Shock made the moment dreamlike.

  Cyneswith was Ashling’s vassal. Ashling’s. Not Aefric’s.

  But here the young woman stood, offering Aefric her hand.

  This wasn’t quite an offer of fealty, but it wasn’t far off. The gesture was heavily tied up in the oaths of vassalage.

  He didn’t know exactly what it meant, for her to offer her hand to a superior noble who was not her lord or overlord. But from the way Ser Beornric had spoken of her, Cyneswith was of an old noble family.

  Aefric had no doubt that Cyneswith knew exactly what she was doing. And that she had waited to do so until they were alone and unobserved could not have been coincidence.

  Aefric could have denied her. Could have shaken his head, maybe. But he knew that would have been an insult, and he wasn’t sure how severe an insult.

  And Cyneswith had done nothing to make Aefric want to insult her.

  So he held his breath and kissed her hand. She shivered.

  Cyneswith then emphasized whatever statement she was making. Closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against his knuckles.

  Aefric’s heart pounded. He hoped he hadn’t just done something very, very wrong.

  “Thank you, your grace,” she said softly. “And now, I believe Duchess Ashling awaits.”

  “A moment,” Aefric said, and used again a spell to freshen both his clothes and his person, while Cyneswith stared wide-eyed.

  Apparently she hadn’t seen that spell before, which made Aefric wonder just how much magic an Aymyrian noble really saw in the course of her life.

  “Now I’m ready,” he said.

  To Aefric’s surprise, no guard or servant opened the ornate, red oak door to Cyneswith’s knock. Instead, he heard Ashling’s muffled voice.

  “Come in, Aefric.”

  Cyneswith gave Aefric one more smile as she opened the door for him, then bowed him in, closing the door behind him.

  This wasn’t a dining room at all. Or at least, not like any Aefric had seen since coming to Armyr.

  The room had at least as much window as wall.

  The room was round, and perhaps six strides across. The inner … about half of the circumference was plastered and painted a sky blue, with splotches of fluffy white clouds.

  The rest of the walls, or rather windows, or rather…

  Oh. Aefric was clearly more tired than he’d realized. Because only now did he sense the magic of what he was seeing. Which explained why there were no panels or shutters.

  There were no windows. The outer arc of wall, as well as a curved wedge of the ceiling, had been rendered invisible by magic.

  Ashling laughed, a pleased and amused sound.

  “Leave it to the Hero of Frozen Ridge to enter this room and fixate on what he cannot see.”

  With a chagrined smile Aefric turned his eyes to his hostess.

  She reclined on large, ruby red pillows on the other side of a low, wide teak table edged in gold-etched scrollwork. The floorboards beneath her were covered in thick rugs of dark reds and yellows.

  She wore her raven black hair down and loose, hanging past her bare shoulders. Her clinging gown was of pistachio green chiffon that looked to be as soft as her skin.

  Were it not for Byrhta Ol’Caran, Ashling and her sisters — Zoleen and Queen Eppida — would have been the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

  Ashling herself was tall, willowy and breathtaking. She had the same amazing sapphire eyes as both her sisters, and…

  No. That couldn’t have been heat in her eyes. It was well known that Ashling favored women.

  But then, they were alone in this room. No guards or servants…

  “Much better,” she said in soft, intimate tones.

  Aefric frowned. “Ashling, what are you—”

  She laughed then, a sound so free and open Aefric couldn’t help smiling, even though he was sure she was laughing at him.

  She had to slap the table to control herself.

  “Oh, Aefric,” she said in much more normal tones. “If you could have seen your face.”

  Aefric shook his head.

  “Seriously, Ashling?” he said, still smiling half-against his will. “After the day I’ve had you give me games?”

  “Just a bit of fun,” she said. “Sit, sit, don’t make me crane my neck looking up at you.”

  She turned a critical eye on Aefric’s clothing as he stood the Brightstaff and sat cross-legged on his own set of pillows.

  “Properly speaking, you’re overdressed for this meal. If I’d provided you with a robe that matched my gown, would you have worn it?”

  Aefric snapped his fingers as comprehension dawned. “We’re dining Akhiri style?”

  Akhir. That marvelous trading city, known as the last shining light of civilization before one entered the Southern Wastes.

  “Of course,” she said. “You’ve traveled so much I thought you might be the only Armyrian noble besides myself to enjoy Akhiri food.”

  “Well, to answer your question, yes. I would have. If I’d been told we were dining Akhiri. But I have to admit. A lot of their food is a bit spicy for me.”

  “There’ll be plenty of yoghurt,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Aefric said.

  Ashling clapped her hands, and two pretty serving women in long white tunics and small white caps brought out ewers of water and crystal goblets.

  They poured a goblet each for Aefric and Ashling, before returning through … a door in the invisible wall?

  So the edges weren’t sky, but illusion? Nice bit of work, that.

  Ashling cleared her throat.

  “Just because I’m not seducing you doesn’t mean I want you to get caught up in the magic of my favorite room in my new castle.”

  “If you put beauty before me, I shall appreciate it,” Aefric said, nodding to Ashling, who inclined her head at the compliment. He gestured at the invisible wall / illusion mix. “And if you put magic in front of me, I shall examine it.”

  “You’re getting better at playing the noble,” she said with a nod. “Good.”

  Aefric and Ashling raised their goblets, sipped, then exchanged goblets. They sipped again, then exchanged goblets once more, and sipped a third time.

  “Gindecha nes klinskaa,” Ashling said. In Ahkhant, the ancient tongue of Akhir, her words meant “Water is life.”

  “Splindacha nes gindecha jela,” Aefric said, giving the traditional answer, which meant, “Friendship is true water.”

  They set their goblets down.

  The same two servants brought in a selection of berries with cream. In the kingdom of Armyr, that would only be a dessert, but down in Akhir, the berries and cream were used to whet the appetite for the meal to come.

  “Your pronunciation is quite good,” Aefric said. “Possibly better than mine. Do you actually speak much Ahkhant?”

  “The words of the water ritual, and a few dozen other phrases,” Ashling said with a smile. “As the eldest, I used to accompany Father on trading missions twice a year, which always included Akhir.”

  “You must know the place better than I do,” Aefric said. “I’ve only been there twice.”

  “Oh,” Ashling said with a sparkle in her eye, “probably not. I was a young girl traveling with heavy escort, not an adventurous wildman wizard out seeking his fortune.”

  “Adventurous wildman wizard?” Aefric asked, popping a raspberry in his mouth that exploded with ripe perfection.

  “That’s my favorite of the phrases I’ve heard,” Ashling said, tossing a blackberry in the air and catching it in her mouth. Once she swallowed, she added, “Makes you sound dangerous the right way.”

  “I’d rather hear about what you did in Akhir,” Aefric said. “That is to say, when you eluded that heavy escort of yours.”

  “Are you suggesting that as a young girl I would risk myself in a dangerous foreign land by sneaking out and getting into trouble?”

  “To suggest otherwise would be to impugn either your courage or your creativity.”

  Ashling laughed delightedly and gave him soft applause.

  “Oh, well said,” she said. “You are getting better at this.”

  And for a time, Ashling told tales of her own adventures.

  They were finishing with the berries around the time that Ashling was finishing her stories about Akhir.

  “I was never in any real danger, of course,” she said with a sigh. “The street thief I’d befriended was more likely a girl hired by Father. Someone to tell me stories and keep an eye on me. Take me to safe places and call them dangerous, so I’d get a little thrill.”

  “What about the two men with scimitars who chased the two of you through the streets?”

  “Oh, at the time it was terribly exciting,” she said. “But looking back I can’t help but notice that those men never got closer than a dozen paces from us. Even though they had longer legs, and plenty of open space down at least two of those streets.”

  “What was the point then?” Aefric asked.

  “I think Father wanted me to know the feeling of risk,” Ashling said. “And, of course, to give me a few stories to tell.”

  “Stories are better than money sometimes,” Aefric said.

  “Depends on the stories,” Ashling said. “I imagine yours are quite valuable.”

  “Some of them,” Aefric said modestly.

  “Speaking of stories,” Ashling said, “I take it Cyneswith told you her story about Frozen Ridge?”

  “In detail,” Aefric said.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said with a sigh. “She’s spoken of little else since she learned you were coming down here. I pity the boys trying to get her attention for the next few aetts. Did she try to steal a kiss?”

  “No,” Aefric said with a chuckle.

  “Smart girl,” Ashling said. “A few of the other pages were daring her to, once it was announced that she would deliver my dinner invitation.”

  Ashling smiled and shook her head. “I could have told her that wasn’t the approach she’d need with you. She did offer you her hand?”

  The question came so unexpectedly and was delivered so smoothly that Aefric almost answered without thinking. And his eyes definitely widened.

  “I thought she might,” Ashling said, sighing even deeper. “I must admit, I’m impressed, Aefric. I wouldn’t have thought anyone could manage to both save my duchy and undercut the loyalty of my vassals in a single act.”

  A wave of cold washed over Aefric and tightened his guts.

  “No, Ashling,” he said. “I never—”

  “I know, I know,” she said, waving away his objections. “You never intended any such thing. I have met you before, you know.”

  “What can I do to make this right?”

  Ashling clapped her hands, and the same two white-clad servants brought in salad and the first real beverage. (The water was merely a ritual of Akhiri dining.)

  The salad involved tomatoes, olives, dates, kale, arugula, two kinds of zucchini, and crumbled croutons, dressed with a spiced oil. The drink was a light apricot wine.

  Once the servants were gone, Ashling gave Aefric a pensive look.

  “The truth is, you did an amazing thing that day. Probably the greatest feat of magic seen in Armyr in at least two hundred years. And it was witnessed, to some extent, by the whole of my armies, which included all of my vassals.”

  She quirked a smile and shook her head.

  “You saved us all, and everyone knows it. Without you, Armyr might’ve been able to avoid being conquered completely. Once Colm took the field, with his armies. And maybe brought down Wylyn with his. But by then Malimfar would have held the whole Indecisive River Valley, and likely beyond. My duchy would have been halved, perhaps quartered. And Colm wouldn’t have been able to get that land back. Not anytime soon.”

  “To say nothing of the lives lost and the harms done in the process.”

  “Exactly,” Ashling said, taking a bite of her salad and letting her eyes flutter closed with pleasure. “I do love the way the spices in the oil play with the zucchini and tomatoes.”

  How could she eat? Aefric’s anxious nerves were trying to shunt fresh energy through his tired system to deal with this new set of problems he’d caused, and his stomach seemed to be closing down.

  Not to mention that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to swallow past the heavy beat of his heart.

  “What all this means,” Ashling continued, “is that I owe you a great deal for what you did that day. And so do my vassals, especially Cyneswith and her family. I’m sure she told you that her lands would have fallen first.”

  Aefric nodded.

  “Did you kiss her hand when she offered it?”

  Aefric nodded guiltily.

  “Let me guess,” Ashling said, cocking an eyebrow. “You thought you’d be insulting her if you didn’t?”

  “Wouldn’t I have?”

  “Insulted? No,” Ashling said simply. “But she’s young and besotted with you. You would have hurt her feelings.” Ashling smirked. “And if you could bring yourself to hurt a young woman’s feelings, Vercy Ol’Karmak wouldn’t think she might ‘prove’ herself a fit bride for you. Despite her obvious drawbacks such as an unimpressive dowry, a small title, and a family name soiled by the treason of her brother.”

  Aefric opened his mouth to object, but Ashling gave him a very direct look, with one raven black eyebrow raised.

  His objection died on his lips. Everything Ashling had said was true. Technically. Though Aefric hated to see poor Vercy tarred by the actions of her brother, when she’d taken many steps to stop him.

  “As I was saying,” Ashling said. “It would be petty of me to expect my vassals not to express their appreciation. Especially a pretty and clever young thing like Cyneswith.”

  “What exactly does it mean that she offered me her hand?” Aefric asked. “I know what it means when one of my vassals does it, but one of yours?”

  “About what you’d expect,” Ashling said with a slight shrug. “She’s saying that she’s yours to command, despite the fact that she owes her fealty to me.” Ashling rolled her eyes. “At least her mother is still countess. If Cyneswith had been countess and done that, I wouldn’t be able to overlook it.”

  “So she won’t be punished?” Aefric said, as much as asked.

  “No,” Ashling said with a sigh. “And she has you to thank for that. If I thought for a moment that you were the kind of man who would use the goodwill of my vassals to build his power base at my expense, I’d have to do something that would make me look terribly ungrateful.”

  “I’m still trying to get used to the power I have now,” Aefric said. “The last thing I want to do is lobby for more.”

  “I know,” Ashling said. “You probably don’t even know yet what to do with that new barony Colm has given you. Still. I’m going to ask you to decline any more offered hands from my vassals, if you would.”

  “Of course,” Aefric said quickly.

  “Thank you,” Ashling said, taking more salad on her fork. “Word may spread that Cyneswith got her hand kissed by you, but I can counter that by saying you did it as a romantic gesture, because she’s so pretty.”

  Aefric set down his fork. “All right. Stop.”

  Ashling set her fork down and raised curious eyebrows.

  “Hand kissing here in Armyr. That’s not a romantic thing. That’s only the vassal-liege thing. Right?”

  “Yes,” Ashling said. “Or at least, it’s supposed to be. Which is why Cyneswith shouldn’t have offered you her hand. But when she did, you kissed her hand — accepting her offer — not because you want her fealty, but because she’s pretty and you found her charming.”

  “I didn’t want to insult her,” Aefric clarified.

  “Because she’s pretty and charming, yes,” Ashling said, smiling.

  “But—”

  “Don’t you think she’s charming?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “And don’t you think she’s pretty?”

  “I think she will be, but—”

  “Then this is the truth, or near enough.”

  “People will think I want to bed her,” Aefric complained.

  “I daresay they will,” Ashling agreed. “And she’d be most eager for the pleasure, I’m sure.”

  “She’s a child.”

  “Hardly,” Ashling said, chuckling. “She’s scarcely two years shy of her majority, and I’d be willing to bet she’s already enjoyed her share of bliss moments. I know I had at her age.”

  “But—”

  “Aefric,” Ashling said, seriously. “This is near enough the truth. It would solve both our problems here. And it would give young Cyneswith a smile and some bragging rights.”

  “I’m not going to sleep with her.”

  “I don’t blame you. Berries are always sweetest when given time to ripen.” She pointed at his salad. “Do try that, or my cooks will be heartbroken.”

  Aefric didn’t like the idea of leading Cyneswith on. But he had screwed up by kissing her hand. So maybe he owed this to Ashling, who was clearly trying to cement their friendship.

  Maybe this would be all right?

  Aefric calmed himself through a deep breath.

  Took a sweet taste of apricot wine to settle his nerves and stomach.

  His stomach responded by telling him he’d had entirely too little to eat that day.

  So he and Ashling dined in an oddly companionable silence for a time.

  There was something unexpectedly pleasant about dining Akhiri style with Ashling, there in that half-invisible tower room, so high above Kivash.

  The view of the city below was splendid, and included the river, the harbor, the Risen Sea and even the afternoon sun, which would likely set before they reached the dessert course.

  Aefric and Ashling had finished their salads in comfortable silence, seated on those large, ruby red pillows on opposite sides of the low teak table.

  With a different woman, the intimate setting might’ve felt romantic. Especially given the cushions, and the way Ashling lounged, with that chiffon dress molding itself to her body.

  But Aefric knew the last thing she wanted from him was romance.