An abrupt enough entrance, in fact, that every one of Aefric’s knights raised a weapon, which made the soldier stop moving and drop his spear.

  He showed empty hands.

  “Your grace,” he said. “I did not mean to disturb—”

  “That’s all right,” Aefric said, gesturing for everyone to calm down. “What do you have to report?”

  “A messenger awaits at the gates, with two large carriages. From her grace.”

  That could only mean Duchess Ashling. So she was here in Kivash.

  “Allow the carriages past the gate,” Aefric said, pondering, “and escort the messenger up here.”

  “And good work, checking first,” Ser Yrsa said, while the soldier retrieved his spear and trotted back out of the castle and down the hill.

  Aefric dismissed his light spells as he and his knights stepped outside for the first time in hours. Clear skies above. Winds blew in from off the Risen Sea, moderating the late afternoon heat. The sun looked to be no more than an hour or two from setting.

  No wonder Aefric was so tired. He’d had a long day, even before the fight with the skeletons and his outright war with that trap.

  One of the advantages of being known to carry the Brightstaff everywhere. Gave him something to lean on, in moments like this.

  “I’d say your grace is about to receive an invitation,” Ser Beornric muttered, as the gates opened and two large, enclosed, ebony carriages entered. Each flew Merrek’s flags, and each was pulled by a team of six horses.

  “Can’t just be me,” Aefric said. “There’d only be one coach.”

  The messenger escorted up the hill by two of Aefric’s soldiers looked to be one of Ashling’s pages. She wore Merrek livery, and had the coltish look of a young woman who has grown much in a short period of time. She now stood no more than a handspan shorter than Aefric himself. She had the fine-boned and pale beauty of Armyrian nobility, emphasized by the way she wore her light brown hair bound in a complicated braid.

  She stopped a respectful distance away, and bowed deeply. She held that bow.

  “Greetings, messenger,” Aefric said. “What word do you carry?”

  “Greetings, your grace,” she said, rising from her bow to stand with perfect posture. “On behalf of her grace, Ashling Fyrenn, Duchess of Merrek and Vanquisher of the Third Skull, I am come to welcome your grace to Kivash. I have further instructions to invite your grace and his knights to dine tonight at Ottarvigi, her grace’s nearby castle, and to provide transportation if your grace is good enough to accept.”

  Aefric was too tired for politics tonight. He just wanted to have a simple dinner with his knights, and turn in early.

  But the title came with responsibilities.

  “I am most grateful for her grace’s kind invitation, and quite happy to accept.”

  “Marvelous, your grace. As your grace can see, I have two carriages ready, and we can leave whenever your grace wills.”

  “I have a concern about…” Aefric shook his head. “What is your name?”

  “My name is Cyneswith Ol’Cynerstan,” she said with another bow, “and I am entirely at your grace’s disposal.”

  “Cyneswith, two of my knights were injured in the course of our exploring Hrafnvigi. Does her grace have a physician at Ottarvigi?”

  “Your grace, she has nothing less than a cleric of Nilasah,” the page said, looking concerned. “And I know her grace would be eager to be of assistance to your grace’s knights. Can they be moved? Or should I return with the cleric?”

  Aefric looked at Ser Yrsa.

  “We can move them,” she said.

  “Good,” Cyneswith said, looking relieved. “Then with your grace’s permission, I shall have the carriages brought up the hill, to ease the transportation of his wounded knights.”

  “Please do,” Aefric said. “And thank you.”

  “The action is unworthy of thanks, your grace,” she said, “but the sentiment is appreciated.”

  She turned and hurried down the hill, leaving the soldiers of her escort to trail in her wake.

  Ser Yrsa didn’t let them go. She called them over and began quietly issuing orders.

  Meanwhile, Ser Beornric sent the remaining Knights of the Lake into the castle to carefully retrieve their wounded fellows.

  Ser Deirdre nodded at Cyneswith, down the hill where she was giving orders to the drivers.

  “That’s no ler’s daughter,” Ser Deirdre said quietly. “Too precise in her formality. I’m betting she’s the daughter of a count. Or at least a baron.”

  “The eldest daughter of Countess Siburh Ol’Cynerstan,” Ser Beornric said, joining the conversation. “Duchess Ashling’s most powerful vassal. Makes her an interesting choice for a messenger.”

  “Is Kivash in Ashling’s direct lands?” Aefric asked. “Or those held by a vassal?”

  “I’m not sure,” Ser Beornric said. “There are probably maps back in that meeting room that could tell us—”

  “No,” Ser Deirdre said with sudden confidence. “Kivash must be in the Ol’Cynerstan county. The duchess would want her future vassal to meet your grace, as your grace now owns a castle among her lands.”

  “Not quite,” Aefric said, but stopped there as the carriages approached.

  His knights had rigged a pair of litters using the skeletons’ shields and a few straps of leather. They carried Sers Arras and Temat out and helped them into the rear carriage, despite complaints from both knights that they could walk quite well.

  Aefric wasn’t sure that was true of either of them. Ser Arras’ wound had been low enough to impede walking, and they’d both lost more than there share of blood.

  Ser Beornric locked up the castle, and presented the keys to Aefric, who fixed them to his belt.

  Cyneswith stepped up and bowed again.

  “If your grace wishes his wounded knights to have a carriage to themselves, there should be enough room for him and his remaining knights in the other carriage. Though it might be a bit tight.”

  “I’ll ride with Temat and Arras,” Ser Vria volunteered. “Make sure they’re all right on the ride.”

  “I’ll join you,” Ser Leppina said.

  “Should be plenty of room then,” Aefric said.

  The carriage wasn’t as comfortable on the inside as the magic one Aefric had ridden in earlier, but it was more than comfortable enough for a short ride.

  Cyneswith rode up top with the driver, which seemed strange. Aefric was about to invite her to ride inside when Ser Beornric leaned in and spoke softly.

  “She’ll be a countess one day, your grace, but today she’s a page like any other. Riding inside would be inappropriate for her.”

  The ride was brief enough, and Castle Ottarvigi impressive, for Kivash. Easily six stories of smooth white stone, with three towers jutting up at least four stories higher into the afternoon sky.

  Nothing on Water’s End, of course. And perhaps not as large as Behal, either. But it was certainly the largest castle here in Kivash.

  Castle Ottarvigi sat on a hill of its own, and inside the inner of its two defensive walls were several small buildings in addition to the castle itself. The courtyard had been tiled to match the white stone of the castle, though space had been left for a series of flowering fruit trees.

  Aefric spotted two dozen soldiers on duty, already buzzing even before his knights brought Sers Temat and Arras out of the carriage.

  Cyneswith must’ve jumped down and run for the physician before Aefric even left the carriage. Because he didn’t have time to so much as say a word before he spotted a dusky-hued older man in the telltale yellow robes and hand sigil of Nilasah, goddess of compassion. The cleric came running out of the castle’s tall double-doors, with Cyneswith leading and six assistants trailing in his wake.

  The cleric didn’t stop for introductions. Just took over handling the wounded knights. He quickly made sure they were safe to move, then his assistants began bringing them into the castle.

  Aefric burned to ask questions, but even without the cautioning look from Ser Beornric, he knew better. This was just the way things were done.

  Sers Arras and Temat were now getting the best care anyone could get anywhere. They’d probably be leaving that night under their own power.

  Once the wounded were clearly taken care of, Cyneswith bowed to Aefric, and gestured for another page to approach. Another who looked likely to graduate soon from page training. He was starting to gain some muscle, and looked more like a man than a boy.

  He bowed.

  “If your grace will follow me,” Cyneswith said, “I will escort him to dine in privacy with her grace, while Bruric here escorts his knights to dine with those of her grace.”

  The quick way both Sers Yrsa and Beornric nodded, both where Cyneswith couldn’t see them, made Aefric want to object.

  He didn’t.

  “Good,” he said. “I look forward to seeing Ashling again. It’s been too long.”

  Cyneswith escorted Aefric into Castle Ottarvigi. She was talking a bit about the history of the area, but Aefric was paying more attention to the castle.

  Ashling, clearly, had already settled in. She’d replaced any old tapestries with her own, commemorating events in Fyrenn family history. Servants moved about as though they’d lived and worked here all their lives.

  She’d even had floorboards installed. Red cherry, from the look of the wood. Made a pleasant change from the white stone floors of Castle Hrafnvigi. And either the previous owners had favored lighter colors on their plastered walls, or Ashling had been painting as well.

  Cyneswith led Aefric up two flights of stairs and towards the back of the castle, then up a smaller staircase that had been concealed behind a tremendous painting of Kivash and the Risen Sea.

  When the stairs began to gently spiral, Aefric realized he was now in one of the towers. The walls here were rounded and of white stone, like the stairs themselves, though their smell was freshened by vases of daisies sitting on shelves every twenty steps or so.

  The windows Aefric passed weren’t large, but they were frequent enough that he could see just fine without lighting up the Brightstaff’s yellow diamond.

  Cyneswith wasn’t talking about history now. She was talking in excited tones about the Battle of Frozen Ridge.

  “…and I was frustrated that Mother wouldn’t let me don my armor and at least take part in the planning meetings out there in the field. So I’d climbed to the top of our tallest tower, intent on watching with a spyglass.”

  “Where exactly were you?” Aefric asked.

  “Oh, our county seat is on the north shore of the Indecisive, your grace,” she said with a smile. “No more than a half-day from here by boat. Perhaps two days by horse.”

  “Kivash is now part of your county, then?” Aefric asked.

  “That’s … a matter of some debate between Mother and her grace,” Cyneswith said. “And alas, I should say no more about that.”

  “I understand.”

  Interesting. Was young Cyneswith here as a hostage, as well as a page?

  “So, there I was, atop our tallest tower, watching a lot of nothing happening through my spyglass,” Cyneswith continued. “Armies on opposing ridges, yes, but at that point those armies were just sitting there.”

  She smiled at Aefric.

  “Oh, I’m sure there was a great deal of activity and planning going on, but I couldn’t see any of it from my vantage point. Made the whole thing so much more frustrating.”

  Aefric smiled. He knew all too well the frustrations of forced inactivity. For her, it might’ve been the army on her doorstep, but for Aefric, it was that pirate queen Nelazzi.

  Aefric had, back at Water’s End, a pendant that would allow him and the ship he sailed straight through Nelazzi’s own wards.

  He knew he could take her unawares. If only the king would give him permission to hunt her down…

  “But then,” Cyneswith continued, “out of the corner of my eye, I caught the sight of something flying due south. Something too large to be any of our local birds.”

  “I suspect I know what you saw,” Aefric said, as they reached a landing that led into a hallway. Both landing and hallway attractively paneled in white oak, floor, walls and ceiling.

  White candles burned in sconces along the walls down that hallway, throwing off more light than candles ought to. Aefric didn’t need to check to know that magic was involved.

  Cyneswith smiled again, and the look in her soft brown eyes might’ve been flirty. If she were older.

  “May I share with your grace my experience of what I saw that day?”

  “You may,” Aefric said with a nod.

  “Would your grace mind if we tarry here while I do so?” Cyneswith looked a little uncertain. “Her grace awaits only three rooms away, but I’m uncertain when I’ll get another private chance to speak with your grace.”

  “If Ashling asks, you may blame me for the delay.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” Cyneswith said, positively sparkling with her smile.

  Give that woman a few years to mature and her looks might bring even more suitors than her title.

  “As I was saying, I saw something too big to be any of the local birds, but not shaped right to be a great phoenix or pyltenius, or dragon, or anything else I could think of. So I raised my spyglass.”

  She mimed doing so.

  “Imagine how amazed I was, your grace, to not only catch sight of a wizard in flight, but such a wizard. Not some old graybeard like Sirondfar, but young and strong and … quite pleasant to look upon.”

  “You don’t need to flatter me, Cyneswith.”

  “I flatter not in the least, your grace,” she said, bringing one hand to her heart to indicate sincerity, “but speak only my true thoughts at the time. And if I may be so bold as to say so, I find my opinion of that day only confirmed, here in the presence of your grace.”

  “Thank you,” Aefric said with a chuckle, which got him another sparkling smile.

  “Well, this flying wizard was far more interesting to look upon than those distant armies, so I watched as he came to a halt in midair, regarding the armies of our enemy.”

  She grew more serious now as she continued.

  “The wizard held a staff in hand, but instead drew a wand from his belt and...”

  She shook her head.

  “I have witnessed magic before, your grace. As any noble must, over the course of our lives. And yet, what I saw that day.”

  She sighed.

  “How to describe it,” she said. “It was as though I were seeing one of the great heroes of legend, come to life before my very eyes. The way he — the way your grace — sparkled with that icy blue power as he called forth his magic.”

  Sparkled icy blue? Aefric hadn’t been aware he’d done that.

  “And then, that magnificent lance of power, blasting off into the skies. Oh, and the skies! How that icy blue power seemed to spread like lightning through the skies all along that southern ridge. How thick clouds formed faster and faster, black as a nightmare. And then, oh, and then, how those skies opened up! How they rained and sleeted and hailed frozen death down on our enemies.”

  She shook her head, looking sober and almost stunned by her memory of the sight.

  “The sheer volume and power of all that heavy snow and sleet, your grace,” she said. “It made for an overwhelming sight. Knowing what it was doing to those people. Even seeing some of it through my spyglass. Even though they were my enemies, I found I did not want to watch. And yet, I could not look away.”

  “It can be that way, with a terrible thing,” Aefric said quietly. “And make no mistake. What I did that day was necessary. But it was still a terrible thing.”

  “And not the only terrible thing,” she said, now looking at Aefric with wonder. “I saw how your grace overreached himself with that spell. How he fell from the sky. I did not see your grace hit the ground, but your grace must believe I sent riders to look for him.”

  “I do,” Aefric said. “And I thank you for it.”

  “It is a thing beneath thanks, your grace,” Cyneswith said dismissively, then focused back on her point. “But that your grace survived such a fall. That … that was truly the greatest miracle of the day.”

  “I think so too,” Aefric said, “and I thank the goddess Kalinda for it.”

  Aefric told Cyneswith then of the two silver eyes he saw as he lost consciousness. The sensation of a kiss on the forehead.

  Cyneswith gave Aefric a warm smile. “The gods are right to save those who would offer up their lives for others.”

  Aefric snorted. “I wouldn’t count on it happening for me again.”

  “Did your grace count on it that day?”

  “No.”

  “Which might be part of the reason the goddess spared your grace’s life. A true selfless act of sacrifice.”

  “Don’t make me sound too noble,” Aefric said. “A goddess may have spared my life, but I’m still just a man.”

  “Perhaps,” Cyneswith said. “But your grace, my family’s castle would have been one of the first assaulted by Malimfar that day. Given what I have heard of their siege equipment, our castle would have fallen. And then, your grace, I know what depredations Mother and I — as well as all under our protection — would have faced at the hands of Malimfari soldiers and mercenaries.”

  “I know,” Aefric said softly.

  “So, I trust it will come as no surprise when I say that if there is ever anything that I and mine can do for your grace, your grace has only to ask.”

  “That isn’t necessary,” Aefric said, feeling a little uncomfortable with her blunt honesty.

  Cyneswith nodded slowly.

  “I had been told of your grace’s humility. But that day your grace saved myself, my mother, my sisters and brothers, my aunts, uncles, cousins and all the people of my county. Your grace saved our lives, our fortunes, our lands, and even our very persons.

  “And so I repeat, and your grace must believe me. We all stand in your grace’s debt. If there is ever anything I or mine can do for your grace, he has only to ask.”

  She offered her hand.