t the center of his attention—”

“Arlis, stop,” I said.

“He drops his britches and waves his arse in your face and all you say is ‘Arlis, stop’?” Jeff asked.

“Not his face, sweetness,” Arlis said, his own face alive with malice.

“Rabbit,” Ryson said. “You need to fix this. Now.”

“He won’t,” Jeff said, bitter. “He likes being toadied, even if they’re the same folks who sucked up to Slevoic—”

It was Ryson’s turn to scowl. “I’m not sucking up to Rabbit.”

“Oh, but anyone trying to be friends with Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan has to be a toady. Why else would anyone bother with him?” Arlis asked.

Jeff moved so that the toes of his boots bumped Arlis’. “You hitch your wagon to the fattest gravy train and you don’t give a good damn whose. First it was the Vicious, now it’s Rabbit. I’m surprised that you’re not smarming all over Her Highness, trying to get in good with the amir—”

“Jeff,” I said.

“And they let you,” Jeff said. “Not only Rabbit, but the king and the lord commander too. They freaking let you, for effing sakes, while Suiden turns a blind eye—”

“You died, Jeff,” I said.

Jeff stopped midrant. “What?”

“In Freston,” I said. “I saw you, lying dead on the ground before the altar.”

“Well, yeah,” Jeff said, suddenly cautious. “There was a lot of that going around.”

“So there was,” I agreed. “Who do you think killed you?”

Jeff stared at me, then turned his head to Arlis. However, Ryson frowned.

“I heard one of the Marcher Lords turned into a bear,” he said. “And both Jeff and Arlis were trying to keep him away from the doyen.”

“Lord Ranulf didn’t kill Jeff,” I said. “He wasn’t mauled. He was killed by a sword thrust. Nice and neat.”

“Oh,” Ryson said. He too looked at Arlis. “I see.”

“Are you blaming me for his death?” Arlis asked, his face now hard, his eyes wary.

“I’m not blaming anyone,” I said, “except those responsible for summoning the demon. Still, even though demon-ridden, you did kill Jeff.”

“As I remember, he also tried to kill me—”

“Actually he was after giant spiders,” I said. “But yes, he tried to kill you too. Thing is, you succeeded; he did not.”

“Jeff didn’t stay dead,” Ryson pointed out. “He came back.”

“But we didn’t know he would,” I said. “No one thought any of the dead were coming back.” I shifted again, once more trying to find a comfortable position as I fully faced Arlis. “I saw Jeff lying on the ground dead—and I saw your face. You knew you killed him—”

“And therefore I should be prostrate with guilt?” Arlis asked.

“No,” I said. “Though if you had come clean about your involvement with Slevoic and his gang, it might have prevented much of it.”

“So you are blaming me,” Arlis said.

“No,” I said again. “Just stating facts.”

“ ‘Facts’?” Arlis echoed. “The biggest fact is that we were attacked by a demon—and I had nothing to do with its summoning. Or why it was summoned in the first place.”

“It’s not Rabbit’s fault either,” Jeff began.

“Blame Slevoic if you’re going to blame anybody,” Ryson said at the same time.

I held up my hand and they both fell silent. “True,” I said to Arlis. “And it’s something that I have to deal with—that I’ve been a lightning rod for all kinds of strange madness that affects those around me for ill or for bizarre, or both. But that’s my burden. Not yours. Not yours at all.” I considered Arlis. “You know, I thought about letting you go back to Javes, even thought about asking Suiden about transferring you to the Mountain Patrol.”

“That would be best,” Ryson said. “Like Groskin said, the captain’s good with lads who’ve made a sodding mess of their lives.”

“Best, hell,” Arlis said. “It’s payback, isn’t it? Putting me with the dregs, arse-wipes, and mouth breathers.”

Both Ryson’s and Jeff’s faces went hot, but I spoke before they could.

“I said I thought about it. But you’re staying put. Right where you are, in the King’s Own, as my personal guard, where your fellow guards and your commanding officers know exactly what happened. And why.”

Jeff’s face changed once more, his mouth and eyes rounding. “Oh. Oh, my.”

Arlis ignored Jeff. “What the hell do you want me to do?” he asked. “Apologize?”

I smiled—and watched Arlis take a step back. “Have you?”

Before he could answer, there was a loud crash and Jeff, Ryson, Arlis, and I all jumped, turning to see the gazes of everybody on us. Well, almost everybody. Jusson was aiming his gold stare at the open doorway where Lord Idwal had apparently tangled with one of the castle servants carrying a tray.

“Damn it!” Groskin said. “So close!”

Bertram and several royal servants rushed to help, but Idwal didn’t wait for them. Hurriedly stepping over the spilled goblets on the floor, he all but ran into the room, his eyes wild as he planted himself in front of Jusson.

“Whatever the hell you brought into my House has taken my wife!”

Twenty-one

Ignoring Idwal’s accusation, Jusson quickly rose from his chair. “Where was the last place you saw Lady Margriet?”

Idwal ran a shaky hand over his face. “Downstairs, in the hall.”

Jusson didn’t hesitate but headed for the door, the servants scrambling out of his way as his long stride easily carried him over a jumble of goblets on the floor, his nobles and guards and troopers and officers trailing him. Apparently, my “where” was wherever the king was as my own guards joined the exodus, hustling me with them, sweeping up Jeff, Arlis, and Ryson as they went.

“What would she have done after dinner?” the king asked as he ran down the winding stairs.

“Normally? I think the kitchens, then putting up the linen, dishes, and silverware,” Idwal said, right behind the king. “But I looked in both places. She wasn’t there.”

“Perhaps Her Ladyship thought of another duty she needed to do,” Thadro said, following behind the king.

“No, no,” Idwal said as we rounded the last corner and spilled out onto the gallery. “With everything that has been happening, I didn’t want her fumbling around in the more deserted parts of the castle. Margriet agreed and said that she’d leave everything else to our steward and come right up.”

“Well, we will start in her familiar haunts anyway,” Jusson said, “and spread the search from there.” He motioned Idwal in front. “Lead the way.”

Idwal quickly went to the same doorway Berenice had taken me the night before, and I once more plunged into a maze of corridors and passages. This time, though, Idwal very shortly turned down the hallway that Kveta had said led to the kitchens. Thinking of the she-wolf, I glanced around, more than halfway expecting to see her limping along on three legs. But she had remained upstairs, as had Wyln. Still, it was a mob that entered the huge, cavernous kitchen that was full of scullery maids, potboys, and other servants busy with the cleanup of the largely uneaten evening meal. They all stopped what they were doing to drop curtseys and give bows as we swept in. Idwal didn’t acknowledge the obeisances, but latched on to what looked like an assistant cook.

“Did Lady Margriet return?” he asked.

“No, my lord,” the man said, straightening from his bow. “Not since you were last here.”

Idwal stared about distractedly and Jusson moved in front of him, catching his attention. “Linens, Mearden?”

Idwal aimed his distracted look at Jusson for a moment, then spinning on his heel, rushed out of the kitchen, with us once more trailing behind, moving damn near at a trot as we followed him down another series of hallways, passing what apparently was Lady Margriet’s still room, the fragrance of herbs seeping out from the closed door. Jusson went a few steps past it, then stopped in his tracks, as did Suiden, both returning to the door, their heads cocked as if they were listening as the rest of us stumbled to a halt about them. Idwal, some distance ahead, slowed, looked over his shoulder, then made an abrupt turn and hurried back to where we gathered.

“What?” Idwal asked. “What is it?”

Jusson gestured at the door. “Do you have a key to this room?”

“The stillroom?” Idwal asked. “No, my wife has it.” He eyed the door’s ornate keyhole. “You think she may be in there? I can get someone to break it down—”

Suiden reached over and tried the door. It opened easily, swinging wide on oiled hinges to reveal a spacious, well-proportioned room with large windows that in the daylight would let in plenty of sun, but now were dark with the night. All around were herbs in dried bunches, bottles of tinctures, infusions, and other simples on shelves, racks, and cabinets that lined the walls, and in the middle of the room was a large desk with Lady Margriet’s stillroom book on top of it. The book was open and I could see recipes and notes written out in a neat hand on its pages in the light cast by a single lit candle next to it. Lord Idwal stopped at the desk and stared at the candle, but Jusson and Suiden hurried to a heavy oak door on the adjacent wall, Suiden once more reaching for the doorknob. Though this time there was a key sticking out of the keyhole, it wasn’t locked and the knob turned easily. However, the door didn’t budge. At the same time, I could hear the faint sound of pounding. As could Idwal. The Lord of Mearden bounded over and he, Suiden, and Jusson together put their shoulders against the door. On the third shove, the door popped open and revealed a darkened smaller room containing more glass-door cabinets, small high windows, and Lady Margriet.

Pushing past Jusson and Suiden, Idwal swept Lady Margriet up in a tight embrace. The next moment, though, he pulled away and held her at arm’s length.

“Are you all right?” Idwal demanded.

In the light cast by the single candle behind us, I could see Lady Margriet give a smile that wobbled around the edges. “Yes, of course.” She tried to move away from her husband, but Idwal wouldn’t let go, so she shifted her stance so that she faced Jusson. “I beg pardon for the trouble I caused, Your Majesty,” she said, giving an equally wobbly curtsey.

“No trouble at all, Lady Margriet,” Jusson said. “What happened?”

“It was the silliest thing ever,” Lady Margriet said, her voice also wobbling a bit. “I thought I heard something so I came in to investigate and somehow managed to close the door behind me. It then became stuck and I couldn’t get it opened again.”

As Lady Margriet spoke, Suiden turned to the door. Despite the pounding it took, it was still on its hinges, and the captain gently moved it back and forth a few times. The door swung easily, the hinges well oiled and no sticking points on either the door frame or the threshold. Suiden turned the key a couple of times, the locking mechanism faintly clicking as a dead bolt slid smoothly out and back in again. He then examined the doorknob. It also turned easily with no hitch, with neither the latch nor the frame showing any signs of splintering or other damage from its forced opening. Shuffling a bit between Ryson and Arlis, I shifted to look at the bottles that were behind what seemed to be locked glass cabinet doors. Jeff, a little closer, leaned in to peer through the glass.

“Arsenic?” he murmured.

Suiden glanced at Jeff before also looking at the cabinets. “What is this room, Sra Margriet?”

“I keep poisons and strong medicines here that need to be more closely safeguarded. So I was very concerned when I thought I heard someone.”

“Understandable,” Jusson said, his gaze on the undamaged door.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lady Margriet said. She indicated the door key still in the lock. “The door shutting jammed the lock belike. And in my frantic haste, I couldn’t get it unjammed.”

“And nothing is missing?” Jusson asked, his gaze now on the cabinets.

At the king’s question, Lady Margriet pulled away from her husband and, retrieving the candle sitting on her desk in the other room, returned. Holding the candle in one trembling hand, she made a quick circuit around the cabinets, unlocking the glass doors and drawers with a smaller version of the door key, doing a swift inventory of their contents. At the end, she smiled again, this time somewhat more successfully. “No, Your Majesty. Nothing was tampered with.”

“Good,” Jusson said. He turned towards the door. “This at least is a satisfying ending to a very dissatisfying day—”

“This is your fault,” Idwal said, glaring at me.

I’d been standing a little apart from Jusson, leaning on my staff, trying to distract myself from my body’s aches and pains by trying to read in the flickering light the labels on the bottles on the cabinet shelves. However, at Idwal’s words, I snapped around.

“Me? What the hell did I do?”

“Idwal, no,” Lady Margriet began. “I’m fine—”

“Dissatisfying, hell. Everything that has gone wrong these past two days started the moment you showed up on my doorstep,” Idwal said to me, his voice low. He shifted his glare to Jusson. “What did you bring into my House, Your Majesty?”

All around me, folks held their breath as they waited for Jusson to explode. However, the king merely lifted a winged brow. “We brought exactly what you asked for, Mearden,” he said.

“Husband, stop—”

Idwal stepped in front of his wife. “I did not ask for this—this—” Words failing him, he waved a hand at me. “Even his own guard doesn’t want anything to do with him.”

I frowned at that. Except for a couple of vague complaints Arlis had made earlier before Idwal had come into the king’s lower chamber, no one had said anything about not wanting to be my personal guard. Idwal saw my frown. “Why else would they abandon him in the middle of the forest?”

“I did not abandon Rabbit,” Jeff began.

“Lieutenant Rabbit can take care of himself,” Ryson said at the same time. However, Arlis remained quiet and I turned my frown on him. He stared back, his eyes hooded, his face unreadable in the flickering light.

“Our cousin is remarkably adept at dodging whatever is flung at him,” Jusson agreed. He propped himself against a credenza set under one of the room’s windows.

“Tell us, Mearden. What did you expect to find? Our heir some malcontent, full of resentment and burning ambition, eager to shake off the shackles of royal oppression and rise up to seize the throne?”

At Jusson’s words, my mind flashed back to what Berenice had said the previous night on the broad walk, about me not being what they had expected. Apparently Jusson had interpreted quite differently their dismay at not finding me the wild, dissolute, and possibly easily malleable son of my father.

“No, of course not,” Lady Margriet said. She stepped in front of her husband, standing face-to-face. “His Majesty is right, Idwal. This has ended well. Let it be.”

Idwal gently moved his wife aside. “Go to bed, Margriet. I shall be there shortly.”

“No,” Lady Margriet said, and for the first time I saw a marked resemblance to her daughter in the firm, almost stubborn thrust of her chin and the way her dark eyes flashed. “Listen to me—”

Taking Lady Margriet’s arm, Idwal pulled her to the door. Looking out, he saw some of the kitchen staff and other servants lingering in the corridor. He beckoned to one of the servants and, taking the candle from her, handed his wife to him. “See her to our rooms.” He then kissed Margriet. “Go to bed,” he said again, and then shut the door. Walking back, he stopped at the threshold and, with a sigh, pulled the key out of the keyhole and slipped it in his pocket.

“We may be a bachelor, Mearden,” Jusson remarked, “but even we know that kisses aren’t going to sweeten your marriage bed any time soon.”

“I’ll deal with it when I have to,” Idwal said, placing the candle on a ledge of one of the nearby cabinets.

“So you shall,” Jusson said. “And while you do, we too shall retire to our chambers.” He straightened, and once more headed for the door. However, Idwal didn’t move aside, and Jusson stopped, his other brow rising.

“Believe it or not, Your Majesty, when I suggested a union between Lord Rabbit and my daughter—”

“ ‘Suggested’?” Jusson asked.

“Yes, well . . .” Idwal shrugged. “What I had in mind was more conciliatory.”

“Reconciliation, Idwal?” Jusson murmured. “There’s an idea. Tired of living out here in the wilds?”

“It’s not good to be on the outs with one’s king,” Idwal said.

“Things have been rather rocky since our royal mother died,” Jusson agreed, his expression not changing. All around me, though, there were knowing looks and smirks on the aristos’ faces. Even Thadro’s mouth quirked up in a half smile that had little to do with humor.

Idwal either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “It would’ve been a whole lot rockier if Her Majesty hadn’t put certain protections in place, ceded my House certain rights.”

“Your House had nothing to do with that,” Jusson said. “Nor with the fact that you have damn near a mini-kingdom here, with the rest of the realm receiving very little benefit from your busy and prosperous harbor. A harbor on which we cannot levy one copper without your approval.”

“I do enjoy more freedom than other Houses,” Idwal agreed. “However, perhaps it’s time those rights and protections return to the throne.”

“So you’re just doing me a favor?” Jusson asked.

“It would be a favor to us all,” Idwal said. “You regain your royal prerogatives over my holdings and I gain assurances for my family.”

“Assurances?” Thadro put in. “From what?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Jusson said.

“He has short-weighted the Qarant and now wants protection, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, and there was another round of humorless smiles.

“No, no,” Idwal said. “It’s just that Berenice has no brothers to protect her when I and her mother are gone, no husband to see to her interests. In asking Lord Rabbit here, I’d hoped a union could be made where she’d be settled with someone who could be her protector, her shield. But what you brought me is someone who’s a danger to himself and everyone else around him, someone who doesn’t have the sense to know when he’s in danger. In essence, a fool—”

“Careful, Mearden,” Jusson said lightly. “Rabbit isn’t nearly as stupid as you think.”

“Far from it,” Suiden said.

Idwal cast me a derisive look. “I admit when I first saw him, I was shocked at how close he resembled his grandfather Lord Alain and I’d begun to hope that perhaps he’d inherited his grandfather’s intelligence too, but apparently all he knows how to do is wear gewgaws and pretty clothes and run headlong into trouble—”

“So, how long were you and the queen lovers, my lord?” I asked.

Idwal stopped midsneer as laughter broke out, dark and heavy.

“For some time,” Thadro said. “Queen Herleve liked them young.” He then broke off, a surprised look on his face. But Jusson merely gave a sharp-edged smile.

“So she did, Thadro,” he said. “But even more so our mother worshipped greatly at the altar of the end justifying the means.” He cocked his head. “How does it feel to have been merely a means to further her ends, Mearden?”

“We both wanted the same thing,” Idwal said. “Iversterre strong and prosperous.”

That sounded familiar. I briefly wondered if Laurel had disappeared because of any machinations the Faena had set in motion. However, that did not explain Captain Javes’ and Mab’s courtiers’ disappearance.

“So what’s good for you is good for the kingdom?” Jusson asked.

“In a broad sense, yes, Your Majesty,” Idwal said.

“Was my mother a reward for good behavior?” I asked, my gaze hard on Idwal.

“No,” Jusson said before Idwal could. “Mearden did that on his own, sure that our mother would not object. He was right, but not because of their past relationship. She was confident that she could control both the marriage and whatever resulted from it.” He shrugged. “She most likely would’ve too.”

“My courtship of your mother was sincere,” Idwal said to me quietly.

“And of course her lines to the throne meant nothing,” Jusson said.

“Of course they meant something,” Idwal said. “If only as a legacy to pass to our children.”

“Which she did,” Jusson pointed out. “Just not your children.” He picked up the candle from the cabinet ledge. The flickering light once more gave his face a dark cast, made all the more worrisome by the way his gold eyes blazed with cold anger. “But this is moot. There will be no marriage, no alliances, no reconciliations until those who have gone missing are returned.”

“Look elsewhere, for I do not have them,” Idwal said.

“Oh, trust us, we will look,” Jusson said. “Beginning at first light, this time not stopping until we find them. Even if we do have to take this place apart brick by brick.”

“You would threaten to destroy my House?” Idwal asked Jusson, his voice soft.

“It’s not a threat,” Jusson began, but Idwal threw up a hand.

“Do not drag out that tired saying about it being a promise,” he said.

I had returned to the cabinet, my eye caught by something gleaming dully off-white behind the back row of bottles. Wondering whether Lady Margriet had taken to collecting the teeth that the castle’s barber had pulled, I started to move closer, but at Idwal’s words, I turned, startled at the sudden downward turn the conversation had taken. Thadro also appeared startled, the surprise look returning to his face.

“Idwal,” he said.

Jusson waved him away. “What is it?” he asked, his voice just as soft. “Something in the air of Mearden that makes people take lightly our intent and our meaning? First our heir and now you. Do you think because we’ve chosen not to tread in our mother’s steps that we cannot? That we will not?”

“Queen Herleve was able to not only hold the kingdom together, but bend it to her will, make it go where she wanted it to go,” Idwal said. “And then there’s your reign, with the kingdom in disarray, your lords in rebellion. You are naught but a weak shadow of her.”

“Am I?” Jusson asked.

“In all ways,” Idwal said. “You knock me for being Herleve’s lover, yet who shares your bed? Never had a woman, let alone a wife and children, and you’re how old?”

“Uhm, my lord?” I asked, horrified to hear my voice in the resounding quiet that followed Idwal’s remark. I continued anyway. “His Majesty is a dark elf and he probably has about another hundred years before he could even think about marriage—”

“Your mother despised you,” Idwal said over me. “It frustrated her that she was stuck with you as her heir and she even talked about how accidents could happen, especially as you were supposed to go into the army.” He gave a sour smile. “It’s a good thing you ran away to sea or else you might have been replaced with someone who had more ballocks than a clothes stand.”

Stunned, I dragged in a breath and let it out. Even after Jusson’s revelations at the Freston posting inn, I had still vaguely viewed my parents’ flight from Iversterre as an adventure. However, at Idwal’s words, it finally dawned on me how much peril they’d been in. Just as I realized how much peril Jusson had been in as prince—peril from his mother. While I’d had the typical ups and downs with my ma and da growing up, I’d never doubted that they’d loved me. Even my rage at being apprenticed to Magus Kareste was about their carelessness in not seeing whom they were giving me to, not because they actively sought my harm. Unlike Jusson’s mother, who had toyed with having her son killed.

A son who now didn’t look surprised at what Idwal had just tossed in his face. Nor did his aristos or his lord commander or his King’s Own. Apparently, Queen Herleve’s desire to rid herself of a despised heir was common knowledge among the Great Houses. I shivered, scrubbing my hand across my stomach while beside me Jeff gawked.

“Captain Suiden’s uncle tried to kill him and the old queen wanted to do the same to His Majesty?” Jeff blurted out. “Are all rulers kin killers?” He then broke off, clapping a hand over his mouth.

Suiden merely laughed. True, it was a laugh as dark as any I’d ever heard come from him, with basso rumbling notes that faintly rattled the glass in the cabinets, but it was humor. Of a sort. “Assassination by one’s sovereign is an occupational hazard shared by all crown princes,” he said. “Then, sometimes it’s the heir who becomes impatient and decides to speed up matters, so I suppose it all evens out in the end.”

Jeff cast me a wild look and I shook my head at him. I’d no desire to kill for the throne. Nor did I have any intention of being killed by it. Not that I thought that Jusson had designs on my life. I glanced at the king and nearly stepped back at how much he looked like that long-ago elf high king.

“That’s true,” Jusson said to Suiden, his light voice in marked contrast with just about everything else about him. “Her Majesty had certain expectations regarding her heir, as I had the same regarding our mother, the queen. Neither one of us met the other’s.”

“She didn’t know what she had in her son,” I said. I then folded my lips tight so no more words could slip out.

“No, she did not,” Thadro agreed anyway.

“My mother’s disappointment did not concern me,” Jusson said, shrugging. “I did not ‘run away to sea’ because I was afraid, Mearden. At least, not of what she might attempt to do to me. I left because I didn’t want to turn into her, devouring everyone and everything in her path, including my father. But if you yearn for Queen Herleve’s reign once more, we can accommodate you. We will leave as soon as we find our missing and you will accompany us to Iversly. We find that we have neglected certain of our subjects. We will rectify that beginning with you as our guest in the Royal City.”

“No!”

We all turned to see Lady Margriet standing in the doorway, her hands held to her mouth. Apparently she had ditched the servant and returned, despite her husband’s command. She rustled in and sank down in front of Jusson in a bellow of skirts. “Please, Your Majesty. Have mercy. He didn’t mean it. We asked you here because we need your help—”

“Margriet, get up,” Idwal said, more impatient than angry. “His Majesty couldn’t help us find our way out of a burlap sack. And he sure as hell isn’t going to risk alienating his lords by taking me unwilling from my House after being invited here as a guest.”

Ignoring Idwal, Jusson looked down at Lady Margriet, his gaze remote, the shadows cast by the candle on his face terrifying. He then gestured to one of the Own surrounding me. “Take her to her quarters,” he said, “and this time make sure she stays there.”

“What?” The impatient sneer disappeared off Idwal’s face. “Damn you, get your hands off my wife!” He tried to shove past the royal guards, but they pushed him back hard enough that he rapped his head against the cabinet, causing the teeth behind the bottles to shift. Except I could now tell that it wasn’t teeth. It looked more like a long, thick needle made of bone.

“Take him away too,” Jusson said, indicating Idwal. “We do not want to see him until we’re ready to leave.”

“No,” Lady Margriet said again as an Own lifted her to her feet. She started to weep as the guards half pulled, half carried her towards the outer door. “Please, Your Majesty—”

“Place Mearden’s captain under arrest,” Jusson said, ignoring both Lady Margriet’s weeping and Lord Idwal’s shouting as he followed them out of the inner stillroom. “And make sure that Mearden’s armsmen are secured. Put them in the dungeon if you have to. Also make sure that there are guards outside Mearden’s chambers. We don’t want any sympathetic servants accidentally leaving a door unlocked.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Thadro said, his voice subdued as he trailed behind Jusson. The aristos and troopers fell in, their faces somber. “And what about this room?”

“What about it?” Jusson asked, stepping into the hallway.

“Lady Margriet was locked in here, in a room that wasn’t locked, Your Majesty,” Suiden said before Thadro could speak.

Jusson came to a halt and, turning, stared into the stillroom with narrowed eyes. “Place guards here too,” he said after a moment. He started walking again, his long-legged stride showing no hint of the fact that he had just dispossessed one of his nobles. “Let us return to our chambers. We have much to discuss before the morning arrives.”

Twenty-two

I once more slept in a crowded room. This time, though, it wasn’t mine. We were all bunked down in the lower royal chamber. Well, not all of us. The aristos returned to their rooms and Wyln, taking one look at the teeming mass of humanity packed into one place, murmured something about tasks left undone and disappeared out the door. However, Kveta remained with us, resting on her pallet before the fireplace. Jusson was with us too. Some servants braved the upper floor and returned with his trunks and canopied bed. The trunks were placed about his bed, separating him from the lesser mortals. The rest of us were catch-as-catch-can, with some of the soldiers and guards sleeping in their bedrolls on the floor. I did manage to get a cot, but my joy in getting to sleep on something (somewhat) softer and potentially warmer than the stone floor was alloyed by the fact that I was still surrounded by guards.

The hunt tapestry was also brought down from upstairs and draped on the wall to block out some perceived draft near the chamber entrance. Fortunately the white stag and dogs had remained in their proper places; however, the antlered shadow under the trees stood out, even in the candlelight. I started to go closer to see, but was stopped by my guards. Apparently they thought I was going to make a break for it.

The Own had kept tight around me as we returned from Lady Margriet’s stillroom. It had been a silent journey; the shouts of Lord Idwal and the sobs of Lady Margriet had faded by the time we’d found our way back to the gallery and no one seemed to want to fill the quiet. That is, no one but Jusson. He kept a running murmur with Thadro as he climbed to the head of the mass of folks working their way up the winding steps, his face terribly calm as he discussed the disposition of the guards about the castle for what remained of the night and how they were going to section the lands and town for the search on the morrow. One thing I didn’t hear in the list of those leading search groups was my name. Which worried me—not only because of the uncertainty of my position, but also if I weren’t going out searching, I would be here at the castle, within easy reach of Berenice. I hadn’t forgotten that she’d wanted to meet with me early in the morning and while I figured that wasn’t going to happen, it would be impossible to avoid her for the rest of my stay at Mearden. The thought of facing her with her mother’s weeping fresh in my ears made me dread the coming day.

Still, despite my guards, my fears, and my aches and pains—and despite the tapestry—I was worn out enough to fall asleep almost immediately, awakening sometime before dawn, the sky dark outside the windows. My dreams had been muddled, shot through with red and the sense of being stalked by something that I kept catching out the corner of my eye. Chilled, I lay there for a bit, listening to Jeff snore as I waited for my heart and breathing to calm, when I noticed that it was brighter than it should’ve been. And in the brightness I could see something hovering about me. Several somethings—my air, water, earth, and fire spheres. They were back and all in the same defensive position they were just before the ambush. Abruptly wide-awake, I sat upright and, ignoring the pain from my stiff and sore muscles, stared about, the aspects shifting with me. But the only shadows were the ones cast by the fire sphere. I returned my gaze to them; however, their attention seemed to be focused elsewhere and all I got back was an absent hum from the air sphere. Rising from my cot, I wrapped the blanket about me and I carefully stepped over Bertram and a few other slumbering forms on the floor to get to the fireplace, the aspects forming a tight box around me. Carefully kneeling, I poked the banked fire a couple of times until the embers glowed, then caught fire on the peat moss. I then stood in front of the growing flames, trying to catch some of their warmth, and my gaze fell on the tapestry. It was shrouded in darkness, outside the circle of light cast by my fire spheres. I debated whether to go over to it, but decided not to brave the obstacle course. After a few moments, I turned to warm my backside—and came face- to-face with a wide-awake Kveta.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” I said very softly.

“Not at all,” Kveta said, her muzzle dropping in a grin. The silver and bone of her good-luck charm was painted orange and red in the renewed firelight, the dancing flames highlighting tiny runes carved into the links. Thinking that Kveta wasn’t leaving her luck to chance, I settled the blanket more firmly about me.

“Good,” I murmured. The fire felt wonderful, easing some of the tightness in my muscles, and I started to drift, going back to my spheres’ appearance and wondering if it had anything to do with my muddled dreams.

“So, little Rabblet, I heard things became interesting when you took off with honored Idwal earlier.”

I blinked down at the wolf. As I noted last night, she hadn’t appeared limping behind us in our search for Lady Margriet. And though Jusson was full of instruction on our way back, he quieted upon entering the room, his conversation desultory and commonplace as Bertram and the other servants assisted him in undressing for bed. Still, I wasn’t surprised that she’d found out what had happened. Kveta’s hearing was sharp enough to pick out the softest of voices some distance away and I’m sure there had been some discussion—with those doing the discussing concerned only with keeping it out of the hearing of the equally sharp-eared king.

“I suppose you could call it that,” I said quietly. “Then the past couple of days have been very interesting.” I cast a glance at where my personal guards slept. Even in slumber they were opposed, with Jeff on his side facing me while Arlis lay on his stomach, his face turned away. “Arlis was right,” I said. “This has been the guesting from hell. Everything that could go wrong, has.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Kveta said, amused. “The castle roof hasn’t caved in, nor has the harbor been attacked by a giant sea dragon.”

“Give it time,” I said darkly.

Kveta laughed softly even as her ears moved in a canine version of a shrug. “Give enough time and all sorts of possibilities will come to pass.” Her clear brown eyes lifted as she stared over my shoulders. “Though if I were to offer odds, the aspects popping into view while you slept would be rather low on the list. It would’ve been understandable if you had talked in your sleep and maybe accidentally summoned them. But you didn’t. You didn’t even move. One moment you were aspect-less. The next, fully surrounded.”

“They tend to do that, Kveta,” I began.

“No, they don’t,” Kveta said. “As I said earlier, even gods don’t walk in unless invited. Someone summoned and set them on you.”

“But there’s no one here who can summon them,” I said. “Except me.”

“You’re not that slow, Rabbit,” Kveta said, impatient.

“Wyln’s not here and Laurel’s missing,” I pointed out.

“Do you really think you’re the only person here with the talent?” Kveta asked. “I can with near certainty name at least one, probably two with the fire aspect.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, my gaze going first to Captain Suiden lying quietly on his cot before sliding to Jusson still surrounded in his sleep by his trunks. In fact, despite our admittedly very quiet conversation, the entire floor seemed to be slumbering peacefully; even the injured royal guard lying on a pallet next to Kveta had not stirred. Forgetting the debate about my unsummoned aspects, I worriedly scanned the floor, wondering if the same enchantment that was on the upper floor had crept down here. However, at that moment, Jeff gave a couple of snorts before turning over and my spine relaxed. Figuring everyone was sleeping heavily because they were worn out from all of yesterday’s mishaps, I turned back to the wolf.

“Two people who are also very much asleep,” I said. “Along with everyone else.”

Kveta sighed, her head going down between her paws. “You’re determined not to see, aren’t you?”

“See what?”

“The aspects do not have personalities or wills—”

“Yes, they do,” I said. “Very much so.”

“They do not,” Kveta said. “When you were attacked by the mage earlier, did the air aspect refuse to do his bidding? Did it express sorrow or apologize or, on the other hand, perhaps indicate that it was glad that you were finally getting your comeuppance?”

“My comeuppance?”

Kveta’s brows pulled together, her head lifting from her pallet. Then she grinned. “You know what I mean.” Her grin faded. “They are forces, Rabbit. Much like a stick or stone, which do not care who throws them or at whom they are thrown. Neither do the aspects. Cast by a foe or friend, they will act the same each and every time. And like sticks and stones, the power belongs to whoever tosses them.”

Magus Kareste thought of the aspects like that—as impersonal objects to be manipulated at will—and when one’s will clashed with another’s, the greater will won. When I first started as his apprentice, I didn’t know much about them, one way or another. Nor did I care. I was more worried about escaping his plans for me. However, when I’d come into my full power last spring, I had become aware of the aspects as separate entities, with their own quirks and traits—the playfulness of air, the merry, dancing crackle of fire, the deep, quiet thunder of water, and the sacred solemnity of earth. But Kveta was right. When the unknown mage attacked me out on the broad walk last night, there wasn’t any playfulness between air and me. There wasn’t any communication at all. One moment I was chasing the feather-stealing thief, the next being slowly pulled apart. And despite what Wyln and Suiden had said, I didn’t think it was all because I was relatively untrained. True, I’d been taken by surprise and also true, I fumbled as I tried to defend myself, but I could feel the strength of the whirlwind, as I could also feel the strength of the talent worker who summoned it. And behind all of it was an implacability, almost like hatred. But that made no sense. Though the mage had remained in the shadows, the little I saw of his face, his build, and even the way he moved was unfamiliar. And unlike the Magus’ and Kveta’s view of the aspects, the hatred felt very personal.

“I don’t know, Kveta,” I said, rubbing my arms as the chill ignored the fire and bit through my blanket.

“I do know,” Kveta said. “Unthinking, unfeeling forces, Rabbit. And, as you pointed out, the known ‘throwers’ are not here. So who cast these aloft? And why?”

I found myself sliding another look at Jusson, then kept on staring as I noticed his breath misting out as he breathed slow and deep. Forgetting about suspects in talent working, I shifted, quickly looked over the entire room and noticed other plumes of breath rising from the sleepers. Though it was before sunrise in late fall, the room shouldn’t have been that cold—not with all the bodies packed into it. As I thought that, the chill bit deep and I shivered hard, a metallic taste forming in my mouth.

“What the hell?” I whispered.

I started to turn back to Kveta, afraid that the wolf had also fallen under an enchanted slumber. But before I could, I was distracted by the muffled sound of raised voices and scuffling outside the chamber door. The next moment, the door burst open and I saw Berenice struggling with the two Own standing guard, one pulling her back by her arm, the other getting in front of her, blocking access to the room. At the same time, Jusson sat straight up in bed, his hair an untidy mop, his face alert and wide-awake. He aimed a gold glance at me before getting out of bed and stepping into his slippers. Grabbing his robe from where it was draped over a trunk, he put it on.

“Secure ibn Chause,” he said, tying his belt.

My mouth fell open as I was surrounded by equally awake and alert royal guards in their nightclothes. “What?”

Jusson ignored me as he was joined by Thadro and Suiden. The king beckoned the guards holding Berenice. “Bring her.”

The guards dragged Berenice into the room. Or at least they started to. She jerked her arm away and, straightening her gown with a snap, strode into the chamber, her eyes flashing in the light from both the fireplace and my fire sphere. Jusson was unimpressed.

“Good morning, Lady Berenice,” he said, his voice mild. “Lord Rabbit is not available right now. Perhaps we can help you?”

“ ‘Isn’t available’?” I exploded before Berenice could respond. “You think I was going to sneak off with her?” Not caring about the female presence, I flung open my blanket. As Finn hadn’t been there to lay out my flannel nightshirt (and, more important, as I’d been bunking down with my old mates from the Mountain Patrol), I was wearing what I used to always wear to bed when I was just a plain trooper—my smalls. “Does this look like I’m about to go on an assignation?”

Jusson actually blinked as he took in my dress—or lack thereof—the gold fading a little from his eyes, while Suiden’s mouth twitched even as he frowned, though whether at my attire or my mode of addressing the king, I couldn’t tell. However, Thadro wasn’t amused.

“Then why are you up?” the lord commander asked, his own expression frosty.

“Because I was effing cold and wanted to get the fire going,” I said, tucking the blanket back around me. “Sir.”

“I actually came here to see you, Your Majesty,” Berenice said.

“Oh?” Jusson’s brow rose. “So Lord Rabbit did not agree to meet with you?”

“Yes, he did,” Berenice said.

“I said I’d see what I could do,” I said at the same time. “Contingent on His Majesty giving permission.”

“Hard to get permission, if you don’t ask,” Thadro pointed out.

“As I wasn’t going to meet anyone, sir, it seemed moot,” I said.

“Of course this was before you imprisoned Papa last night,” Berenice said, continuing as if neither the lord commander nor I had spoken. “And as I hadn’t heard from Rabbit, I decided to come talk with you, Your Majesty.”

“We see,” Jusson said. “Then we shall talk, Lady Berenice. After we dress and go downstairs to break our fast.”

“No!” Berenice said. “It’s important that we speak now—”

“We are sure you think so,” Jusson said.

Thadro took his hard gaze off me and put it on the king, his expression changing to worry. “Perhaps we should listen, Your Majesty,” he murmured.

“This is neither the time nor the place,” Jusson said, indicating the packed chamber. “And we refuse to hold discussions in our nightdress, no matter how needful.” His own expression softened. Somewhat. “We realize that this is a difficult time for you, Lady Berenice. But rushing about helter-skelter will not answer. After we have dressed and have eaten, we shall speak.”

Berenice stood for a moment staring back at the king, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She then dropped a brief curtsey.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Jusson signaled one of the guards at the door. “See that Her Ladyship reaches her room.”

Berenice faltered midcurtsey. “Am I also under arrest, Your Majesty?”

“No,” Jusson said. “Just an escort.”

“I—I see.” A little unsteady, Berenice rose, turned, and walked out again, the Own on her heels, shutting the door behind them, but not before she cast a look over her shoulder at me. A look Jusson, Suiden, and Thadro all saw, along with everyone else in the royal chambers. Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Not only did I have Jusson ready to put me in irons over collaborating with someone who had gone from a potential bride to apparently the enemy; I could feel the speculation start that there was more to Berenice and me than a late night spent under the watchful eye of near a half dozen chaperones. Wondering who had felt the need to tell Jusson about Berenice’s demand that we meet, I shifted a bit as Bertram hustled up to hang a large pot on the fireplace hob. I stared down at the boy before lifting my gaze to his welter of blankets on the floor. They were empty.

“Lieutenant.”

I turned to see that Suiden had left Jusson and somehow gotten past both the guards and aspects to stand next to me.

“Sir,” I said tiredly, bracing myself for more questions about significant looks and my adventures on the broad walk the night before last.

“You’re blocking the heat,” Suiden said.

I blinked at my former captain before glancing behind me. While I had shifted out of Bertram’s way, I still stood in front of a good portion of the fireplace. I hadn’t noticed the warmth.

“Sorry, sir,” I said. I moved once more, this time starting for my cot, vaguely thinking that donning clothes would help. However, I was brought up short by the guards surrounding me and the red mist from yesterday filled my vision. I began to pivot to go to Jusson and Thadro and tell them—something—but I was once more stopped, this time by a hand clamping over my arm. I stared at it a moment, before lifting my gaze to its owner. Suiden looked back, his face impassive.

“Wear your army uniform.”

I grew very still. “Sir?”

Suiden didn’t respond. Turning, he faced Jeff and Arlis. Arlis was still abed though awake while Jeff had risen and now stood beside his cot. “You two, also,” Suiden said. “The three of you are with me.”

“Am I no longer in the King’s Own?” I asked, not moving.

“What you are or are not is not up for discussion,” Suiden said. “You received an order, Lieutenant. I suggest you obey it.”

With that, Suiden went back to his cot where his own kit waited. I watched him go, before looking at Jusson and Thadro, neither of whom paid any attention to me. And they weren’t the only ones. All around, royal guards and troopers alike were keeping their eyes averted as they went through their morning routines. I didn’t move, even as Bertram started laying out my old army uniform. I noticed that it had been pressed and I wondered at the whispered discussion that must’ve happened while I’d been asleep. The red mist thickened.

“Rabbit,” Jeff said.

I turned to my . . . What? Personal guard? Troop mate? Judging by the expression on his face, Jeff didn’t know either. Also judging by his expression, my own was pretty impressive. He didn’t take a step back, not exactly. But I could see him stiffen, bracing himself. “This is effing bunk,” I said, my voice very low.

“Yeah,” Jeff said, “but what choice do we have?”

“Do you think I should’ve run to the king about Berenice?” I asked.

“His Majesty thinks so,” Jeff said. “And that’s what matters.”

Dragging in a breath, I silently let it out and once more started for my cot and my army uniform, this time the royal guards allowing it, the spheres moving with me. As I did, I passed Arlis. He had finally risen from his cot and was setting out his gear. He looked up as I went by, his face blank, his eyes hard, and I realized who told Jusson—or more likely the lord commander—about Berenice. I must’ve made a sound, for Jeff reached past the guards, snagging my arm and holding me still.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice a mere wisp of a sound. “Not with the king and the captain and everything the way they are right now.”

“Different tune than you were singing yesterday,” I said.

“Yeah, well, yesterday our host wasn’t imprisoned,” Jeff said very softly, his grip still tight. “Now, it would be stupid and not worth the problems it would cause. He’s not worth the problems it would cause.”

“That’s true,” Ryson said, joining us. “He’ll find out soon enough that serving under Suiden isn’t sunshine and daisies.”

“If he’d even thought that he’d be busted back to Mountain Patrol,” Jeff murmured. “Probably tried to curry favor, thinking he could work it so he’d go back to his old troop.”

Maybe. Or maybe it was a not-so-backhanded slap at me with no care to the consequences—which sort of surprised me given his highly developed sense of self-preservation. Even now, there was a heavy hint of smugness about him as he deliberately turned and went back to his gear.

“Not worth it,” Jeff repeated.

I let out another soft breath. “No,” I said. “He’s not. In fact, none of this is worth it.”

“Rabbit,” Jeff said again, glancing at the stoic guards surrounding me before looking around at the troopers, guards, and servants busy pretending I didn’t exist. I merely shrugged, but did allow myself to be herded to my cot, where I waited for Bertram, who was at the iron kettle filling a bowl with hot water. As I watched, I saw him falter and stare down at Kveta still lying on her pallet by the fireplace, her head between her front paws, her eyes half closed as she took in the commotion in the room, her face unreadable. Thinking back, I supposed it was the first time Bertram had been that close to her—though he had been plenty close to Laurel and seemed to have no problem with it. Whatever the reason for his unease, I roused myself to call out a warning about Kveta’s injury. Before I could, however, Bertram recovered and brought the steaming bowl back to my cot, setting it down next to my shaving kit. In short order, I shaved, washed up, and put on a uniform I thought I’d never wear again. But the army drab fit me fine, the trousers with their knife-edge crease actually falling over my boots correctly. Still surrounded by spheres and royal guards, I folded my yellow officer’s gloves over my sword belt before picking up my boot knife and staff. Sliding the knife into my pocket, I walked over to where Suiden was mustering the rest of the troopers. As I did, Thadro signaled and the four night-attired Own stepped away to be replaced by four others who were appropriately dressed. I said nothing, keeping my face blank. Arlis had taken a position near the rear, but Jeff was somewhat in the middle and I joined him, my mouth quirking as the space around us cleared.

It seemed that royal displeasure was contagious and no one wanted to catch it.

His Royal Majesty himself wasn’t dressed in his normal austere attire. Instead, he wore his armor, with Thadro standing beside him carrying his battle helm and shield. They both headed for the door and the rest of the troops and King’s Own stirred, falling in line, Suiden buckling on his sword belt as he moved behind Thadro. It was still dark out, so two royal servants stood at the door with lit candles, ready to light the way down the winding steps. But as they reached for the latch, the door swung open and Wyln slipped in. The elf enchanter looked fresh with no clue as to where he’d slept last night—if he’d slept at all. He had changed clothes, so he had been upstairs in the enchanted chamber. Seeing the mob heading his way, he moved aside, his gaze going over the soldiers and guard before snagging on me. His winged brows pulled together.

“Good morning, Lord Wyln,” Jusson said.

“I give you good morning, Iver’son,” Wyln said. “Is there a reason why Two Trees’son is under guard?”

“There are several reasons,” Jusson said. “We’re about to descend for breakfast. Join us?”

Wyln hesitated, then stepped aside, allowing the royal train to depart. As he did, his gaze lit on the tapestry, his eyes widening as he moved closer, tracing the tips of his fingers over the tapestry’s weave. As I neared, I could see it clearly in the light from my fire sphere. The figure had fully emerged from the shadow of the trees, revealing the same Lord of the Forest that was on the carved screen in the castle entryway. I blinked and tried to join my cyhn at the tapestry, but my guards swept me past and out the door.

The lit candles cast flickering shadows as we worked our way down the winding stairs. I was at the tail end of the parade that just about emptied out the floor. Kveta was one of the few who remained behind. I figured that the she-wolf was still in enough pain to not want to navigate the steps. My aspects, on the other hand, went with me. Shaking off my worry over the tapestry, I cast the spheres a glance, my mind going back to Kveta and my conversation about them, wondering if I’d been wrong about their self-determination. They were still a square around me, with air and fire in front and earth and water behind. Offense and defense. But against who—or what—was the question. There was the unknown mage on the broad walk and whoever had enchanted the upper royal chambers, stealing away Laurel, Cais, Finn, and the butterflies in the process. And there were the ambushers in the forest yesterday eve. All of which could’ve been done by separate attackers or the same person. However, I found myself discarding the thought of outside threats and focusing on the back of Jusson’s head as he rounded the curve ahead of me. As he disappeared, my gaze fell on Thadro and then Suiden before moving to Arlis, who’d worked his way to just behind Groskin. The red had gone from the edges of my vision, but I could feel the weight of my anger in the space between my chest and my gut, heavy and slowly burning.

“No, Two Trees’son.”

Jumping a little, I turned my head to see Wyln. The enchanter hadn’t joined Jusson as I’d expected, but had worked his way not only past my guards, but also past the spheres to descend the stairs next to me.

“Honored cyhn?” I asked.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Wyln said. “Don’t even let it take root.”

“Scrying my thoughts again?” I asked.

“Unnecessary,” Wyln said, “when all I have to do is look at your face.”

I lowered my head and stared at my boots. They were bright with the reflection of the fire sphere. “I’m tired,” I said, my voice soft. “So very, very tired.”

Wyln let loose a singing sigh. “What happened to set this off? You summoning your aspects?”

“No,” I said. “They appeared by themselves while I slept.”

“Did they?” Wyln eyed them before returning his gaze to me, the flames in his eyes bright. “So why are you under guard?”

“The king thought I was going to sneak off with Lady Berenice.”

“And were you?” Wyln asked.

I shook my head. “No, honored cyhn. I had no intention of going anywhere with anybody. However, His Majesty did not ask me.”

“Then why did he think you were?”

Wyln was silent as I told him about Berenice’s public demand that she and I meet privately. By the time I finished, we had debouched onto the grand gallery and met up with Jusson’s aristos appearing from their lodging in the other parts of the castle—apparently a servant had been sent to issue the king’s summons. Jusson paused to both update his nobles and to also send Groskin and a contingent of troopers to get the horses. Wyln, taking hold of my arm, pulled me out of the milling chaos and into a far corner. The guards and Jeff went with us, though they all stood a little off because of the spheres surrounding me. Despite the incarceration of their mistress and master, the castle servants were up and about and had placed lit candles in the wall sconces. In their light, I could see the troubled expression on Wyln’s face.

“I see,” he said when I’d stopped talking.

“Do you, honored cyhn?” I asked. “For I don’t.”

“You are new to this,” Wyln said quietly. “To high rank and court life, which can be treacherous ground, full of bogs, hidden traps, and pitfalls.”

“No worse than garrison life,” I muttered.

“On one hand, yes,” Wyln said. “People are people no matter their station in life. On the other hand, though, stubbing your toe in Freston is much different than stumbling in Iver’son’s court. One would get you a sore foot and perhaps time in the stockades, the other could topple thrones. You’re used to doing for yourself, deciding for yourself—”

“Not in the army, you don’t,” I said.

A faint smile flickered on Wyln’s face. “All right. You’re used to doing and deciding for yourself within a set of known parameters. But now those parameters have changed. Under normal circumstances, you would’ve had a chance to explore, figure out where the hazards are; however, there hasn’t been the time or luxury. Add to it the fact that Iver’son is also new at this—”

“New? He has been king almost as long as I’ve been alive.”

“And you are his first and only heir,” Wyln pointed out. “An heir he only knows through the reports of others and the extremely short time he’s spent with you. Time that has been fraught with difficulties and danger.”

I stared at Wyln before shifting my gaze over to Jusson, standing in the middle of his nobles, Thadro and Suiden flanking him. “I’ve sworn three times to his throne. A fourth to him directly. My oaths mean nothing?”

“I understand that Gherat Dru’son also swore to him and his throne, in both fealty and in lifelong friendship,” Wyln said.

I opened my mouth, found I had nothing to say to that, and shut it again.

“A ruler learns that oaths are as trustworthy as the people who give them,” Wyln said. “And the only way a ruler learns a person is trustworthy is by that person’s actions. You should’ve told Iver’son about honored Berenice’s demands, Rabbit, especially after he had her mother and father restrained. Just like you should’ve told him why you left the searchers yesterday and exactly what happened with honored Berenice and Princess Rajya the previous night.”

“I wasn’t hiding anything.” Not exactly. I scrubbed my hand against my stomach as my truth rune gave a twinge. “I just didn’t think they were all that important. At least not important to what all else was happening at the time.”

“As I said, I understand,” Wyln said. “The trick is to get Iver’son to understand too. In the meantime, however, I want you to stay close.”

“Don’t worry, honored cyhn,” I said. “I’m not about to try to shake my guards.” I caught sight of Arlis standing right behind Groskin, his back turned deliberately towards me. “Such as they are.”

“No, I mean stay close to me.” Wyln aimed his troubled look out over the balcony. While the gallery had lighted candles in the sconces, the castle servants must’ve stopped there for there were none in the Great Hall. Dawn was coming; I see could a tinge of gray in the windows, but down below lay in stillness and darkness. Wyln stared down in it, his winged brows once more pulling together. “While you and Iver’son have your . . . issues, there’s something happening beyond that.”

“You mean, something besides disappearances, ambushes, mage attacks, enchantments, revelations about the late queen, imprisonments, and a set of catastrophes guaranteed to turn any host’s hair white?”

Wyln’s amused expression briefly appeared. “Yes, something beyond that.” His smile faded. “But with everything that happened yesterday evening and last night, I wonder whether that wrongness is aimed at you.”

I remembered that the enchanter had said the same thing yesterday at the anvea, and thinking over those same events my spine stiffened. “You mean, like a demon or something?”

“No,” he said, frowning, though he looked more perplexed than upset. “Nothing of hell. It just feels off. Like a sour grace note in a welter of music. I wish Laurel were here—he has a keener sense for subtle magicks.” He looked surprised for a moment at what he’d just admitted, then shrugged, a gentle movement of his shoulders. “So he does, which was probably why he was stolen away.”

I also frowned. “Maybe, though that doesn’t explain Captain Javes.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Wyln agreed. “However, I would not want to be in Iver’son’s shoes if he ever has to explain to the Qarant that he lost one of their sons. Nor would I want to be the messenger.”

“Heigh-ho, merry go,” I whispered, shaken out of my anger. “Maybe he could have Kveta tell them for him.”

“Perhaps,” Wyln said. He looked around as the crowd on the gallery shifted. Jusson, done with conferring with his nobles, headed for the grand staircase, the two servants with the lit candles going before. About us, aristos, troopers, and King’s Own politely jockeyed for position as they poured down the steps, Arlis remaining at the fore of the line. Wyln’s gaze rested on him for a moment before sweeping the rest of the crowd. “Where is Kveta?” he asked.

“She decided to stay upstairs,” I said as we joined the last of the queue going downstairs. “Her injury is paining her too much to attempt the stairs—”

I broke off as there was a sudden flaring light down below and everyone came to an abrupt halt. All around the great hall torches, candles, braziers, and the massive hearth were being lit until, in just moments, the entire hall was ablaze. We could see that though we’d come down to breakfast, there wasn’t any food anywhere. The hall was bare, the long tables nowhere in sight, and even the rushes removed from the stone floor. Well, it was bare except for the people crowded into it. There were castle armsmen wearing chain mail and some of the burlier servants in leather armor, all of whom were carrying sharp weapons. And seated on his lord’s chair was Idwal, his captain dressed for battle at his side. Of Berenice and Lady Margriet, though, there was no sign.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Idwal said.

Twenty-three

It was like a scene from a play. The torches on either side of the lord’s chair cast a golden light over the armor of the castle armsmen and servants flanking their lord. On the floor in front of Idwal were the troopers and Own who had been set to guard him and his armsmen, stripped down to their smalls, their hands and feet bound. Idwal himself sat forward in his chair, his elbow resting on the chair arm, his chin propped on his fist, his face bisected by the nosepiece of his helm, which came down almost to his mouth. In its shadow, his forest green eyes glowed. Above him, the tapestry with his house crest hung, the flickering flames making the white stag angrily shift and toss his antlers.

“Bones and bloody ashes,” Jeff cursed softly, his gaze on the bound troopers and guards, his fists clenching. He wasn’t the only one. A low growl rose from the troopers and royal guards as their hands went to rest on their swords.

“The eorl is a fool, Jeffen Corbin’son,” Wyln murmured. “A fool who hasn’t given thought to the consequence of his actions.”

“A fool with a death wish,” I said, the rage curling almost lazily about my stomach.

Whatever Jusson intended, he was keeping it to himself—sort of. He wore the same mildly interested expression he had on all morning, which had several of his aristos discreetly edging away. That wasn’t true of Thadro. The lord commander’s face was flushed with fury, his body leaning forward on the balls of his feet, his eyes two frozen points that jabbed at Idwal. However, eclipsing them both was Suiden. The captain was incandescent with his rage (which had several Freston troopers edging away from him). He started to move towards his bound men, but Thadro, without looking, thrust out his arm carrying the king’s shield and Suiden allowed himself to be stopped. For the moment.

“You go too far, Mearden,” Thadro snarled.

“Another old and tired cliché, Thadro,” Idwal said. “Surely you can do better than that.”

“All rebellion is clichéd,” Jusson said. “The stirring sentiments are added later by the winning side.” He moved, bridging the distance between him and Idwal, his soldiers, Own, and aristos moving with him, leather creaking and chain mail clinking as they walked with their king. I, however, remained where I was, Jeff and Wyln with me, all of us still caged both by my aspects and the surrounding guards. There was another ripple of light on the tapestry and I looked up to see the white stag had also moved and was now watching me, and my rage tipped briefly into fear.

I’m a good son of the Church, I thought.

“Am I rebelling?” Idwal asked. Smiling, he leaned back, thrust his feet out, and folded his hands over his stomach—a deliberate mocking of Jusson’s favorite pose. “I would’ve sworn I was just protecting what was mine—”

Idwal broke off, sitting up straight at a sudden clattering sound of armor, weaponry, and boot steps. A moment later, Lieutenant Groskin appeared, leading a mixture of the Freston Patrollers and aristos’ armsmen from town. They were pushing before them castle armsmen who bore marks of a very recent altercation. Shoving through the mob, Groskin walked up to Captain Suiden.

“I saw several people who shouldn’t have been up and about trying to prevent Captain Remke from reaching his lord, sir,” he said. “So I returned to help out.”

“Excellent, Lieutenant,” Suiden said.

Jusson gave a razor smile as the additional men fell in with the rest behind him, swelling their ranks considerably. “Is it yours, Mearden?” he asked.

Before Idwal could respond, there was another sound of people rushing, this one coming from above. All of us turned and looked up to see Princess Rajya, Munir, and the soldiers of Her Highness’ entourage spilling into the gallery. They slowed, then stopped as they took in the solid mass of armed men staring up at them.

“By the Sun Throne’s talons,” Princess Rajya said, her dark eyes bright. “I wondered why a servant hadn’t responded to my summons for hot water, but then reckoned that the castle was still upended from yesterday’s mishaps.” She snapped her fingers at her soldiers. “See to xe Abbe.”

The Turalian soldiers immediately headed for the grand staircase. At the same time, Thadro spun on his heel to face them.

“You will not come near Captain Suiden,” the lord commander snapped. “In fact, I suggest that you and your pet wizard return to your chambers until such time it is deemed prudent to leave them.”

“You will keep us from protecting our crown prince?” Princess Rajya asked. “I wonder what the amir would say to that.” She impatiently gestured at the soldiers who paused on the steps. “Go on.”

“Daughter,” began Suiden.

“I don’t care if you’ve chained yourself to the Iversterre throne, Father,” Princess Rajya said. “You will have your men about you. And they will bring you home.”

Mearden gave a dark laugh, once more leaning back in his chair. “Your guest, Your Majesty. You invited her here.”

Ignoring Mearden, Jusson nodded at Thadro, who in turn gestured at Groskin, who split off with most of the Freston Patrollers to block the Turals.

“If the captain doesn’t want to go,” Groskin said, his eyes glinting gold, “he’s not going.”

“Damn straight,” Ryson said over the mutters of Suiden’s troop.

“M’daces!” Princess Rajya hissed. She shifted her glare to Jusson. “You spoke of acts of war. If they do not move, I will consider this one.”

“Indeed,” Munir said. He moved to stand next to Princess Rajya, his hands tucked into his robe sleeves, his own gaze on Suiden. “The time has come for this farce to end, Your Highness. You will take your rightful place in the Sun Court.”

“Rightful place?” Suiden asked, his voice taking on a basso rumble. “What did the amir promise you for my return, Adeptus?”

Munir pulled his hands from his sleeves and I saw that he was wearing silver rings attached by a crisscrossing network of thin chains that lay across the back of his hands and created an intricate web between his fingers.

“Battle wizard,” Wyln said beside me as both Jusson’s and Idwal’s men stirred. My spine stiffening, I took a protective step towards the king, only to be brought up short once more by my guards. The anger deepened, once more tingeing my vision red.

Munir smiled, a flash of white as he spread his fingers, the new light pouring in from the windows glinting on the chains, on the silver embroidery of his gray robe, and the blue tattoos on his bald head. “Who said anything about returning you to the amir—”

“Munir!” Princess Rajya said, seemingly more startled at what the wizard had just let slip than what he’d actually said. The Turalian soldiers, though, turned as one and gave Munir slit-eyed stares. Munir wasn’t fazed.

“Quiet,” he said to the princess. “It doesn’t matter what an elf child king of a backwards kingdom on the outer reaches knows or thinks he knows. What is done here will remain done by the time it reaches the Sun Court and then nothing anyone can do will change it.”

“Not all are children here, wizard,” Wyln said.

“I’ve tasted your power, enchanter,” Munir said. “At the anvea, I tasted it. While you might have once been formidable, you’ve allowed yourself to go soft. Too long it’s been since your Fyrst has sent you to war.” His eyes rested on me. “And the tiro is exactly that. A talented boy who shows great promise, but half trained, untried, easily thrown off stride—”

“He’s no boy.”

Munir—along with Princess Rajya and the rest of us shifted to see that Berenice had appeared on the gallery. The daughter of Mearden looked magnificent in the increasing morning light. She wore a well- fitting dress as green as her father’s eyes, which not only turned her skin creamy with the blush of a new rose, but also showed the curves and roundness of a lush body. Her hair was pulled back into her snood with her usual single pearl hanging by a chain on her forehead, but that only highlighted the perfection of her features, even with the bruise along her cheek. I blinked at her, momentarily forgetting my anger as I controlled both the urge to step back and the desire to get up close and very personal.

Princess Rajya’s eyes narrowed, but before she could speak, Lord Idwal rose from his chair. “Go back upstairs,” he said. “Now.”

“Papa, the stag moved,” Berenice said. She pointed at the tapestry. “In fact, he’s moved again.”

At Berenice’s words, most everyone shifted to look, those standing underneath it turning to stare up at the tapestry. Then they remembered where they were and who they were with and snapped back around, but no one on our side had moved. Except to look at me with expressions of long suffering.

“Lieutenant,” Thadro said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I shook my head. “It wasn’t me. He moved on his own. Sir.” Despite what Kveta thought.

“I don’t care if he came down and did the gavotte,” Idwal said, still staring at his daughter. “You go upstairs to your mother.”

“You know,” Princess Rajya said, “despite your amazing transformation, it amazes me that either of you thought that King Jusson would waste his heir and such a potent wizard on such a minor casim.”

“Does it, Your Highness?” Berenice said. “But it’s not more remarkable than you believing that His Majesty would place same heir and wizard within reach of a man who not only has designs on Iversterre, but tossed his own heir away.”

Princess Rajya’s face tightened. “That was a mistake now being rectified—”

“No, Daughter,” Suiden said gently. His gaze went to Munir and his face hardened. “I am not returning. Ever.”

“You have to,” Princess Rajya said. “You are Hlafakyri i’alDraconi—”

“I said quiet!” Munir snapped at Her Highness.

Berenice laughed. “Hlafakyri i’alDraconi? So you said after evening meal last night. It is amazing what people throw away. Well, I am not so foolish.”

“You’re foolish enough to disobey your abbe,” Princess Rajya shot back. “It seems whatever his intentions, he has changed his mind.”

“He has not,” Berenice said. She faced her father, staring down at him. “Papa, not only the stag but the forest too—”

“It’s coming alive, isn’t it?” I heard myself ask, and I abruptly closed my mouth. But it was too late. All attention focused on me once more. However, Wyln turned his head to the windows, comprehension dawning on his face.

“Coming alive, Cousin?” Jusson asked, forgetting that he wasn’t talking to me.

“The trees, Your Majesty,” I said. “The ‘Watcher’ isn’t some entity lurking in the forest. It is the forest itself, and last night the forest defended itself against a threat.”

“Well, no,” Berenice said. “Not exactly.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Idwal said. “There will be no union between Chause and Mearden. Upstairs!”

“No, Papa!” Berenice made as if she would push past Princess Rajya and Munir to descend to the great hall. At the same time Idwal signaled a few of his burly servants to the staircase to keep her from coming down. However, they were all stopped by the logjam of Turalian soldiers and Royal Army troopers at the base of the staircase.

“This is your fault!”

I swung my gaze back to Idwal. “Of course it is,” I said affably. “I made you send letters about demanding redress for things that happened before I was born.”

“Bloody roué,” Idwal said. “Just like your father, can’t keep your codpiece closed.”

“Speaking of codpieces,” I said. “Did you promise Queen Herleve choice bits of my ma’s dowry?”

“It’s more than possible, Cousin,” Jusson said.

Berenice paused in her efforts to get downstairs. “Papa?”

“I made Hilga an honest offer!” Idwal bellowed, but he was cut off by Munir’s laughter, the wizard slapping the banister in his mirth.

“Oh, ho, a classic case of the pot and kettle. But then, I’m not surprised.” Munir made a gesture that encompassed the tapestry with the watching Stag and the family crest over the fireplace. “This entire casim is given over to pagan fertility symbols. It’s amazing that we all haven’t sunk into debauchery.”

“While virile, the White Stag is not someone you’d want to evoke in an affair of the heart—or any other body part,” Wyln said, abruptly amused.

“Good Lord, no,” I said. “Anyway, this whole thing has been a farce.”

“The farce is you,” began Idwal.

“I am who I’ve always been, no more, no less,” I said. I indicated the changed Berenice. “Whereas you have been playing games from the moment I arrived—”

“Certainly was playing games the night before last,” Princess Rajya said. “Especially one of seduction.”

“What?” Idwal stared at the princess, then turned his glare on me.

“Seducing?” Jusson asked at the same time. He raised an eyebrow at me. “You said that you’d done nothing untoward, Cousin.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t Lord Rabbit who was doing the seducing,” Princess Rajya said, her face benign.

“Like father, like daughter,” Munir said, his eyes glinting.

“Uhm,” Berenice said, her eyes on her father.

“Nothing happened,” I began.

“Only because you were interrupted,” Princess Rajya said.

“Just like nothing happened between me and you, Your Highness,” I finished. “Despite your best efforts—”

Jeff’s mouth fell open—along with all the Freston Patrollers—while color drained from Ryson’s face. “Are you insane, Rabbit?” Ryson hissed at me.

But Captain Suiden kept his gaze on the princess. “Daughter?”

“Uhm,” Princess Rajya said.

“Everyone wanting something without giving—and trying to use me to get it,” I said. “Well, you can all go pound sand. I’m not marrying anyone.”

Princess Rajya made a recovery and folded her arms across her chest. “Coward and fool! You are nothing but a boy in men’s clothing—”

“I told you to be quiet!” Munir said. He waved his hand once more and Princess Rajya’s hand flew up to her throat. Her eyes wide, she worked her mouth but no sound came out. “Just like her mother,” Munir continued. “Always talking with nothing to say—”

With a deep roar, Suiden snatched his sword and rushed at the staircase, shoving aside aristos, troopers, Own, and anybody else that was in his way. Unruffled, Munir raised his hands and Suiden flew back into some of Idwal’s men who had decided that, with us distracted by the give-and-take, it was a good time to try to retrieve the other castle armsmen held by Groskin and the Freston troopers. They too pulled short swords and cudgels as they shoved Suiden off them. But they didn’t get far as Groskin and most of the Mountain Patrollers went after them, their own swords and long knives drawn.

“See to the king!” Thadro snapped, and the Own and many of the aristos and their armsmen solidified around Jusson.

“To me!” shouted Idwal, and a large knot of his castle folk surrounded him.

Taking advantage of the widening gap at the bottom of the stairs, the Turalian soldiers snaked through to get to Suiden. But my former captain found his feet, spun away from them, and once more headed up the stairs, but was stopped by the burly armsmen Idwal sent to escort Berenice to her chamber. At the same time, Berenice made her bid for the great hall below, roughly pushing Princess Rajya aside. Dropping her hands from her throat, Her Highness pushed Berenice back.

“Bitch!” Berenice snarled, and swung a right cross at Princess Rajya that rivaled the skinny girl’s from the first night. However, Her Highness dodged, then, baring her teeth, went in low and caught Berenice around the waist. They both tumbled from view behind the banister.

Which wasn’t true of Munir. The Turalian wizard stood calm above the increasing clangor that was filling the great hall, his bright gaze fixed on Suiden as he once more raised his hands. But before he could cast anything, he staggered, his eyes widening. Spinning around, he stared down to see Wyln rising up through the air, the dark elf’s long mane of hair floating as flames radiated out from him.

“Taste this, Adeptus,” Wyln said and, clasping his hands together, shot a bolt of fire at Munir. The wizard hurriedly brought up his own hands and deflected it to a window that bubbled as it half melted.

“This is your fault!”

I, along with Jeff and my royal guards, had been gaping at Wyln and Munir. At the shout, I quickly turned, expecting to see Idwal bearing down at me. However, the Lord of Mearden was heading for the king, sword in hand.

“Majesty!” I shouted.

Jusson had also been distracted by the duel between Wyln and Munir. At my shout, though, he turned and faced Mearden. And smiled. “Come, Idwal,” he said, drawing his own sword with one hand and pushing aside Thadro with another. “Let’s settle this.”

As Jusson’s and Idwal’s swords clashed, up above us Munir summoned a fireball and flung it at Wyln. The enchanter didn’t bother to duck, allowing the fireball to hit him in the chest—where it was absorbed. Wyln gave a wild laugh, the flames filling his eyes, making them look like twin furnaces.

“You have to do better than that, Adeptus,” the enchanter said, his voice taking on the roar of a firestorm as he shot another bolt of flame at the wizard. Munir barely managed to get his hands up in time to deflect it, this time into a wall hanging. It burst into fire and those under it ran screaming, causing the mob in the great hall to surge. Braziers were knocked over in the stampede, spilling burning coal onto the floor, which caused more people to run. The royal guards who surrounded the battling king and Lord of Mearden shoved away those who stumbled into them, but Mearden’s servants and armsmen took exception to their manhandling and shoved back, as another burst of fire hit another wall hanging, setting it too alight and creating still another wave of running, screaming folk. Smoke swirled around the hall, reflecting red, orange, and yellow from the torches, fireplace, and flames from the burning wall hangings as the fighting spread. Mearden’s servants and armsmen fought with aristos, the aristos’ armsmen, with troopers, with Suiden, with King’s Own, and even with each other as they tried to get out of the way of the fires, the increasing sound of metal against metal causing my ears to ring.

Going on the offensive, Munir cast another fireball at Wyln but it went wild and exploded against one of the beaten ceiling beams, casting a shower of sparks down on the people below at the foot of the stairs. There were more screams and cries, and the resultant wave of folks caused Suiden to lose his footing and the castle armsmen bore him down to the floor, where he disappeared under the feet of the mob.

“Captain!” shouted Groskin as he, Ryson, and the other troopers gave over trying to stop the Turals and started fighting to reach Suiden.

“Sa Abbe!” the Turalian soldiers shouted at the same time, and they joined Groskin and the rest in trying to rescue the captain.

Coughing, I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket and covered my nose and mouth with it as Jeff and I also tried to reach Suiden. But I was held back by the Own guarding me.

“His Majesty’s orders,” one guard shouted over the din. “You’re to stay here, in this spot, no matter what happens.” He eyed the aspects still circling me. “Doing no magic.”

“That’s stupid,” I said back. “The captain’s being trampled!”

Jeff didn’t argue, though. He hesitated; then, remembering what happened last time he left me, he stayed, his face anxious as he scanned for a sign of the captain. Across the room I could see Arlis with his old troop mates as they frantically tried to unearth Suiden. He glanced back at us, saw Jeff standing by me, and I could see the same realization cross his face. He too hesitated, then worked his way over. Jeff stiffened.

“Sodding bastard,” he muttered, apparently forgetting his words of wisdom upstairs.

“Not worth it,” I muttered back at him.

I don’t know if Arlis heard us, but he clearly saw Jeff’s expression—and Arlis’ mouth twisted in a sneer. He then cast me a hooded glance, but at that moment my eyes were drawn up as Wyln gave another wild laugh, once more shooting flame at Munir. But this time, instead of deflecting, the wizard ducked and the flame splattered against the gallery wall, leaving a rosette of scorch marks.

“Who’s the coward now?” Wyln sang as he floated closer to the gallery, a tracery of fire about his hands.

“There’s cowardice and there’s knowing one’s limitations, Sro Wyln,” Munir said, appearing from behind the banister. Rising with him was Princess Rajya and Berenice. Both Her Highness and the daughter of the House looked worse for wear, their hair hanging down in hanks, their clothes ripped and awry, the princess with claw marks down her neck, Berenice with a rapidly swelling eye above her already bruised cheek. However, my gaze was on what surrounded them—the same alternating flames that Munir had produced at the anvea the previous day.

“I have apparently misjudged your abilities, Enchanter,” Munir said, pushing Berenice and Princess Rajya in front of him so those of us below got to see their terrified faces. “But I don’t think I’ve misjudged your willingness to abuse hospitality by harming both your host’s and your kinsman’s liegeman’s daughters—”

“No!” Dropping his guard, Idwal stared up at his hostage daughter, sudden worry creasing his face. Instead of taking advantage, Jusson spun about to stare also, Thadro moving to cover his back. All around them the fighting slowed as more heads to look at hostages on the gallery.

Well, all fighting slowed except that around Suiden. Groskin, the Freston troopers, and the Turalian soldiers were still battling to get to Suiden, while the burly castle armsmen were just as determined to keep them away. For a moment, it looked as though the captain would win free, but more piled on him. “Rajya!” Suiden roared, the captain struggling against those holding him down.

His Majesty’s orders or not, I reached for the water aspect, thinking to counter the fire, but Munir must’ve kept an eye on me as he turned his brilliant smile on me. “And there’s you, young tiro.”

Munir flicked his fingers and the same ring of flames surrounded me, shutting out my guards, Jeff, and Arlis, but leaving the aspects contained with me. I slowly brought up my hand and touched a flame; the burn of it shot through me.

“Think of it as parole, a guarantee of good behavior,” Munir said. “In fact, Sro Rabbit and Sra Berenice shall accompany us to the ship so that guarantee is extended to all involved—”

“And he’s your guest,” Idwal said to Jusson, his voice faint.

Jusson ignored him. “You dare abduct our cousin and heir?” he asked Munir. Behind him castle servants pulled down the burning wall hangings while others poured buckets of water on them and on the smoldering rushes. Steam arose, adding to the smoke swirling about us, and the king’s eyes burned bright gold through the mists.

“I dare all sorts of things,” Munir said with another brilliant smile. “To avoid awkwardness, we’ll leave for the ship now. I’m sure, Sro Idwal, that you’ll allow our servants and baggage to reach us. Once they do, I’ll release Sra Berenice.”

“And our cousin?” Jusson asked.

“Sro Rabbit will accompany us to Tural,” Munir said. “As a guarantee of your good behavior—and Prince Suiden’s cooperation.” He looked down at the Turalian soldiers. “Get His Highness.”

“Do you really think that we will allow you to do this?” Jusson asked, his voice mild, his face interested. Forgetting about Idwal, he moved to stare up at the wizard, Idwal and his guard moving with him. “Taking both our liegeman and our heir as prisoners to another kingdom, only to be released—if at all—upon your whim?”

“Not as prisoners, Your Majesty,” Munir said. “One is going home and the other will be our guest. And who knows? While Her Highness didn’t manage to tickle Sro Rabbit’s fancy, as was previously stated, there are others who perhaps will. We’ll see when we arrive at the Sun Court.”

“And if something were to happen to us after our cousin’s marriage, well, there’s the amir to step in and help someone so obviously inexperienced in running a kingdom,” Jusson said.

“The future holds all manner of uncertainty, Your Majesty,” Munir said. “Who knows what may or may not happen?” He motioned at Berenice and Princess Rajya. “Sra Berenice, Your Highness, if you would please descend the stairs. Prince Suiden and Sro Rabbit will join us on our way out.”

Both Berenice and Princess Rajya had watched the give-and-take between Munir and Jusson with blank faces. Now, at Munir’s command, they both turned and walked to the stairs, their movements slow and careful as they tried to keep the flames from touching them. Munir matched the two women step for step as he kept them between him and a silently tracking Wyln. Having moved just a little faster than Her Highness, Berenice went down the stairs first, those in front of her scrambling out of the way.

“My daughter,” Idwal said, his face filled with distress.

“As I said, you’ll get her back,” Munir said. He made an impatient gesture at Princess Rajya, who’d stopped. “Move.”

Princess Rajya took a step, then stumbled and went down, disappearing behind the banister. However, she didn’t stay down for long. She came back up with her dagger that she stabbed at Munir. That also didn’t faze the wizard. Calmly dodging back, he waved his hand and Rajya dropped the knife, her face and body twisting in agony, her mouth opened in a silent scream as the flames around her grew bright enough to cause those close to her to shield their eyes.

“Stupid girl,” Munir said. “Just like your mother—”

The wizard was cut off with another bellowing roar, the timbre of it deepening until the basso rumble of it shook the stones of the castle. The next moment, bodies were flung aside as an obsidian dragon with wings shot with gold filled the hall, his flamed- filled emerald green eyes fixed on Munir as smoke curled up from his muzzle, adding to the still swirling fog of smoke and steam.

The Turalian soldiers cried out, falling to their knees, while Princess Rajya lifted her tearstained face to stare down at her father. Munir also moved quickly to look down on the translated captain, shoving aside Berenice and the princess.

“So,” Munir said, his face avid. “It’s true.”

Suiden didn’t answer. Unfurling his wings until they brushed the hall’s high ceiling, he rushed up the stairs, bowling people out of his way. However, before he reached the first landing, Munir plucked a long, thin, ivory-colored wand from his sleeve and pointed it at the dragon prince. There was a flash of light through the swirling smoke and steam and Suiden came to an abrupt stop, frozen midstep.

“What have you done?” Jusson demanded.

“Sorcery,” Wyln hissed.

“Not sorcery,” Munir said. “Dragon bone. The only thing that can control a dragon.”

The hair on the back of my neck rose and the memory of the carved bone in Lady Margriet’s stillroom cabinet flashed across my mind—and how it all had spiraled out of control. Frantically wondering where else they might be, I tried to push past my guards, but was stopped again, this time by the flames surrounding me.

“You,” Wyln said, floating closer. “You’re the cause of all the mishaps and mayhem of the past few days, bringing that cursed thing here.”

“Cursed?” Idwal asked.

“Dragon body parts carry a hefty curse with them,” Jusson said. “Division, dissension, and distrust. Makes you wonder why anyone would bother with them.”

“Because there are those who are greedy, Iver’son,” Wyln said, “and stupid with it.”

“Your guest,” Idwal accused Jusson.

“Not greedy,” Munir said over Idwal. “Rather, intelligent enough to correctly use the tools available to me.” He held up the wand and even through the thick fog, I could see the runes carved into it. More slender and lighter in color than the one in the stillroom cabinet, it reminded me forcibly of the wand I’d seen through the mirror back in Freston when I’d been fighting Slevoic. “This is warded and its curse contained and properly channeled,” Munir continued. “You’ll have to find another cause for the contentiousness of your people—”

Munir broke off as Suiden slowly moved a taloned foot, placing it delicately on the step in front of him.

“Well, well,” Jusson said. Somehow he managed to work his way past the Freston Patrollers and castle armsmen to stand next to Suiden, his sword held at his side, Thadro at his back, both of them unheeding of the still kneeling Turalian soldiers. “Perhaps not so intelligent. It seems that you’re losing control here, Lord Wizard.”

So it did. Seeing Munir distracted, I pushed my staff into the crook of my arm and curled the fingers of both hands around two of the flames surrounding me, allowing the burning to fill my body, the pulse of it beating in the fire symbol on my palm. As I did, the fire aspect hovering above me drifted down, unasked, settling over my hands. At first the burning greatly increased, but I didn’t fight it and after a moment it began to mellow into warmth, the flames surrounding me starting to flicker, then fade. I kept my gaze on Munir, but the wizard remained occupied with Suiden. His own eyes narrowed, he aimed his dragon bone wand once more at the captain. I could feel the pressure of his working in my ears, like descending from a mountaintop into low-lying land. Suiden froze again, and the tension left Munir’s shoulders—only to return when Suiden gently placed his other foot on the next step. Munir took a step backwards.

“Abbin,” Princess Rajya said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Startled, Munir turned to look at the no longer silenced princess and saw that Wyln had quietly floated almost behind him. Snarling, the wizard grabbed Her Highness and thrust her at the enchanter. Princess Rajya screamed again as she came into contact with the ring of flames about her, this time her hoarse voice filling the hall. Suiden exploded with a rattle of scales and talons against the polished wood of the staircase as he rushed up the second flight, Jusson and Thadro racing alongside. With a shout, the Turalian soldiers leapt up and ran after them—though whether to protect Munir or to help Suiden I couldn’t tell. After a moment’s hesitation, Idwal also ran, only to bounce off the royal guards, who had no intention of allowing him behind the king’s back.

“My daughter!” Idwal shouted at them.

“Papa!” Berenice cried at the same time. Then she too screamed as Munir snatched her, dragging her back to hold her as a shield against Suiden, Jusson, and Thadro. Bellowing, Idwal fell on the King’s Own who were blocking him, his captain and castle armsmen and servants rallying behind him. Lieutenant Groskin, the Freston troopers, and the aristos’ armsmen joined the Own and their clangor once more filling the hall as the renewed fighting spread. Up above on the gallery, Jusson and Thadro were damn near dancing as they tried to get around Berenice to Munir, while the Turalian soldiers were blocked behind Suiden. Munir fell back until he stood against the wall, just under the flame rosette, and faced them all, his dragon bone wand waving graceful arcs in the air as he continued to try to contain the dragon, while he kept his grip on the sobbing Berenice, her face wild with pain.

Down on the hall floor, a wave of fighters washed up against the King’s Own, Jeff, and Arlis still standing outside my circle of flames. They all tried to push back, but were swallowed by the mob. Somehow, though, I stayed in my clear space. Well, clear of bodies. Even though the fires were out, the smoke and steam had become thicker, now seeming to rise from the stone floor and cloaking everyone downstairs so that all I could make out were silhouettes; even those close to me were moving shadows against the swirling fog, the sounds of their fighting increasingly muffled as if coming from afar. The gallery was still mostly clear, but tendrils were swiftly climbing the stairs and the walls, creating cloud banks around Jusson, Thadro, and Munir’s feet, while Suiden looked as though he were on the peak of a mist-shrouded mountain. Feeling the last of the flames weaken and fade away, I started for the stairs, not caring about Jusson’s orders, not caring about much of anything except to get my hands on the Turalian wizard. I hadn’t gotten far, however, when something hooked my ankle and I tripped, falling to my hands and knees. I quickly pushed to my feet and turned, ready to snarl at either the King’s Own Jusson had set on me or one of Idwal’s armsmen. It was neither.

Standing in front of me was the pale mage.

Twenty-four

Even though the light from the fully risen sun pooled in the clear space about me, the mage’s face and form were blurred. However, I had no problem seeing in exquisite detail the blackened assassin blade he gripped in one hand or my feather that he held in the other and I immediately brought my staff around in front of me. The mage gave a soft laugh and tossed the knife up in the air. It stopped at eye level, its point aimed at me. The mage opened his other hand and the feather floated up so that he was bracketed by both. He then opened his arms wide, showing that he wasn’t carrying anything larger than a pocketknife. Conscious of the aspects floating above me—and remembering what happened the last time we’d gone toe-to-toe—I did the only thing I could think of. Keeping my grip on my staff, I drew my sword and charged.

Only to be hit with what felt like an avalanche of boulders. I went down on my back, my body slamming onto the bare floor, the wind knocked out of me. While I retained my sword, my staff was wrenched from my hands, skittering beyond my reach. I tried to get up, but there was a weight holding me down. A weight that was steadily increasing, crushing me. The sounds of fighting became more distant and difficult to hear over the roaring in my ears, my sight dimming. Gasping, I swung out with my sword and felt a solid thunk as it connected. There was a faint yelp and the weight eased. Dragging in a deep breath, I shoved up with the palm of my other hand, catching the mage in the nose with a satisfying crunch. He gave another muffled yelp and I pushed him off.

Suiden had said last night that I thought more like a soldier than a mage—which was not quite true. While I had been plain Trooper Rabbit much longer than I’d been a journeyman mage, I had been aware of the talent in one way or another most of my life—if only hoping no one would ever find out I was mageborn. However, now the talent wasn’t in my thoughts at all as I rolled to my feet. There wasn’t any room. I turned towards the mage, locating him more by a sense of air displacement than by my still darkened sight, and lunged once more—only to be slapped back by a fist of wind that tore the sword out of my hand. I dived after it, but it clattered along the floor, disappearing into the fog. Fetching up against a brazier, I reached in and grabbed a handful of charcoal, not caring that it was still burning—not even feeling it burn—and threw it in the mage’s face. He howled and stumbled back and, scrambling to my feet, this time I leapt, both of us going down in a welter of arms and legs underneath the tapestry of the watching white stag.

“Rabbit!”

I barely heard Jeff’s distant voice. The rage that had been dancing red on the edges of my vision now filled it. And not just at the unknown mage doing his level best to kill me. The slights, the name calling, the sneers, the attacks, the years I spent dodging Slevoic, my forced attachment to the King’s Own, Lord Commander Thadro, my removal from the King’s Own, the constant having to prove myself, Arlis’ betrayal among all the other betrayals, even having no say in coming here and being displayed like bloodstock had me snarling as we rolled across the floor underneath the feet of the other fighters, as the cries, the shouts, and the discordant ringing of weapon against weapon distorted in the fog bank filling the great hall.

Catching the mage by his hair, I slammed his head against the floor. In turn, he managed to get an arm between us. The next moment I went flying, the air rushing past my ears. Before I could land, I was flipped so that I fell on my stomach. The mage jumped and landed with both knees in the small of my back, once more knocking the breath out of me. Grabbing my braid, he lifted my head and I felt the kiss of a blade against the side of my neck.

There was a brief moment of crystalline clarity. I could hear Berenice’s hoarse cries of pain, Suiden’s roars, Jusson’s, Thadro’s, and Idwal’s shouts, my heart thumping, the mage’s harsh panting, the distant waves crashing. I could see the drab of my Freston dress uniform, the tiny darn I’d made when I’d snagged my sleeve on a nail in the garrison stables last winter, the way the bones and veins popped out of the backs of my hands, the length of my fingers as they pressed against the stone floor. And there were the smells, of leather and metal, the heat of Wyln’s and Munir’s fires, the stench of burning, of sweat, of fear, of my soap, of Princess Rajya’s perfume, the faint scent of the autumnal forest, the even fainter scent of the sea.

Strange how I couldn’t smell the mage kneeling on my back ready to slit my throat.

I instinctively tried to tuck my chin down in my chest. The mage took a firmer grip on my braid and dragged my head back. I kept going, my hands pushing against the floor as I shoved up, the back of my head hitting him again in the nose. There was a loud yelp and the knife slipped, scoring a line of ice down the side of my neck. I started to scramble out from under, but was caught, this time thrown on my back so I stared up into the blurry features. The air once more became thick and heavy, the weight again crushing me. The roaring in my ears came back as my sight dimmed again, though I thought I could see the mage smile.

“Why?” I gasped out.

The mage didn’t answer. Straddling my body, he swiftly raised the knife and I followed it up to its apex, thinking that if this was vaudeville, it would’ve glinted in the sunlight. But the blackening was dramatic in its own right. There certainly would be drama when they discovered my body, killed while they fought, with a blade last seen in Jusson’s chambers. However, I didn’t want the lead role. I didn’t even want a bit part. Despite the weight, I got my arm up and blocked the mage’s downward stab, turning it aside. A look of startled annoyance crossed his face, but before he could raise the knife again, there was a sound that was a cross between an eagle’s cry and a lion’s roar, and something large and golden flew out of the surrounding fog and hit the mage sideways, sending him flying.

I scrambled to my feet and stood wheezing, my legs feeling like jelly, my hand on my neck where I could feel the stickiness of blood. Lowering my hand, I glared down it and then over the snarling, screeching, roaring tangle that consisted of the mage and whatever had knocked him off me. Dodging the other fighters, I ran to my attacker and rescuer and jumped in. And was thrown back again by the sweep of a feathered wing. Shouting my frustration, I looked around for my staff. Finding it against the wall under the tapestry of the stag, I snatched it up, paying no attention to his staring down his nose at me. Lifting it high, I started to slam it against the floor, not caring what I summoned.

Let it burn.

Cast down every stone.

The sea rise up and swallow them.

Their dust scattered to the four winds.

Yes.

Wait. No—

The mage and my rescuer barreled into me, knocking me off my feet. But I was only vaguely aware of falling on my backside. Still gripping my staff, I stared up at the aspects surrounding me. And they stared in return. My heart racing, I slowly got to my feet, the sweat ice cold as it trickled down my face and my spine. I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything—if there was anything to say—there was a triumphant screech and I looked over to see my rescuer clamp a taloned foot on the unknown mage’s neck. And stared in shock, my mouth remaining open.

It was a griffin.

It was a magnificent beast, its feathers pale gold, with deeper gold at their tips against the tawny hide of its hind part. It was also huge, and it had no problem as it came towards me, hopping on three legs with its wings outspread for balance as it dragged the mage with the fourth. It carried something glittery in its beak and when it reached me, it dipped its head. I automatically held out my hand and felt something smack into the middle of my palm. I at first ignored it, staring instead into the griffin’s glowing gray eyes, but suddenly it felt as if I were in the middle of a lightning storm, with my skin prickling and my hair standing on end. I looked down and found I was holding a necklet. It was a complicated affair made of runed silver, small round mirrors, bits of crystal, and what looked like carved bone, lying sinuously across my suddenly blazing truth rune and aspect symbols.

“What the hell—?”

I broke off as a wave of fighting spilled into the cleared space. My reappearing guards quickly surrounded me with their weapons drawn, their faces twisting as they shouted invectives at the fighters.

“Damn it, Rabbit, move!” Jeff grabbed my tabard and flung me aside. Stumbling into Arlis, I closed my hand over the necklet and the lightning shot through my body.

“Watch where you’re throwing things,” Arlis said, shoving me back at Jeff.

“Things?” Jeff pivoted and, holding on to me, crowded into Arlis. “He never was a person to you, was he?”

“Oh, God, here we go again.” Arlis took hold of my arm and tried to move me aside. Jeff, however, didn’t let go. “Why should I wipe his arse for him? He has you to do that, wifey.”

“Yeah, well, it was either him or your mother,” Jeff said.

I slammed a hand against Arlis’ chest as he tried to lunge at Jeff, my irritation swiftly rising. “Why don’t you both give it a rest?”

Dodging my hand, Arlis pulled his sword. “I have your mother right here, boy.”

“I’m surprised you’re holding it the right end up,” Jeff said, pulling his own sword. “Did your mam teach you that too—?”

Arlis’ teeth flashed white in his beard as he snarled and once more lunged at Jeff, who lunged back. Quickly moving out of their way, I raised my staff, whether to fling an aspect at them or hit them upside the head with it, I didn’t know. But before any of us could do anything to each other, the griffin knocked me back with a feathered wing while at the same time reaching out another taloned foot and snagging Jeff and Arlis, bearing them down to the floor. I then got a face-full of beak as it got close up and personal with me, dipping its head once more at the necklet I held clasped in my fist. My anger draining as swiftly as it rose, I opened my hand and looked again—and realized that what I’d taken for ivory was actually bone.

Dragon bone.

“God in heaven preserve me,” I gasped, dropping the necklet and scrubbing my hand hard on my tabard. But before it could hit the floor, the earth sphere swooped down and caught it. For a moment the necklet twinkled on the sphere’s surface; then it sank inside, disappearing from view. As it did, the fog filling the great hall began to quickly dissipate. But though the air was clearing, the fighting was not. It continued unabated and I stared down at Jeff and Arlis struggling not to get away from the griffin’s grip, but to get at each other, uncaring of where they were, uncaring of who was watching, caring only about the enmity between them, driven by the dragon’s curse.

Except it wasn’t quite that, not exactly.

Let it burn.

Almost sobbing, I jerked my gaze back to the earth sphere, but the necklet was still hidden within it. Still, I took several steps back until I was directly under the white stag. There was a soft laugh and I looked down once more to see the mage looking up at me. His face was battered with one eye rapidly swelling shut, his nose bruised and bloody, his bottom lip split. I reached down and, clamping my hands on his shirt, dragged him up—and discovered that he was actually a she.

“Who are you?”

The mage remained silent and I found myself staring into her one good eye—an eye that was, contrary to the rest of the pale mage’s coloring, clear brown—and my mind winged to twinkling links of silver and bone half hidden in thick fur.

“Kveta?” I whispered.

The griffin screeched, bobbing its head in agreement. The mage ignored it, though. She kept her gaze on me as she gave a tiny smile, causing her split lip to bleed again.

“Why?”

Kveta’s smile broadened and the blood dripped down her chin, her one eye glittering with malice. “Because.”

I let go, allowing the translated wolf to sprawl on the floor. The griffin immediately clamped its talons on her again, but she continued laughing at me. “Poor little Rabblet, has your world been destroyed?”

Cast down every stone.

The night before last I’d used air to stop the townsfolk midbrawl, but I didn’t dare with how powerful Kveta was; even with the griffin apparently ready to counter any working the wolf mage might cast, she could wrench control from me. Recalling the small mirrors and crystals on the necklet, I dared not use water either.

That left earth and fire. Glancing at Munir and Wyln’s fireplay up on the gallery, I started to reach for the earth sphere, my skin crawling at the thought of coming in contact with what was inside. Before I could touch it, though, the sphere spun out in front of me and began to quickly expand with uneven bulges just under its surface—as if something were fighting to get out. Terrified that the cursed necklet was escaping, I grabbed for the sphere, but it darted away from my grasp, still expanding. The next moment, the sphere dissolved, and in its place stood Laurel, holding the necklet in one paw, the truth rune on his middle pad just as bright as the one on my palm. He took in the fighting and swiftly raised his staff and brought it down, and vines sprouted up from the great hall’s stone floor and from the gallery’s wooden one, snaring the combatants and holding them in place. A shriek of rage from all the fighters filled the hall, but Laurel ignored them as he stalked over to Kveta. He waved a paw over the necklet and the next moment Cais and Finn appeared, blinking in the morning sun.

No Captain Javes, though, or Queen Mab’s butterflies.

Laurel stooped down so that his face was in the wolf’s. “Any words before I rip your throat out?”

Kveta stared back, unwinking.

“Good,” Laurel rumbled. Straightening, he shoved the staff into the crook of his arm and raised his paw, his claws extended. But before he could strike, a soft breeze blew through the great hall, bringing with it the scents of autumnal forests, fruit- laden orchards, and ripened fields. There was a soft, quick step in the entryway and a tall figure stepped into the hall.

“The renegade wolf belongs to me, Cat,” the Lord of the Forest said.

Twenty-five

The shouts, demands for release, and wordless raging all stopped, and in the sudden silence I could hear a bird’s song through the thick castle walls. Vaguely wondering if it was the same damn bird I’d heard so many weeks ago in Freston, I stared at the tall and broad—figure—walking towards me. I supposed he could’ve been taken for a man, except for the antlers protruding from his head, his hair and beard being made of moss, and being clothed in leaves and tree bark. As he neared, the smell of autumn grew stronger and I could see leaves appearing under his bare feet, creating a carpet in the riotous colors of fall.

Apparently I—and Laurel and Wyln—had been wrong about who the stag in the tapestry was.

I drew closer to Laurel. “Not the Lady’s Consort after all,” I said softly.

“No,” Laurel rumbled just as softly in agreement. “It seems not.”

Laurel and I weren’t the only ones watching the Lord of the Forest make his way towards us. Most were still straining to get to whoever they were fighting, their faces distorted in rage. However, there were a few sprinkled throughout the hall who stared wide-eyed, paying no heed to the vines holding them as they contorted to track him. Which included Berenice and Lord Idwal. But instead of wide-eyed wonder, Idwal wore an expression of resignation while Berenice was shaking her head, her low “no” almost lost in the silence of the hall. If the Lord of the Forest heard her, he made no sign as he stopped in front of us. Remembering my manners, I gave a deep bow. As did Laurel.

“Honored lord,” the Faena said.

“My lord,” I said at the same time.

“Cousin?” Jusson asked. The vines summoned by Laurel had covered the king up to his waist, and he had to twist to face us, his sword arm frozen midparry.

“I am the lord of this place,” the forest lord said before I could, his voice the whisper of the wind across treetops.

“You’re what?”

“Long story,” Idwal said.

Jusson opened his mouth, but before he said anything his gaze drifted over his formerly missing majordomo and servant, and he frowned. “Cais?” he asked, his voice tentative.

Cais also bowed. “Your Majesty.”

Jusson’s expression cleared, the saturnine darkness leaving his face. “Cais!” He tried to move, tugging against the vines, and, figuring it wasn’t wise to keep the king trussed up like a roasting fowl, I gave Laurel a hard nudge. The next moment, the vines disappeared. To my relief, Jusson paid no attention to a similarly trussed Munir, Idwal, or anyone else for that matter. Turning, he edged past the vine-entangled Thadro and Suiden and wove down through the immobilized crowd on the stairs, his long strides making short work of the distance between us. “Damn it, man. Where have you been?”

“I was ensorceled and imprisoned with Finn and Master Laurel,” Cais said.

“Imprisoned!” Jusson said, reaching us. He clamped a hand on Cais’ shoulder. “Who would dare—” The king broke off, staring at the necklet still held in Laurel’s glowing paw. “I’ve seen that before.” He reached out to take it, but the green man gently pushed his hand aside.

“Touch not, elf king.” The Lord of the Forest held out his own hand. “Give it here, Cat.”

Laurel gave a slow blink, then, with a start, quickly handed over the necklet.

“What is it?” Jusson asked.

“Evil,” the Forest Lord said. A green light shimmered about the necklet before leaves sprouted over it, covering it completely. There was a sighing, rustling sound as all around the great hall folks blinked and scrunched their faces as though they’d come out of a dark place into the sun.

“Evil?” Jusson repeated as he stared about at the frozen tableaus about him, his gaze finally coming to rest on the griffin still holding Kveta in one grip and Jeff and Arlis with another. The griffin chirped again, bobbing its head at the king as it easily ignored my former personal guards’ attempts to get to their feet. Figuring that it wouldn’t do Jeff any good for Jusson to wonder why he was held by the griffin’s taloned claw, I sidled over and this time nudged the beast. It immediately released Jeff and Arlis and they just as immediately rose, both straightening their uniforms, sheathing their swords, and in general pretending that they hadn’t just been trying to gut each other. They weren’t the only ones. All around the great hall those who could lowered their weapons, some with a puzzled air, as if they didn’t quite understand how the swords, knives, and assorted cudgels managed to get into their hands. Most, though, wore the same sullen expressions I’d seen on the brawlers the night we first arrived here. They knew exactly what they were doing and why.

“It was where we were imprisoned, Your Majesty,” Cais said.

“In one of the mirrors,” Finn added.

“Mirrors?” Wyln asked. There was a rustling sound and the enchanter was free of the vines. Instead of navigating the stairs, he floated down to where we were. “This mage has both air and water aspects?”

“ ‘This mage’ is Kveta,” Laurel said.

“What?” Wyln, Jusson, and Thadro all said at the same time, while Suiden gave a rumble of surprise, the captain dragon staring over his shoulder at the very human-looking mage still held firmly in the griffin’s grip.

“But Kveta’s a wolf,” Thadro said from the gallery, his voice echoing in the silent hall.

“Humans aren’t the only ones who can shape-shift, Eorl Commander,” Wyln said.

“From male to female?”

“An illusion,” Laurel said, and started to raise his staff. However, the Forest Lord beat him to it. The green man waved a hand and Kveta blurred for a moment, then came back into focus but this time different. Her body was smaller, leaner than before, and while she still had pale skin, her face was sharper, more feminine, and her hair changed from a shaggy nest to a close-clipped pelt that shone in the morning light. And it wasn’t the only thing that shone.

“The Qarant prescriber from the anvea,” Wyln said, his eyes narrowed on the jewel-colored hummingbird tattooed on the side of Kveta’s neck. “Which makes me wonder how much of that fiasco was the fault of the water witch.”

“But the prescriber didn’t look anything like that,” Jusson said.

“Water mages are good at illusions,” Wyln said. “Some are very, very good.”

“Just as some are very good at dark magicks,” Laurel said. He flicked his paw at the leaf-covered necklet. “Dragon bone, surrounded by workings of misdirection and amplifiers.”

“Misdirection and amplifiers?” Jusson asked.

“The mirrors and crystals, honored king,” Laurel said. “They protect the wearer while magnifying the working—the curse—and at the same time, diffusing it so that we wouldn’t catch on a working was being done, let alone what it was, or where it was coming from.”

“Like a sour grace note in a welter of music, and so we were the dancers to this piper’s whim,” Wyln said, picking up the leaf-covered necklet and examining it. Then his face changed, darkening, and he suddenly looked as Jusson had just a few moments before. “Fire purges,” he said, his light voice almost dreamy. “Perhaps we should apply the aspect to both the cursed thing and its maker—”

Let it burn.

I shuddered. “No, honored cyhn,” I whispered.

“And so even through the green man’s warding, it taints us,” Laurel said.

A startled look crossed Wyln’s face; then he quickly dropped the necklet back into the green man’s hand and moved back.

“That strong?” Jusson asked as several others also moved a few paces back, giving the warded necklet plenty of space.

“Yes, honored king,” Laurel said. He did a scan of the great hall, his amber gaze lingering on those who weren’t standing. Or couldn’t. “It’s no wonder that we went mad. I’m surprised that it wasn’t worse.”

“It would’ve been, Cat,” the green man said, “except for your rune.” He reached over and grabbed Laurel’s paw, tapping the near incandescent rune on the middle pad. “It interfered with the casting of the spell, changing it so that instead of viewing everyone as your adversary, you told the truth as to who your adversaries are.”

Except that’s not what had happened. Not quite. I gave in to the weary aching of my body and, uncaring of Jusson’s presence or the cold stone floor, sat down, resting my throbbing head against my knees, my body shivering with reaction. The griffin gave a small hop, still dragging Kveta as it landed next to me. I looked up once more and caught its gray eyes, and started to frown. The griffin chirped again as it crouched against me, sharing its warmth.

“But Master Laurel wasn’t there for a great deal of this,” Jusson said.

“I’m not the only one with the rune, honored king,” Laurel said.

I looked away from the griffin to see the king, the Faena, and the green man all looking at me. Laurel reached down and, taking my hand, turned it over to show the still glowing truth rune on my palm. The Forest Lord’s rollicking laugh filled the hall.

“Two truth runes? No wonder it didn’t go as planned,” he said. He bent down to where Kveta lay clutched by the griffin. All the wolf’s malice was gone as she fixed her one good eye on the green man, her face blank. “You were warned once, Wolf. In the forest, you were warned when you and your cohorts attacked the mage—”

“Attacked?” Laurel asked.

“Kveta was behind the ambush?” Suiden rumbled from the gallery at the same time, his basso shaking the windows.

“Apparently so, Captain Prince,” Jusson said.

“What happened?” Laurel asked.

“Rabbit was ambushed in the forest yestereve after your ‘disappearance,’ ” Wyln said to Laurel. “And now we find out it was by Kveta and friends. She also attacked later last night. She’s been very busy these past two days.”

“So she has, setting up ambushments and abductions and attempted assassinations,” Jusson said. “Enchantments and poisonings too, most likely.”

There was a ripple through the king’s men, aristos, soldiers, and royal guards alike twisting in their bonds, first to look at each other, then down at the captive wolf in growing anger as it dawned on them who’d not only poisoned Captain Javes, but also cast the spell that caused their fellows to fall into the enchanted slumber. Thadro also twisted, tugging at the vines holding him. I watched, tempted to leave him up there. In fact, as far as I was concerned—

The sea rise up and swallow them.

Swallowing hard, I reached out and tapped Laurel on the ankle before pointing up at the gallery. Laurel frowned and started to shake his head, but Jusson must’ve seen our byplay, for he spoke.

“Release him, Master Laurel. Release them all.” Wyln did his own frown and stopped Laurel midgesture. “Are you sure, Iver’son? As was just demonstrated, the working is very potent.”

“As long as we stay away from it,” Jusson said, “we should be all right—”

“There’s Munir’s wand, Your Majesty,” I said.

Jusson, Wyln, and Laurel all turned to look up at the gallery. Except for Wyln and Jusson’s departure, the tableau up on the gallery hadn’t changed. At least not much. Munir was shielded from Suiden and Thadro by Berenice and Princess Rajya. However, the flames surrounded both Her Highness and the daughter of the House had disappeared. The vines had fastened the Turalian wizard so that he faced the dragon and lord commander, but he had craned his head to watch the drama unfolding below. As had everyone else on the gallery—except for Berenice and Princess Rajya. The princess was watching her father, while Berenice had her eyes closed and her mouth set.

“As I said before, my wand has not been the cause of this disaster,” Munir now said.

“Whether it was or not, the fact that you’d dare bring such a thing here and then use it says much about you,” Wyln said, once more floating up to the gallery. “Give it here, wizard.”

“Why should I give it to you—” Munir broke off, gave a start, and began scrambling at his robe sleeve. He withdrew the wand, stared at the leaves sprouting all along its length before dropping it on the gallery floor. Wyln scooped it up.

“Release them,” Jusson said again, and a moment later the vines disappeared. Most remained standing, though there were several who collapsed to join those already on the floor. I watched dispassionately, wondering if hostilities would break out again between those still on their feet. But those still disaffected seemed content for now with glowering stares and sullen looks. Well, all except for Suiden. The captain rushed up the few remaining stairs and plucked Princess Rajya away from Munir. Then, with his other claw, he picked up Munir. Ignoring the wizard’s squawks, Suiden backed down off the stairs and quickly made his way towards us as those in front of him scattered, his wings lifted for balance, as much as the griffin had done just a little bit ago. Groskin and the rest of the Freston patrollers had fallen in with the captain—as had the Turalian soldiers. For a moment, it looked as though Groskin was going to object. Then looking at the princess being carefully carried in her father’s grasp, he remained silent.

Idwal had also pulled his daughter away from Munir. But he and Berenice came down from the gallery much more slowly, Berenice looking as though she was being towed by her father as she dragged her feet like a reluctant child as they moved around the injured folk, her expression not quite a pout, while Idwal looked grim.

To my surprise, however, Thadro didn’t immediately join the king. Cutting across Idwal and hurrying behind Suiden, he instead snagged Groskin and some of the less-injured-looking soldiers. After a moment of hurried conversation, Groskin led a mixture of troopers, King’s Own, and aristos’ armsmen as they double-stepped out of the hall, the muffled thumping of their boots against the wood stairs coming through the open doors as they left the castle.

“They’re going to search Kveta’s ship for Captain Javes and the tainted rum, Your Majesty,” Thadro said, joining us. He let out a sigh, rubbing his neck. “It was the one place we hadn’t personally looked.”

“There was no reason to have done so—we all took Kveta at her word,” Jusson said absently, his gaze on the floor. Bending down, he picked up the blackened assassin’s knife and stared at my blood, which stained the blade.

“She is false,” the green man agreed. “And for her falseness, her life is forfeit—”

Jusson’s head jerked up. “What?”

“He is the Lord of the Forest, Your Majesty,” I said, once more resting my forehead on my knees.

“So you said,” Jusson said.

I lifted my head. “This all belongs to him.”

“What does?” Jusson asked.

“The forest, the lands,” I said, waving an all-encompassing hand. “This.”

“Mearden belongs to him?” Jusson asked, his light voice rising in shock and surprise.

“I am its lord,” the green man said.

“I can explain, Your Majesty,” Idwal said at the same time, he and Berenice finally arriving next to the king.

“So explain, Mearden,” the king said. “Who is this Lord of the Forest and why is he dispensing justice in your lands?”

“He is my daughter’s betrothed,” Lady Margriet said.

Twenty-six

If Jusson were anyone else, I would’ve said he goggled. But that was all right, because I was doing my own gaping—along with everyone else. Lady Margriet stood at the top of the gallery’s staircase, a gaggle of castle women servants with her. The servants’ faces were apprehensive as they stared down into the great hall, taking in the aftermath of the fight. However, Her Ladyship’s gaze was fixed on us as she swept down the steps and they scrambled after her. I could see the castle healer with them and she and the other servants split off as soon as they reached the bottom, going to the injured. But Lady Margriet sailed towards us and for the first time, I didn’t notice what she wore. My attention was on her face, which showed no trace of her sparkling vivacity. Instead, her expression reminded me of honored Moraina’s when the dragoness had enough and was about to put a taloned foot firmly down on the offending parties.

Or worse, my ma when she had reached the end of her patience.

I found myself shrinking back into the griffin’s feathers, resisting the urge to close my eyes so that Lady Margriet could not find me in the dark. Jusson, realizing that his mouth was hanging open, drew in a deep breath, but before he could speak, Idwal took his life into his own hands.

“Now, Margriet,” he began.

“Mama,” Berenice said at the same time, proving she was just as foolhardy as her father.

“No,” Lady Margriet said. “Listening to you two has accomplished nothing.” She waved a hand, encompassing the great hall. “Except a wrecked House.”

“This is not my fault!” Idwal thundered. “The king brought this madness—”

“And who invited His Majesty here?” Lady Margriet asked. “And more important, why was he invited?”

“Mama,” Berenice tried again.

“Quiet,” Lady Margriet said. “It is done and past done. The contracts will be honored.”

“But I don’t want to marry him!” Berenice wailed.

“And you think I want to marry you?” the Forest Lord muttered.

Berenice stopped midwail. “What?”

“Someone who has no honor?” the Forest Lord asked. “Someone who’d forswear herself and her family because it doesn’t suit her fancy? Someone who’d cast aside and destroy anything that stands in the way of what she wants? Someone so obviously and distressingly human?”

I raised my head at that, ready to protest that all humans weren’t oath-breaking, self-centered spoiled brats, but I saw Lady Margriet’s face and sank back down before she saw me.

“Fine,” Berenice said. “I don’t want to marry you, you don’t want to marry me. Let’s call the whole thing off.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” the Forest Lord said.

“Then tell us how it does work,” Jusson said before Berenice could respond. “Who are you and what is this ‘my land’ business?”

“This land has always been mine, Elf King,” the Forest Lord said. “When the sun was young in the sky, it was mine.”

The room grew silent, Lord Wyln’s eyes rounding slightly, while Jusson’s expression went blank.

“He is the Lord of the Forest, honored king,” Laurel said into the silence. “He most likely has been here since the first tree sprouted.”

“Lord of the Forest,” Jusson echoed. He looked up at the tapestry and met the stag’s gaze staring back. Not the Lady’s Consort as Laurel, Wyln and I had first thought, but the chief companion of the Forest Lord. Jusson then looked down the hall at the carved screen of forest denizens surrounding the green man. He lastly looked back at the Forest Lord himself. “You’re the Watcher?”

Amusement flickered over the green man’s face. “Is that what they call me?”

“A presence in the forest surrounding the castle,” Jusson said. “One that defends Mearden from harm, according to legend.”

“Legend?” The green man turned a narrow gaze on Idwal. “You turned me into a myth?”

“Actually it was Lady Berenice who claimed you didn’t exist,” Jusson said.

Catching Berenice’s glare, I shrugged. Princess Rajya caught our byplay and revived enough to give a short laugh. “Poor Sra Berenice, so betrayed. Did you not think that his king would ask what was said and done when Sro Rabbit went off with you? And that he wouldn’t tell?”

“Apparently he didn’t tell all,” Suiden rumbled softly at his daughter. Princess Rajya opened her mouth, then closed it again. Suiden sat her down next to him, leaving his taloned claw disturbingly free as he swung his head to aim an emerald eye at me.

“I didn’t offer insult or harm to either Lady Berenice or Princess Rajya,” I said, my voice weary. I found Ryson lurking in back of the troopers that had remained behind. “Did I?”

It was Ryson’s turn to shrug. “No. You didn’t.” He drew in a breath and, glancing at Suiden, let it out again. “Not to say there weren’t, ah, invitations being issued, sir, but they were from Her Ladyship and then later Her Highness. And Rabbit didn’t accept. He didn’t get a chance with the first, the second one he turned down.”

Nothing like helpful former troop mates. The griffin chirped under its breath, but whether it was in sympathy or in mirth, I couldn’t tell.

“Ha!” Berenice said to Princess Rajya, the malice sparkling in her eyes making her look uncomfortably like Kveta. “Refused you, did he—”

“Berenice,” Idwal said.

“What have you done?” Lady Margriet demanded at the same time.

The malice drained as Berenice gave her parents a wide-eyed look. “Uh.”

“Never mind that,” Jusson said. “Go back to this ‘Forest Lord’ thing. You said you could explain, Idwal?”

Idwal glanced at the green man, only to be met with the same narrowed stare. Sighing, he looked back at the king. “When the wars started—”

“Which wars?” Jusson asked.

Idwal ran a hand over his face. “Back at the beginning of Iver’s reign—”

“King Iver,” Jusson said.

“Yes,” Idwal said. He caught his wife’s eye and added,

“Your Majesty.”

“The first king of Iversterre,” Jusson said, seeking clarification.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Idwal said. “When he warred against those that were here—”

“It was a time of chaos, Elf King,” the green man interrupted. “Turmoil, spurred by the humans and their priests who sought not only the conquest, but the annihilation of the People.”

“I remember,” Wyln said softly.

“I decided that it would be best to withdraw until the tempest passed,” the green man said. There was a family of humans who lived here in harmony with us.”

“Before the wars?” Jusson asked.

“Yes, Elf King,” the green man said. “We—”

“We,” Jusson repeated.

A faint smile crossed the Forest Lord’s face. “Those of the forest. We helped them raise this castle, set protections about the land, and gave it all into their stewardship with the condition that the forest would not be harmed, and that when I returned it would revert to me. They agreed.”

“And you’ve been hiding for six hundred years?” Jusson asked.

The Forest Lord’s smile faded. “Not exactly. So many changes. All around, there were so many changes—and so much loss. The People being killed, being driven out. Those that remained going into hiding. The essence went out of the land, causing my strength to wane, and I and those with me fell into a slumber. It was only recently that we began to stir. Only now that I have completely awakened.”

“And you insisted on entering into a marriage contract to make sure that you receive your land back?”

The Forest Lord gave a dry laugh. “No, I didn’t insist on the betrothal. The steward and his wife did. To make sure that they would not be dispossessed when I returned. I agreed.”

“I see,” Jusson said. “How fortuitous, then, that there was a daughter of the House for you to marry when you finally awoke.”

“I believe that it was part of the reason I did fully awake out of the twilight that held me,” the green man said.

“For Lady Berenice?” Jusson asked. “Surely there were other daughters born during the centuries of Mearden’s stewardship.”

“Our House always tended toward sons,” Idwal said quickly.

“Daughters were born, Elf King,” the green man said, ignoring Idwal. “However, none reached adulthood. Until now.”

The room fell silent and I lifted my head to stare at Idwal in horror. As I did, Finn stirred and came to join me, a slight frown on his face. He gently took my chin and lifted it, looking at the side of my neck. He made a soft exclamation and quickly straightened. Casting a glance at his uncle still gripped by Jusson, he saw the blackened dagger held in the king’s hand. His frown deepened as he stared at the blood on the dagger’s blade and he beckoned to Laurel. The Faena walked over and also examined my neck. I shivered as he ran his paw over the cut and, pulling away, I glanced up to ask what was wrong. The shiver changed into a spine-tightening chill as I saw the silent snarl on his face, his canines white and sharp in the morning light, his amber gaze on Kveta. However, the wolf merely sneered, the malice once more glittering in her one good eye.

“I see,” Jusson said again, his own face blank. “Are you sure you want to marry into this family?”

“There’s no proof of any wrongdoing,” Idwal began, his voice hot.

“He has to, Iver’son,” Wyln said, speaking over Idwal. “The contract has been signed, the betrothal vows made. To break them would be bad not only for Mearden, but the ill effects could spread to the rest of the kingdom.”

“Ill effects?” Thadro asked.

“Infertility for one,” Wyln said. “Of fields and kine. And people too—”

“A moment,” Jusson interrupted, his attention snagged by Laurel and Finn. Still holding on to Cais, he walked to where I sat, pulling the majordomo with him. He was followed by Wyln, Thadro, and Suiden, the captain dragon maintaining his firm grasp on Munir while gently herding Princess Rajya before him. The Freston troopers and the Turalian soldiers followed behind them, and Jeff and Arlis also wandered closer, their faces and stances full of nonchalance. But that changed as Jusson, handing the knife off to Thadro, stooped and lifted my chin. I heard Lady Margriet give a gasp, while Suiden’s basso rumbling growl filled the hall.

“Bones and bloody ashes, Rabbit,” Jeff whispered.

“What?” I asked, now trying to pull away from the king. “What’s wrong?”

“A little more pressure, Two Trees’son, and you would be dead,” Wyln said, moving Finn aside. He crouched down, taking possession of my chin from Jusson. “Very dead.”

“Oh.” I relaxed, the worry easing that Kveta had cast some fearsome spell on my neck. “Yeah—I mean, yes, honored cyhn, I figured that.”

“Did you, Cousin?” Jusson asked.

“I felt the knife, Your Majesty.”

Jusson straightened and plucked the blackened blade from Thadro. “This knife?” Removing his hand from Cais’ shoulder, he examined it, running a finger over the dried blood to stop at the rune etched at the base of the blade. I watched as his face changed, the darkness and lines reappearing—and I struggled to my feet.

“No, sire! Don’t!”

Both Cais and the griffin were faster than I was, the griffin quickly moving Kveta out of Jusson’s reach, while Cais gripped the king around the waist as he lunged, pulling him back.

“It would be murder, Your Majesty,” Thadro said, stepping in front of the king.

It would’ve been something. Something wrong. Something so wrong that it would’ve warped the throne, twisting the kingdom through it. My legs shaking, I had started to sink back down on the floor when a metallic taste filled my mouth. I turned in time to see Kveta fling a working at Jusson. But before I could react, the spheres around me darted in front of Jusson, absorbing whatever was cast at him. They stayed, hovering in front of the king and I grinned down at the wolf.

“All by themselves, Kveta,” I murmured, leaning against my staff. “The hell they don’t do as they want.”

Jusson tried to pull away from Cais but the majordomo held him fast and the king gave up. He aimed an unwinking stare at Kveta and drew in breath to speak. Before he could, though, the green man reached over and gently removed the knife from his grip.

“More foulness,” the Forest Lord said quietly.

Jusson blinked, the darkness abruptly leaving his face. “It is?”

“Yes,” the Forest Lord said. He pointed at the blood-encrusted rune. “A summoning.”

“So Lord Wyln said,” Thadro began. He and Wyln drew close, their faces interested. Even Suiden craned his head to peer over their shoulders down at the knife, while Munir shifted a bit in Suiden’s grip, trying to get a look.

“One that is now covered in the blood of a noble- born mage who is heir to a throne and bound by those ties to the land. Didn’t you wonder what it was summoning?”

“Yes, of course we wondered,” Jusson said. He stepped aside as Laurel worked past him to stare at the knife in the green man’s grip. “And Lord Wyln came up with the most interesting ideas.”

“So I did,” Wyln said. “But they were all guesses. Who is being summoned?”

“More ‘what,’ Wyln,” Laurel said. He pointed at Kveta’s necklet. “It ties into that. Or more accurately into the same kind of working. And the fact that people are still affected by it even though it’s warded tells me that she probably has salted more dragon bones throughout the castle.”

“That’s entirely possible,” Thadro said. “She was with the stewart while he searched for you, Cais, and everyone else.”

“She was also in the hallway the night of the fire . . .” Ryson trailed off as he remembered why we were there and he eyed Suiden nervously. He then rallied. “Maybe she put some in the stables and barracks. Maybe that’s what spooked the horses.”

“Entirely possible,” Laurel echoed. He inscribed a circle with an extended claw and an earth sphere formed, swirling with gentle greens and browns as it floated by his head. He then gave a tired sigh. “It’s going to be a long, hard haul, cleansing this place.”

“There’s at least one in Lady Margriet’s stillroom,” I said.

“There is?” Idwal asked as he slid an arm around his wide-eyed wife. “Is that how she became locked in?”

“I don’t know, my lord,” I said, “but it explains what happened afterwards.”

“And as Kveta has both air and water, she could’ve slipped downstairs and jammed the door without anyone knowing,” Wyln said. “In fact, she could’ve slipped in anywhere with no one the wiser.”

“I would’ve known,” Laurel pointed out.

“And you were ensorceled and imprisoned,” Wyln pointed out back.

“Well, that explains what happened,” Lady Margriet said, huddled against Idwal. “It was her magicks—what did you call it? The dragon curse making everyone say what was said—”

“No, my lady,” I said. I sank down, doing my own huddling against the griffin. “Not exactly.”

“Explain, Cousin,” Jusson said.

“The dragon’s curse works universally, Your Majesty,” I said. “It’s dissension, division, and distrust with everyone. Not just a select few. If it were just the curse working, no one would be trusting anyone.” I looked up at him, my gaze fixing on him. “Not Cais, not Thadro, not Suiden, not Wyln. Not anyone. It would be chaos. Bloody chaos.”

“The Forest Lord explained why that wasn’t,” Suiden put in.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Except we didn’t irrationally attack those we felt were our enemies. We weren’t irrational at all. We knew what we were doing, who we were doing it to—and why.” Just like the townspeople the first night here, just like the longshoremen at the fair, just like Lisle at the horse race. Wondering if Kveta had been anywhere near the tavern Captain Remke had told us about, I dropped my gaze to my truth rune, faintly shining even in the daylight pouring in from the great hall’s windows. As the green man had said, it had affected the dragon’s curse, but not in the way he thought it. It was as if all self-control were removed, allowing what was truly thought, what was actually felt, what was kept hidden—even from ourselves—to spew out.

Their dust scattered to the four winds.

I closed my eyes, trying to control the tremor coursing through me.

“You think so, Cousin?” Jusson said.

I opened my eyes to see not only the king, but also Thadro, Wyln, Laurel, Cais, Suiden, the green man, and even Munir all looking at me. “Uhm—”

“We need to work on your control while under duress and fatigue, Rabbit,” Laurel said.

“What?” Idwal said. “What did he do?”

“Magical stuff,” Wyln said.

“That may be what happened, Mage,” the Forest Lord said to me. “That very well may be.”

“Interesting,” Munir said, a fascinated expression on his face for all that he was still dangling from Suiden’s talons. “The truth runes turned the dragon’s curse into a sort of verifier—”

“Not something I’d recommend trying to re-create, wizard,” Laurel said.

“No,” the Forest Lord said. “The Old Ones counseled against using the Virtues in conjunction with the dark earth magicks, mostly because the results were so disastrously unpredictable.”

“The Virtues?” Munir asked, his eyes narrowed.

“Truth, justice, mercy, charity, among others,” Wyln murmured. “Powers that I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Princess Rajya said before Munir could respond, her voice still hoarse. “None of it matters, except you come home, Father.”

“Daughter—”

“Still trying to pirate away our liegeman, Your Highness?” Jusson asked.

“A liegeman whom you’ve immured away from what he loves, from what makes him alive,” Princess Rajya snapped back. She shifted so that she looked up into her da’s face. As much as she could see. “His Glory the amir has agreed to give you your own command. Think of it, Father. Once more at sea—”

“No, Daughter,” Suiden said. “I’m content—”

“Actually, I’m about to appoint Suiden to a fleet command,” Jusson said.

“—where I am.” Suiden stopped and blinked a couple of times. “Your Majesty?”

“The windriders in the harbor, that arrived here when we did,” Jusson said. “The ones you saw from the windows. Those are yours.”

“Mine,” Suiden repeated. He shifted, lifting his head and looked towards the harbor, as if he could see through the castle’s stone walls.

“Abbin,” Princess Rajya said, leaning against her father. She closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her face.

“Shush,” Suiden murmured softly, dragging his gaze from his imagined view of his new fleet. “It’ll be all right.”

“No,” Princess Rajya said, another tear rolling down her face. “It won’t. We need you.”

“See, you haven’t been open with me, Daughter,” Suiden said.

Princess Rajya’s eyes flew open. “Father?”

“Who is this ‘we’?”

Princess Rajya remained silent.

“Are they the same that Sro Wizard”—Suiden waved Munir about, the wizard’s legs flailing—“was working so hard to give me to?”

“I—” Princess Rajya broke off, gnawing her bottom lip.

“Don’t know, do you?” Suiden said.

“Well—” Princess Rajya began.

“No,” Suiden said, stopping her. “We will talk later. But know that whatever is said, I will remain here and you will remain with me.”

Princess Rajya’s mouth quirked even as another tear rolled down her face. “Yes, Abbin.”

“As for you.” Suiden held up Munir to eye level, the wizard’s legs now dangling, his ankles showing from beneath his robe.

“Let us handle Lord Munir,” Jusson said quickly.

“If you wish, Your Majesty,” Suiden said.

“We do,” Jusson said. “Very much so—”

The king broke off as Finn appeared carrying the crown chair and trailing a line of royal servants bearing a variety of items, including a small table, a teakettle, and a tea tray. Apparently Bertram wasn’t the only one who moved in a blink of an eye. I scanned the royal servants, expecting to see his fair hair glowing in the relative dimness of the great hall. But he wasn’t present. Worried that Kveta might have done something to the boy, I had started to rise to my feet when the griffin chirped at me. Turning, I found myself staring into its luminous gray eyes and I slowly sank back down to the floor.

Jusson remained silent as Finn set his crown chair next to the ones of Idwal and Lady Margriet and he continued silent as a servant presented his simple circlet on its velvet cushion—though his mouth did quirk at the tea tray, stepping aside as the servant with the kettle went to the fireplace and hung it on the hob. In a few very brief moments he was divested of his battle helm, armor, and sword, dressed in his austere clothing, and sitting on his chair drinking tea.

And he wasn’t the only one the servants had descended upon. Surrounded by Finn and his crew, I was pulled from my warm, comfortable place by the griffin and stripped of my tabard, hauberk, shirt, and singlet. (I frowned at the amount of blood on the tabard and shirt, and started to reach for them, but Finn whisked them away.) Finn then began to dress me in clean clothes, but Laurel stopped him. The Faena stood for a moment, taking stock of my forming bruises, scrapes, and bumps, then with a low rumble, stalked over to the fireplace and pulled out from his carry pouch what looked like the vile tea he’d so liberally dosed me with back in Freston.

I held in a sigh.

“Why are you shivering, Rabbit?” Jusson asked.

I turned to find the king also taking stock.

“Uhm, because I’m half naked and it’s cold, Your Majesty?”

“No, it’s not,” Jusson said. Shifting his teacup, he indicated the hall’s massive fireplace and I was startled to see that it was blazing. While I wasn’t standing on the hearth, I was close enough that I should’ve been basking in its heat. A shiver shook me and I looked down to see goose bumps on my bare skin.

“Reaction, Your Majesty,” Suiden said, a teacup cradled in one taloned hand. Cais and Finn had spread out, serving tea to aristos, armsmen, troopers, and castle folk alike. Even Lady Margriet and Idwal had steaming porcelain cups, both looking rather bemused at being served by royal servants in their hall. However, Berenice remained tealess, her mouth still a flat line as she glared at the Forest Lord. My mind flashed back to the plain girl with a merry spark in her eyes and I wondered at the change in her. Then, she wasn’t the only one who’d had their mask torn away.

Let it all burn.

“Yes,” Thadro agreed, also nursing hot tea. “He’s in shock.”

I opened my mouth to deny it, heard my teeth chatter, and closed it again.

“I see,” Jusson said. He looked out over the great hall at the injured being tended by the castle women, lifted his eyes to the burned tapestries and scorch marks on the walls before allowing his gaze to drift over Berenice, Princess Rajya leaning against her father, stop for a moment on Munir, then drop to the leaf-covered necklet and blackened dagger being still held by the Forest Lord, move onto the griffin for another long moment, and finally end at Kveta. He remained silent as Laurel sent a servant running up the stairs, who quickly returned with Laurel’s satchel. He waited patiently as the cat anointed my bruises before moving aside and allowing Finn to wrap me in blankets. As soon as I was swaddled, Laurel appeared with a cup and stood over me as I drained it. Fortunately, Laurel had sweetened it with so much honey that it almost masked the bitterness. Almost. More important, though, I could feel its warmth spreading through me as it loosened the knots and kinks taking up residence in my body. Vaguely concerned that I was starting to actually like the tea, I sank down against the griffin.

There was a sharp clink and I looked over to see that I wasn’t the only one who’d finished his tea. Jusson had set his own cup down and was now leaning back in his chair, thrusting his feet out before him and folding his hands over his stomach.

“Bring the knife here,” he said.

“Honored king,” Laurel began.

“Your Majesty,” Thadro said.

“That’s not wise, Elf King,” the Forest Lord said at the same time.

“I’m not going to touch it,” Jusson said. He watched as the green man placed the blackened dagger on the small table and a slight smile crossed his face as the Forest Lord took a guarding stance next to it. The smile swiftly faded, though, as his gaze shifted back to Kveta.

“Dragon curses and summoning of dark forces,” Jusson said. “Sorcery and madness. Abductions and imprisonments. The attempted murder not once but three times of someone who called you friend. Why?”

Kveta remained silent.

“I can find out, honored king,” Laurel said, his truth rune starting to burn brightly.

“Yes,” Jusson said.

“You’ll let the Faena loose on the wolf?” Munir asked, apparently forgetting that he was next on the king’s agenda. Or maybe not.

“Why not?” Jusson said. “She’s a denizen of the Borderlands, not Iversterre. From all that we’ve heard, the Faena are in charge of their miscreants—and Master Cat here is head of all the Faena. So it seems to us that it’s entirely appropriate that we allow him to practice his craft—”

As Jusson spoke, Laurel moved quickly to where Kveta lay on the floor, still held captive by the griffin. Before he could reach her, though, there was a blinding flash of light and Laurel flew back, the stunned cat falling into Wyln, who stumbled before recovering. The griffin let out an ear- piercing screech, but Kveta jerked away. Shoving past the green man, she snatched up the knife and turned, slashing at Jusson.

And bounced off a solid wall of air.

Kveta didn’t hesitate, spinning around to launch at me, but I struck out, using my staff as a quarterstaff, and she went down with a crack as her leg gave way. Howling, she lifted her hand, and I hit her arm. Before I could hit her again, Laurel was there, his truth rune brighter than the noon sun. There was another flash, this time from the Faena, and Kveta screamed, her body bowing in her extremity. Then she collapsed, sobbing. The air shimmered around her and the next moment she was a wolf once more, curled nose to tail, her body shaking as her whimpers filled the hall.

Moving aside as the Forest Lord went past me to pick up the knife, I caught a glimpse of red against Kveta’s black fur and, stepping over her, I picked up my feather. About to tuck it in my braid, I hesitated, then shoved it in my trousers’ pocket. Turning to Laurel, I expected to hear pithy comments about symbols of covenants being held in hostile hands, but he paid no attention to me as he sat back on his haunches, looking at Kveta.

“The runners killed her mate,” he said.

“I see,” Jusson said. “Well, actually I don’t see. Could everyone please move?”

Several had responded to the threat against the king, including most of the King’s Own, what remained of the troopers, the aristos, their armsmen, Thadro, Cais, Finn, Wyln—and the griffin, who stood in front of Jusson on his hind legs with his wings outspread. (The royal personal space was very crowded.) There was a momentary shuffle as everyone sorted themselves out, the griffin giving an embarrassed chirp as he dropped to all fours, his talons clicking on the stone floor as he made his way back over to me.

“Who is that?” Thadro asked, momentarily diverted.

“I believe it’s Bertram, sir,” I said. The griffin crouched down beside me and I once more sank into its warmth.

“Our Bertram?” Thadro asked, astonishment on his face. A ripple of surprise washed through the king’s retinue. Bertram ruffled his feathers and gave a cheerful chirp.

“Yes, apparently he can also shape-shift,” Jusson said absently before I could.

“Doesn’t anyone keep the body they were born with?” an aristo muttered. Jusson ignored him.

“So this is about the smuggling ring from last spring?” the king asked Laurel.

“Yes, honored king,” Laurel said. He ran a paw over his head, sending his beads gently clacking. “He and several of his pack were killed for their pelts. She is avenging their deaths.”

“A pretty effective revenge, if it had worked,” Wyln said. “Besides our own deaths, if enough blood had been spilled here, it could’ve plunged the human kingdom into war with Tural, and probably dragged the People into it too.”

The sea rise up and swallow them.

Feeling me shiver, Bertram extended a wing and I burrowed under it.

“Is that why she poisoned and then abducted Javes?” Jusson asked. “To involve the Qarant?”

“The Qarant are already involved, honored king,” Laurel said. “Once the pelts reached Iversly, they were loaded on one of their merchantmen—along with other run goods.”

There were shocked gasps and Idwal abruptly straightened, his eyes wide. Jusson, on the other hand, went very, very still.

“A Qarant merchantman,” Jusson stated.

“Yes, honored king,” Laurel said.

“I see,” Jusson said. “What has she done with Javes?”

“I don’t know,” Laurel said. “Her control is strong. The best I could get was that he was taken away. Where or why, I don’t know.” Rising to his feet, Laurel gestured and a thick hedge sprang up around Kveta. He made another gesture and his earth sphere split into four, surrounding the wolf and filling the air with autumn.

“Did she cast the spell upstairs?” Thadro asked.

“Now, that I do know, honored Commander, as I was there,” Laurel said.

“Sneaked up on you, did she?” Wyln asked, briefly amused.

“Caught us all off guard,” Laurel agreed. He reached into his pouch and began sprinkling in a crisscrossing pattern along the hedges something astringent that made me want to sneeze. “First a silencing spell, followed by one to imprison Cais, Finn, and me in the necklet’s mirror. Done quickly, with no fumbling or hesitation. Makes me wonder what she’s been up to during her free agent travels—”

“Did she capture the butterflies also, Laurel?” I asked.

Laurel stopped his sprinkling and stared at me. He then snapped around to stare down at Kveta.

“By the Lady,” Wyln breathed, “Queen Mab’s courtiers.”

The Forest Lord had been quietly listening, but at Wyln’s words, stirred. “Queen Mab? Not good to cross her or harm her people. Not good at all.”

“Perhaps they were also imprisoned in the necklet, Master Laurel,” Cais suggested, looking worried. “There is more than one mirror.”

Growling, Laurel quick-timed it over to the green man. “Remove the wards,” he demanded.

The Forest Lord waved over the necklet and the next moment the leaves turned bright colors before falling off. Laurel snatched it from his hand, turning so that it fell in a shaft of sun from one of the hall’s windows, the tiny mirrors and crystals twinkling in the light. He then dropped the necklet back into the Forest Lord’s hand, wiping his paw on his coat.

“They are dead,” Laurel said.

“What?” Wyln asked, joining Laurel. I quickly rose to my feet and also hurried over. We were joined by Jusson and Thadro, while Munir twisted in his robes, trying to see too.

“Look for yourself,” Laurel said, moving back to Kveta.

Unlike Laurel, Wyln didn’t touch the necklet. Tucking his hands behind him, he bent to study it. He then straightened, his own face unusually troubled. “He’s right; Kveta killed them.”

“How can you tell?” Jusson asked.

“Look at the dragon bones, Your Majesty,” I said before Wyln or Laurel could respond. “See the butterflies on them?”

“Aren’t those carvings?” Thadro asked.

“No, sir,” I said, my voice thick. “Those are Queen Mab’s courtiers.”

“Are you sure, Cousin?” Jusson asked. “They’re so tiny.”

“A working, Your Majesty,” I said. “They’re entombed in the bone.” I swallowed, my throat tight. “She has killed with the talent.”

“Yes, she has,” Laurel agreed, his voice quiet. “Dauthiwaesp.”

“What?” an aristo asked.

“Death magic,” Munir said before Laurel could respond.

“Like what the demon did in Freston?” Thadro asked.

“You keep talking about demons,” Idwal began.

“Long story,” Jusson, Suiden, and several aristos said.

“Yes, honored Commander. It’s a method of gathering power.” He indicated the necklet and Munir’s wand. “Much like why dragons are killed. Their death curse is what makes the bones prized by those who use them.”

“Which should make it very interesting in Tural if the Dragon Lords ever return,” Wyln said. “Right, Munir?”

Princess Rajya’s eyes flew open while the Turalian soldiers quietly flanking Suiden suddenly shifted, all of them glaring at the wizard.

Laurel’s ears flicked back. “They most likely would not be happy.”

“They wouldn’t be the only ones,” I said. “Queen Mab is going to want blood.”

“So she will,” Wyln said, his amusement fading. “And she probably won’t care whose.”

That was true. The Faery Queen was notoriously uneven tempered and prone to take out her frustrations and anger on the most convenient target. Walking over to where Kveta lay still curled in on herself, I leaned against my staff, not trusting my trembling legs to hold me up. “Why?” I asked. “Why spill innocent blood and damn yourself? They did nothing to you.”

Kveta raised her head, the malice burning dully behind the pain clouding her good eye. “Innocent?” she asked back, her voice low. “There are no innocents here, little Rabblet. You think Her Majesty Queen Mab didn’t know what the High Council was doing with the runners and smugglers?”

“Not all the Council,” Wyln put in. “His Grace Loran definitely didn’t know—”

“Then he is a fool,” Kveta said, not bothering to look at Wyln. She kept her gaze on me. “Fools and hypocrites all. Even your precious Moraina.”

“Honored Moraina lost a son,” I began.

“And still mouthed pap about rapprochement with the guilty,” Kveta said. “Not caring about others’ pain, others’ loss. Not caring about justice. Only caring about her precious farseeing.”

“So your solution is to kill me?” I asked. “What justice is that?”

“Plenty, little Rabblet,” Kveta said. Lowering her head, she once more tucked it against her tail. “As you’re the biggest fool of all.”

The hall went quiet, everyone holding themselves still. Then Idwal gave a soft laugh.

“You invited her here.” Idwal dodged his wife’s elbow. “Your Majesty.”

“Yes, we know, Mearden,” Jusson said. “None of this is your fault. We’ll have it carved in stone so you can mount it over your mantelpiece—”

“What exactly did Moraina far-see?” I asked, not caring that I’d just interrupted the king.

“Well, there’s a question,” Wyln murmured into the renewed silence.

“What makes you think that whatever this Moraina saw had to do with you?” Idwal said to me, his lip curling.

“We really should find the rest of the dragon bones,” Laurel rumbled not quite under his breath.

“We suppose,” Jusson said not quite sotto voce to Laurel, “though it is fascinating to find out what has been bubbling under the surface all these years.”

“I didn’t say that the farseeing did,” I said to Idwal. I dropped my gaze back to the silent Kveta, her face still tucked against her tail. But I noticed that her ruff was twitching. “But then, why waste the effort and energy to kill me? Assassinating the king, Princess Rajya, or even Captain Suiden would’ve done more than enough to plunge us into all sorts of chaos and warfare. Me, I’m just a newfound relation of the king—”

“Not ‘just,’ Cousin,” Jusson said. “You are my heir.”

“Because you chose me to be your heir, Your Majesty,” I said, keeping my gaze on Kveta. “You could’ve easily chosen someone from any of the Great Houses and, sixty-four lines to the throne or not, no one would’ve said anything.”

“It’s not quite as arbitrary as you make it out to be,” Jusson said, his eyes gleaming even as his mouth curved up in a slight smile.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said.

“Elfin families,” Munir murmured, and Laurel gave a short chuff—then frowned as he realized whom he’d laughed with.

Ignoring the byplay, I squatted down, resting my haunches on my heels, propping myself with my staff. Finding the hedge blocking my view, I absently waved a hand and a section of it disappeared. Munir made a choked sound and Kveta lifted her head and stared at me, her good eye wide. I ignored that too. “Still and all, if I were killed, the king would just choose another heir, and life would go on,” I said.

“Again, not as straightforward as that, Cousin,” Jusson said, his smile broadening. “Look at the amir and Captain Prince.”

“Unlike Captain Suiden, I am not crown prince, Your Majesty,” I said. “I will only be your heir until you have children of your own.”

“Whenever that might be,” a quiet voice muttered from the back of the crowd.

“You didn’t expend all that time and effort and talent to come after a mere fool,” I said to Kveta. “So what was it that Moraina saw?”

Kveta remained silent, though her ruff twitched again.

“We can ask honored Moraina herself,” Wyln said when it became obvious Kveta wasn’t going to answer.

“Can you?” Thadro asked, interested.

“Of course he can,” one of the aristos said before Wyln could respond. “Remember the fireplace chats in Freston? Those with the fire talent are able to use flame to communicate.”

Another silence fell on the hall as everyone turned as one to look at Munir.

“What?” Munir said.

“If you can ask, Lord Wyln,” Jusson said, regaining everyone’s attention. “We admit we are rather curious. In the meantime, we suppose we should make arrangements for securing whatever prisoners we end up with.” Jusson turned to the Forest Lord. “We know that you’ve laid claim to Kveta, but the Church should also be involved.”

“Very true, sire,” Thadro said, the worried look returning to his face. “Heaven knows what some of the more conservative doyens will do.”

“So we will bypass them and go directly to the top,” Jusson said. “As Lord Wyln tries to contact the Lady Moraina—”

“Tries?” murmured Wyln.

“—we will also write to His Holiness the Patriarch—”

“Send her back,” I said.

The hall went silent once more.

“Two Trees’son?” Wyln asked.

“Send Kveta back to the Border—back to Queen Mab and honored Moraina and the High Council. And send the necklet with her.”

Kveta tried to stand, but the leg I cracked with my staff gave way and she collapsed again with a yelp.

Laurel gave another chuff, his tail lashing, his pupils narrowed to slits. “An excellent idea.”

“I was toying with the idea of immuring her in a cell with just the dragon bones for company,” Jusson said. “But that does have merit, Cousin—”

The king broke off as the sound of the great hall’s doors opening reached us. Thadro immediately gestured at those of the King’s Own and troopers who remained standing and they hurried to the entryway. Quickly rising to my feet, I waved a hand at the gap in the hedge (Munir made another choking noise as the missing section reappeared), then hesitated before joining Jusson. But before the royal guards and soldiers could reach the foyer, a water sprite wearing the traditional minimum clothing stepped around the wooden screens and into the great hall. She was followed by a handful of yawning and also scantily clad tree sprites, a unicorn, a couple of sylphs, a massive bear, a broad-antlered stag, and a small fox. The Own and troopers came to an abrupt stop.

“More guests?” Lady Margriet brightly asked.

“Not quite,” the Forest Lord said. He turned to Jusson. “A few of my people, Elf King. Those who haven’t yet gone to their winter’s sleep.” He eyed the bear and tree sprites. “And those who should but won’t.”

The tree sprites remained silent, but the bear grunted and dropped its muzzle in a grin.

“We see,” Jusson said. He once more glanced around at the hall. Some of the injured had been helped from the hall, but a whole lot more remained, along with castle servants, their faces turned towards us, watching. “We suppose the first order of business is to find these pox-rotted dragon bones.”

Laurel nodded. “As soon as possible, honored king.”

“After that, though, we will sit down and discuss your marriage to Lady Berenice and all its ramifications—”

Berenice jerked upright. “What?” Her mother thumped her on her side and she dropped a hasty curtsey. “Your Majesty?”

“I would like to sit in on the discussions if I may, honored king,” Laurel said. “I might be able to, hrmm, help in explaining things to the various parties.”

“We’ll see,” Jusson said.

“But I don’t want to marry him,” Berenice said. “Besides, Lord Rabbit and I have an agreement—”

“No,” I said. “We do not.”

“Well, we could,” Berenice said, exasperated. “You’re a strong enough mage to counter anything untoward that might happen. And if you couldn’t, your two teachers can.”

“No,” Laurel said.

“ ‘Can’ and ‘will’ are two different things,” Wyln said at the same time.

“Is that why you invited me here?” I asked. “To help you weasel out of your marriage contract?”

“We made you an honest proposal,” Berenice said.

“The hell it was,” I said. “Honesty had nothing to do with you doing your damnedest to seduce me while you were promised to another.”

“I thought you were man enough—and chivalrous enough—to rescue me from a grievous misalliance,” Berenice said. “Apparently I thought wrong.”

“Leave my manhood out of it,” I said. “You cannot enter into an agreement and then repudiate it when it no longer suits you.”

“Contracts are broken all the time,” Berenice began.

“Berenice,” Lady Margriet said.

“So they are,” I said over Lady Margriet. “And penalties are paid. Are you sure you want to pay the price after having lived on the promise of that contract for six centuries?”

“I haven’t lived on anything for six hundred years,” Berenice snapped back.

“But your family has,” I said. “What did you say? All this time and Mearden has never fallen. Had never even been attacked in centuries filled with strife and turmoil. Who the hell did you think kept it safe? Kept it prosperous?”

“Well, it wasn’t him,” Berenice said, waving a wild hand at the Forest Lord. “You heard, he was asleep all this time.”

“Lord Idwal said that the Forest Lord had been stirring since your great-grandda’s time,” I said. “Even if he weren’t, his influence was still very much present. Six hundred years of prosperity and blessing, and you shrug it off, saying it has nothing to do with you.” I shrugged, suddenly very tired. “And then you try to drag me into this mess and call it honest. I think you and I have different ideas of what honesty means.”

“It is amazing how little she understands the obligations of her station, let alone the position she aspires to,” Princess Rajya put in.

“And the amir not only knows but has approved what you and Lord Munir have been doing here,” Berenice said back.

“Stay out of this, Daughter,” Suiden said before Princess Rajya could respond.

“There are provisions in the contract if either party does not wish to marry,” the green man said, reclaiming everyone’s attention.

“Ha!” Berenice said.

“Have you read them?” the green man asked.

“Well, no—”

“I suggest that you do,” the green man said.

“They can’t be that bad,” Berenice said. “Can they?”

“You’d forfeit your firstborn,” the green man said. “Among other things.”

There was a shocked gasp. “Just like something out of a children’s story,” an aristo whispered.

The Forest Lord shrugged. “The steward—and especially the steward’s wife—really wanted to make sure that the marriage would take place.”

“But surely the Church will not sanction a marriage between us,” Berenice said, desperate.

“I will speak with your church elder,” Laurel said. “I’m sure the king will speak with him also.”

“So we will,” Jusson said. “We will also include this in our letter to the patriarch.” His eyes gleamed. “It’s going to be a very interesting missive.”

“But—”

“Enough,” Lady Margriet said. “You have been indulged too much by your father.”

“I indulged her,” Lord Idwal said, indignant.

“You did not want—have never wanted—a son of Rafe even as a guest, let alone as a son-in-law,” Lady Margriet said. “Yet here Lord Rabbit is, dragooned here by you at the urging of your daughter. What do you call that?”

“But, Mama, Papa,” Berenice said over her father’s sputters, “he’s not a man—”

The Forest Lord waved a hand at his body. “What, this?” He shimmered and his form changed, and a stag stood in his place. He shimmered again and became man-shaped once more, but instead of his massive form, he slimmed down, his beard of moss and antlers disappearing, his features refining until, except for his eyes, he looked like any other man. Well, sort of like any other man.

Berenice’s mouth parted, Lady Margriet’s eyes blurred, and a stir went through the ladies in the hall. Even Princess Rajya blinked, then straightened, tucking her hair behind her ears.

Jeff sidled next to me. “Damn, Rabbit, he looks prettier than you,” he whispered. I made a rude gesture.

“Details,” the green man said, and shifted back to his prior form.

Berenice shook her head as if to clear it. “Uh—”

“I will talk to your elder,” Laurel said. “Perhaps it would be better if we both officiated. There are customs and practices that I’m sure the honored lord would like to see, hrmm, honored.”

The Forest Lord eyed Laurel. “Follower of Gaia?”

Laurel bowed, his tail a graceful extension behind him. “Yes, honored lord.”

The Forest Lord nodded. “That is acceptable.”

The light pouring in through the windows suddenly softened and in the distance I could hear the sound of thunder. The fall rains were arriving. I allowed my head to once more rest against my knees, feeling the weather change in my bones. I heard a footstep and Jeff stiffened beside me. I looked up to see Arlis had walked over to the hedge surrounding Kveta and stood staring down at the wolf. He then looked at me, his face unreadable. Jeff made a derisive noise under his breath, but I shook my head and he fell silent. I heard another sound, one of fire crackling, and I shifted to find that the spheres had returned and were once more contemplating me. I stared back, not only aware of the weather change, but actually feeling the rain drumming on the earth as if it were my own skin, feeling the wild sea driven by storms, feeling the diminishing heat of the sun as the year waned, and the breath of winter dancing on the wind as it blew from the north—and the barriers I’d erected over a month ago began to crumble. As they fell, yearning poured in, filling me until I felt unbearably stretched. Kveta made a sound between a woof and a gasp, and I turned once more to see her staring back, her ears flat against her skull.

“Rabbit, you’re blurring,” Jeff said, his voice worried.

“Cousin,” Jusson said, rising from his chair.

“Two Trees’son,” Wyln said, walking quickly towards me.

Laurel also started towards me. “Rabbit, wait—”

My gaze still on Kveta, I let go and was gone.

Twenty-seven

It was raining, a steady downpour falling through the bare branches that framed the lowering sky, soaking me almost as soon as I formed. I was still wearing trousers and boots, though I the blankets Finn had draped over me were gone. Frowning, I thrust my hand into my pocket and pulled out my feather. It was bright red in the gloom, almost glowing against the truth rune and the gloom, almost glowing against the truth rune and symbols on my palm. I then reached down to my boot and found my knife. Relaxing some, I put them both back in my pocket and looked around. Apparently I was deep in Mearden’s forest as neither the road nor the castle tor was visible. I stood there a moment, feeling the rain course down my braid, plastering it against my bare back. I then gripped my ash-wood staff and started towards where I thought the castle was.

“This way, Cousin.”

I stopped midstep and turned to see Jusson standing in the opening of a tent that had been erected in a small clearing. Lamplight spilled out around the king, as did the scent of vanilla, orange, and spice, and I immediately changed directions, warmth bathing me as I stepped inside.

Though the tent wasn’t as large as the one Jusson had used when we left Freston, it was was spacious enough to hold a couple of chairs, a handful of small tables, and two lit braziers with plenty of room left over. A simmering ornamental pot sat on one of the braziers and a tarp had been laid on the ground over which had been placed thick Perdan rugs. I vaguely wondered if they’d come off Princess Rajya’s ship or if Idwal had them stashed in the castle someplace. There were also wall hangings—including the hunt one from the king’s chambers—keeping out the cold and damp. However, there weren’t any royal guards. There wasn’t anyone else either—no Thadro, no Wyln, no Cais. No Jeff, Bertram, or even Arlis. Trying to remember if I’d ever seen the king alone, I came to a halt just inside the threshold.

“You’re letting in the rain,” Jusson said.

I turned from the peopleless tent to look at the king before staring down at the growing damp patch spreading from my feet. Some of it was runoff from my sopping braid. But some was also from the rain blowing in from the tent’s opening and I moved all the way inside. Jusson immediately fastened the tent flaps behind me.

“Finn brought dry clothes for you,” he said. He moved to the wall and lifted another set of flaps to reveal a smaller chamber. It too was bright and warm with lamplight and lit braziers and it sported a large washstand with a large ewer full of hot water, my brush, comb, and shaving kit on its counter, a towel rack, and my King’s Own uniform laid out on a chair. Once more drawn by the warmth, I stepped inside, only to spin around at a noise behind me. But it was just the king closing the flaps. Left alone, I walked to the washstand and stared in the mirror.

I was vaguely surprised to find me looking back unchanged. My face remained unlined, my eyes still blue, my hair still dark brown. I did have what looked like a two-day-old beard. I ran my hand over it, feeling its roughness, before sliding down to my neck. Instead of being an angry red, the line Kveta had sliced over my jugular was thin and white, as if it were a several-years’old scar. My hand lingered there for a moment, feeling my pulse beat under my fingertips, before dropping. Leaning my staff against the washstand, I poured water into the basin and prepared to shave away all evidence of time passing.

A short time later I emerged from the small chamber reasonably neat and dry in my King’s Own uniform to find Cais standing with Jusson. The diminutive majordomo gave me a searching look, his eyes flashing purple in the lamplight. He then bowed.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” Cais said. He indicated a large tray with two gently steaming teapots and several covered dishes. “I brought luncheon.”

However long it had been, it had been without food. My stomach immediately grumbled, and Jusson smiled as he nodded at Cais. “Thank you. We’ll serve ourselves.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cais said, and, with another bow, left the tent.

Jusson went to his crown chair. “Sit, Cousin.”

I remained on my feet even as the king sat, and looked around once more at the luxuriously cozy tent, my brow knitting.

“Ah, you’re wondering how we knew to meet you here?” Jusson asked. He waited a moment for my nod. “Wyln said you’d be here.”

I blinked.

“Something to do with the fact that he is your cyhn,” Jusson said. “Though the Faena cat rumbled something about elf families.” Turning to the tray, he lifted the cover from one of the plates. “Sit. Eat.”

My stomach rumbled again and I sat. There were rolls, pastries, and other dainties on the plates, and for a time I busied myself with their demolition. Jusson must’ve eaten earlier, for he just drank tea, his gaze on the brazier fire as he sipped, patiently waiting for me to finish. When I finally put the plate down, he nudged the second teapot towards me and a sneaking suspicion flashed across my mind. It must’ve also flashed across my face as Jusson’s mouth quirked.

“Yes, it’s Laurel’s tea. He said you’re to drink all of it.”

Not bothering to argue, I poured a cup and drank it straight without any sweetener. Holding back a shudder at the bitterness, I poured another cup and downed that too. Pouring a third cup, I cradled it in my hand, enjoying the warmth of it against my palm. Jusson went back to contemplating the brazier flames, the sound of the rain drumming on the tent roof filling the silence. After a bit, he stirred, placing his empty cup on the table.

“In a more ordered world, there would be always time for what one needs to do.”

I had been staring at the hunt tapestry, noting that the stag was once more gamboling with the dogs under a full moon and that the trees were free of obscure shadows. However, at Jusson’s comment, I looked at him. Who frowned.

“Can you talk?” he asked.

I thought about it a moment. “I think so,” I said. I thought some more. “Your Majesty.”

Tension flowed out of Jusson. “Good. Both Laurel and Wyln said that it was possible that you’d be affected in some way by your taking, and even if you weren’t, that it would still take some time for you to recover—” He broke off, then shrugged. “Well.”

“How long have I been gone?” I asked.

“Two days,” Jusson said. “It’s been two days since you disappeared.”

So I wasn’t returning years or decades later, like some character out of a children’s story. It was my turn to relax. Somewhat.

“Again, both Laurel and Wyln said that you would return,” Jusson said. “Laurel said because of the oaths you’d sworn—”

“Yes,” I said. “Your Majesty.”

“—and Wyln said because no elf has ever been consumed by the aspects.”

I opened my mouth to say I wasn’t an elf, then stopped. My oaths and the feather covenant had pulled me back. But something else did too. Like someone saying my name, just on the edge of my hearing.

“Apparently sixty-four lines to an elf king and being adopted into the Fyrst’s family matters, Cousin,” Jusson said.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I murmured.

“Anyway, as I said, I wish there were more time,” Jusson said. “Though I suppose if we had vast quantities of the stuff, we wouldn’t value it at all and would squander it on frivolous things.

“My da used to say if we had all the time in the world, then nothing in the world would get done,” I said. I then blinked, not only at the words that had come tumbling out more or less in order, but also the memory that arose with them. I could see my da seated in his chair by the fireplace, looking like my da—not the wild, dissolute third son that others had painted. My da, his eyes crinkled in a smile as he relaxed after a hard day’s work, his hand reaching out to my ma to pull her laughingly, lovingly on his lap.

“I liked Rafe,” Jusson said, his voice quiet, “and when the queen died and I ascended to the throne, I sent a message for him and Hilga to return to Iverstere. He sent a letter back, refusing, saying they were happy where they were, and he filled the rest of the letter with the doings of his children and his farm.”

Something I hadn’t known had been jarred loose suddenly settled. “He did?” I asked.

“Yes,” Jusson said. “For obvious reasons, we didn’t continue to correspond. But I kept the letter and took it out from time to time to reread about Rafe, Hilga, and their fantastically named children. Including the one named Rabbit. And when you showed up Cosdale, training to be a soldier, I thought, Ah, yes. Rafe’s son. I also thought, Let him settle; there’s plenty of time to bring him to court so I can see whether he is like his father. And so there was, until time unexpectedly ran out.”

“I came to court anyway,” I said. “Your Majesty.”

“So you did. And still time ran out, and you were away again, this time to the Borderlands. And now you’re back, but still there’s the pressure of time. I’ve learned to make do with what time we’re given, and pray that it’s enough.” Stretching his legs out towards the brazier, he folded his hands over his stomach. “We’re sending out ships tomorrow to the Qarant to let them know what happened to Javes.”

I paused at the shift in topic. “He wasn’t on Kveta’s ship?” I asked.

“No,” Jusson said. “And Kveta has decided that she isn’t talking to anyone about anything. However, several of her cohorts among her crew have been more forthcoming, especially when we threatened them with Master Cat’s truth rune.

“People tend to do that,” I said.

Jusson’s mouth quirked again. “So they do. Unfortunately they didn’t know much more than we did—only that he had been passed off to another ship that had quietly slipped into the harbor, and then slipped out again bearing him off to parts unknown. You were supposed to join him.”

“I was?” I asked, startled.

“The ambush,” Jusson said. “According to one of the crew members, Kveta stalked you when you were searching the forest, and then summoned people to abduct you, and afterwards whisked them away when it went bad.”

“Then why did she try to kill me?” I asked.

“The fact that the trees defended you worried her,” Jusson said. “At least that’s what she told her crew. Apparently she kept the part about the Forest Lord to herself and instead blamed it all on Laurel’s meddling.”

I ran a knuckle over the thin scar on my neck. “If she had told them about the green man, they probably would’ve mutinied,” I said.

“Most likely,” Jusson agreed. “They were a bit upset when they found out. Though Master Cat wasn’t all that impressed with their distress and displeasure. Said something about lying down with dogs and getting up with fleas.”

I felt my mouth curve into a smile. It felt familiar and strange at the same time. “So there’s no clue where Captain Javes was taken, Your Majesty?”

“Actually there is,” Jusson said. “A ghost of an idea but it gives us a place to start.” He reached next to his chair and picked up an empty pouch. “This was found secreted in a compartment in Kveta’s cabin.”

I stared down at the pouch. It was covered in fluid markings that looked familiar. Very familiar. “Turalian?” I asked.

“Laurel thinks it held the dragon bones,” Jusson said. He indicated the markings. “This is apparently a containment spell.”

I gave the king a wide-eyed look. “Kveta got them from Munir?”

“Munir was emphatic in his denials and I tend to believe him, if only for the fact that he wouldn’t have relinquished items of such power to Kveta.” Jusson placed the pouch back on the rug. “But they did come from someone in Tural—or at least someone in the Empire. Suiden says the dialect is rather archaic though it is used in some of the outlying principalities. And given that there are so many bones—Master Cat says almost the entire dragon—”

Realizing that my mouth hung open, I closed it with a snap. “And we survived that?”

“I suppose our collective heads are very hard,” Jusson said. “Given the quantity and quality, Wyln and Laurel both figure Kveta was given the bones by either a highly placed wizard or someone who is close to one, no matter where they’re located. So I am also sending messengers to the amir. Perhaps there’s a connection somewhere in his court or someone there knows a connection. As I said, it’s a starting place.”

“If the amir isn’t involved himself,” I said.

“I think His Glory is concerned about other things at present,” Jusson said, “chief being the disposition of the crown prince and heir.”

That was probably very true.

“With the time of storms beginning, I reckon we have twelve to fourteen weeks before we receive a response,” Jusson said. “From any of the messengers.”

I frowned over that. “Surely, it won’t take that long for a return message to Iversly, Your Majesty—”

“I am holding winter court here,” Jusson said.

The tea in my cup splashed lukewarm droplets on my hand. “You are?”

Jusson gave a razor-sharp smile. “Don’t worry, Cousin. Mearden is not so easily bankrupted. Though, to quiet those bent on finding fault, I will bear part of the cost of hosting us.”

“That’s . . . wise, Your Majesty,” I offered.

“We’ll see if it is,” Jusson said. “I’ve notified Patriarch Pietr about Berenice and Lord Brynach. I figure there we’ll have less time before someone from His Holiness’ See appears.”

“You’re probably correct, Your Majesty,” I said, my voice faint.

There was a soft rolling of thunder. “Though the rains may slow them down, which will hopefully allow me to mend what has been broken,” Jusson said. “With Mearden, such as it is. And with you.”

I said nothing, my gaze drawn by the reflection of the brazier flames dancing on the surface of my tea. Jusson gave a soft sigh.

“You know, contrary to what was said at the time, we didn’t come here to explore a match between you and Lady Berenice.”

I nodded. “I realized that, Your Majesty, after your and Idwal’s . . . discussion in Lady Margriet’s stillroom. Figured you used his demand for redress to see what he was up to.”

“I won’t deny that I was curious, especially about his desire to join his daughter to one of Rafe’s sons, but that also wasn’t the reason why we came here,” Jusson said. “It was for you.”

The rest of my tea spilled on the rug as I turned quickly in my chair. “Me?”

Jusson grinned. “That got your attention.”

The strangeness faded as all my indignation flooded in. “This was the last effing place I wanted to be,” I said. “Your Majesty.”

“I know,” Jusson said. His grin disappeared. “After the demon attack, you retreated, Rabbit.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again.

“Yes, very understandable,” Jusson said. “But it had us worried. There were days when you weren’t tracking. Days when you weren’t present at all. You shut us out, shut everything out, and we thought that Idwal’s demand would shock you into opening up again. And it did. You started interacting with people, with the world. It was even better when we arrived. You were yourself again.”

“And whether or not I wanted to marry had nothing to do with it?” I asked, my voice low.

“If you had wanted to wed Berenice, then you would have,” Jusson said. “It wouldn’t have been a bad match, her father notwithstanding.” His expression turned feral. “And Idwal would’ve discovered that having me in his House would’ve been no sinecure.”

“And if I hadn’t wanted to marry her?” I asked.

“Then I would’ve said no and we would’ve left,” Jusson said.

“So all of this was for my own good,” I said.

“Yes, well.” Jusson ran a hand over his face. “As Wyln mentioned a couple days ago about hell and good intentions. And in our—in my zeal to do what I thought best, I created a place for you to be wounded again.”

Jusson paused, waiting, but I was silent. Not because I didn’t have anything to say nor because I didn’t want to say it to Jusson. The words stuck in my throat, causing it to ache. I tried again.

“I think Kveta would’ve done what she did regardless of where we were, Your Majesty,” I finally got out.

“Perhaps,” Jusson said. “But Kveta wasn’t the only one.”

I shrugged even though my throat remained tight.

“Berenice’s actions didn’t bother me all that much—”

“Perhaps not,” Jusson said. “But what about Suiden?”

I again fell silent.

“And then there’s me,” Jusson said. “I’ve not had to apologize much during my reign, mostly because I took care not to have anything to apologize for.” His mouth quirked again, this time without much humor. “Which may be why the kingdom is facing certain issues. In any case, here I do need to apologize, if only because I treated you less than you are worth.”

“Wyln said that we both need to get used to each other, Your Majesty—”

“Always ‘Your Majesty’ now,” Jusson remarked.

“—sire,” I said. “But we haven’t had the time.”

“Yes,” Jusson said. “Time.”

Both Jusson and I fell silent, Jusson again brooding into the brazier fire while I returned my gaze to the hunt tapestry. Overhead, the drumming of the rain continued, once more filling our silence, while the wind whispered of a ship safely making port just ahead of a greater storm blowing in from the sea. Jusson shifted in his chair.

“How are you doing, Rabbit?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know,” I said. “It feels strange.”

“I suppose it would take a while to get used to being corporal again,” Jusson said, giving me a sideways look.

“Yes,” I said. I gave a faint smile that felt more natural. “Time.”

Jusson laughed. “Time indeed. So we will take time, to plan a wedding, mount a rescue, allow Suiden to get used to his new command, do the diplomatic dance with the Qarant, the Borderlands, and Tural, host His Holiness, and fend off the more conservative doyens. And perhaps, if we’re really fortunate, we will be able to mend what was broken—”

He broke off, turning towards the tent opening, and a moment later I heard footsteps over the rain. Someone—several someones were approaching. Jusson rose to his feet and I followed, taking up my staff. As I did, the tent flapped opened and Cais and Thadro walked in, along with several King’s Own.

“I beg pardon, sire,” Thadro said, bowing, “but Master Laurel said he was ready.”

“All right,” Jusson said as Cais disappeared into the small chamber. He quickly reappeared carrying a couple of greatcoats, scarves, gloves, and furled umbrellas. In short order, both Jusson and I were bundled up and led out to another, much larger clearing. It seemed that everyone from the castle was there, along with many folks from the town, all pressing against a roped-off area in which Laurel crouched in the middle. Off to the side was Kveta, guarded and bound by so many wards that she was surrounded by a green and white haze. As soon as I stepped into the clearing, she turned, and I could see that someone had placed a patch over her injured eye and put a splint on her leg. She wore the same expression that she had had when I last saw her, her good eye wide, her ears pressed against her skull.

“We are making arrangements to send her back,” Jusson said, seeing the direction of my gaze. “Laurel and Wyln will accompany her to make nothing untoward happens.”

I was distracted from the twinge over being separated from my teachers in the talent by catching sight of Idwal and Lady Margriet. Even though several aristos walked over to greet the king and give me the once- over, the lord and lady of Mearden remained where they were, and I vaguely thought that some things could never be mended. Next to them were Lord Brynach and Berenice, the Forest Lord in his antlered guise and Berenice wearing the same bemused expression I last saw her with a couple of days ago in the great hall. I couldn’t tell if she was wearing one of her ugly-arsed gowns, but the cloak that covered her had nothing of the drab about it. Cherry red, it turned her eyes dark and made her shapely mouth stand out against her glowing skin. She looked my way and a faint blush swept her face, causing her fading bruise to darken. She then looked away, tucking the cloak about her as she stepped a little closer to her betrothed.

Apparently she had becomed reconciled to being the Forest Lord’s wife. Or maybe she’d taken the time to read the contracts and found out what exactly would happen if they didn’t marry.

Opposite them stood Captain Suiden with Princess Rajya and Captain Jasry from the Turalian ship, surrounded by a mixture of Turalian soldiers and sailors, and Freston Patrollers, both Javes’ and his command. Suiden also looked my way, his gaze just as searching as Cais’ had been earlier. But I again was distracted, this time by Arlis lingering nearby, in his Royal Army uniform.

“I decided that it was best that he remained where he was for the time being,” Jusson said, once more deciphering the direction of my gaze.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, continuing to scan the crowd. I caught sight of Munir standing in his own knot of soldiers. He too was heavily warded by thin lines of flame. The crowd shifted again and I saw Wyln standing next to him, his face gently amused as his eyes met mine.

Wondering if I should go to my cyhn, I had started to turn to Jusson when I heard a step behind me. I continued turning to see Jeff, also in his King’s Own uniform, had joined us, and I relaxed. Before I could say anything, though, there was another, lighter step and I looked down to see Bertram glowing up at me—and I found myself grinning even as I bowed.

“Thank you,” I said.

Bertram smiled and bowed back before going to my side.

“He’s been moping since you’ve been gone,” Jusson said. “He actually stopped baking—”

Laurel suddenly stood up and Jusson broke off. “Are you almost done, Master Cat?” he asked, walking to the rope.

I followed behind the king and nearly caused Jeff and the other guards to crash into me as I came to a complete stop. Jusson had told me that Kveta had damn near an entire dragon, but it was different hearing it versus seeing it for myself. There were hundreds upon hundreds of bones, ranging from tiny slivers to ones the size and length of very large knitting needles, all placed in a spiraling pattern on the wet grass. They glistened in the rain, the runes and symbols carved on them shimmering in the gray afternoon light. Laurel, with help from Wyln and the Forest Lord, had drawn strong lines of containment around them, but even so, I could feel their power humming and I took an instinctive step back.

“One more, honored king,” Laurel said. Unlike the crowd around him, he had no rain gear. In fact, all he wore were his rain-darkened beads and feathers. But his winter’s coat had come in thick and full, and the rain merely beaded on top, giving his fur a silver sheen. Stooping down, he gently placed the last sliver of bone in the center of the spiral, then stood up and quickly padded over to the ropes, away from the spiral of bones. I could feel the humming increase, the pressure building in my ears. It suddenly ceased and for a long moment, nothing happened. Then there was a loud crack and a blinding flash as from a lightning strike, reversing black and white, the symbols on my hand turning hot with a heat that exploded through my body. I closed my eyes, until the afterimages left. When I opened them again, the dragon bones were gone and in their place was a dragon.

A murmur swept the crowd, many not knowing whether to ward themselves or cheer. Some did both, pressing against the rope. Others, though, moved far back, while the Turalian contingent fell to their knees, heedless of the wet grass.

Idwal was one of those who moved back, taking his wife with him. (Berenice stayed with the Forest Lord.) “Is it supposed to do that?” Idwal asked.

“There are olden tales, Eorl Idwal, though I’ve never seen it happen myself,” Wyln said, all amusement gone as he stared up at the dragon. He then slid a look at Munir. “Something to look forward to, wizard?”

Munir said nothing, his eyes narrowed, his face set as he too stared at the dragon.

“Fiat,” Laurel rumbled, his own amber eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “The Lady’s will be done.”

“That’s going to go over well with His Holiness the Patriarch,” Jusson said.

There was a big booming crash of a wave and what sounded like an echo of Laurel’s fiat, but deeper, stronger—and I wondered if this was because of Lady Gaia’s will or if someone else had decided to take a hand. Laurel twitched, then turned, staring first in the direction of the ocean, then at me. I shrugged.

“It’s alive,” Jeff said softly behind me. “Not a ghost.”

Jeff was right. Unlike honored Moraina’s son, Gwyyn, the dragon—no, the dragoness—was very alive. Shades of purple with amethyst eyes, she crouched there for a moment, her head lifted towards the sky as if relishing the feel of rain falling on her face. She then swept the crowd with her gaze before settling on Kveta, smoke curling up from her mouth. She unfurled her wings, bright against the dark trees, and stretched her neck towards the wolf.

The Forest Lord moved to stand in front of the dragoness. “She will face justice,” he said. “Your bonds have been severed. Be free.”

There was another silent moment; then the dragoness raised her head again and gave a roar that shook the rain from the branches. Spreading her wings, she took to the sky.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lorna Freeman started reading fairy tales at an early age in reaction to an ordinary life. Though not a true native, she has lived most of her life in Southern California, the land of sunshine and earthquakes.

Content

Shadows Past (2008)
(The third book in the Borderlands series)
A novel by Lorna Freeman

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

ABOUT THE AUTHOR