She shook her head.

  “I was trained for my role, and I still made mistakes. I can only imagine how many you will make.”

  She held up a hand, before Aefric could say anything.

  “Don’t misunderstand me,” she said. “I don’t mean that as a slight or an insult. I mean only that you will make many decisions that look small, but will have far-reaching repercussions you could not imagine at the time.”

  Aefric thought about the tribe of borogs he had allowed to live in the Dragonscar, at the north end of his duchy.

  Others had suggested his doing so might be just that kind of mistake.

  Aefric still disagreed. Still believed it was just the right thing to do. But it did sound like the sort of thing Ashling was talking about.

  “I do my best,” Aefric said. “And I have good advisers.”

  “Do you?” Ashling challenged. “How do you know?”

  “Well,” Aefric said, “Kentigern, my seneschal—”

  “Was chosen by Arinda Soulfist, from a family chosen by Arinda’s forebears.” Ashling shook her head. “Trained to run things the way the Soulfist family ran them.”

  “There is value to consistency,” Aefric said, “so long as I approve of the direction.”

  “True,” Ashling said, leaning forward a bit now. “If the duchy is a ship and you want it going east, Kentigern appears to be taking you in the right direction. But does he steer you due east? Or easterly? And how do you know?”

  “I know unjust laws when I see them,” Aefric said. “And—”

  “Unjust laws are easily spotted. Move on from Kentigern. Who else?”

  “Ser Beornric,” Aefric said confidently. “He’s been invaluable.”

  “An Ol’Sandallas, I believe,” Ashling said, and when Aefric nodded, she continued. “An old noble family. Certainly. But not the only old noble family in Armyr. And he was chosen for you by Colm. Why do you think that is?”

  “Likely because King Colm wanted Ser Beornric to … mitigate some of my more … adventurous tendencies.”

  “The obvious answer,” Ashling agreed. “And likely a major duty for him. But also to maintain the status quo.”

  “Why is that bad?” Aefric asked.

  “The status quo can be good or bad, depending on where it leaves you. But are you evaluating the status quo? Or allowing others to guide your evaluation?”

  Aefric frowned and sat back. “I don’t know.”

  Ashling nodded slowly. “Good. Something for you to think about.”

  “And this comes back to marriage?”

  “Whom you marry, and when, will have a larger impact on your duchy than any other single decision,” Ashling said. “And because you are without family here in Armyr, you have no one to protect you from the influences of others. Myself included.”

  “So the pressure for me to marry—”

  “Is pressure from others to gain influence in your duchy. Both now and in the future. And the sooner you marry, the more and stronger the influence. Because your personality is strong enough that, given time, you will forge your own way no matter what influences others have. And you’ll take Deepwater with you. So the earlier others can gain their foothold the better for them.”

  Aefric blinked as he absorbed that.

  “So what you’re saying,” he said slowly, “is that even Ser Beornric’s opinions about my marriage go back to … what? King Colm’s desires for my duchy?”

  “Well,” Ashling said, nodding her head back and forth, “I’m not suggesting that your knight-adviser is actively working as Colm’s agent. I think he’s likely quite sincere in whatever he’s telling you.”

  “It’s just that you think his sincerity was chosen by King Colm because it aligns with the king’s own hopes for Deepwater.”

  “Just so,” she said.

  “I think I understand now why you were hesitant to explain this,” Aefric said. “I mean, I knew that everyone who put forth a potential bride had ulterior motives, but I didn’t grasp the scope.”

  Aefric frowned at Ashling, as she took another bite of dessert.

  “I’m curious,” Aefric said. “Do you have an ulterior motive in telling me the truth about all this?”

  “I wish I could say I did,” Ashling said with a grimace, then frowned. “Well, maybe I do. After all, the chances of your marrying Zoleen now are slim. Perhaps, given the influence I am about to lose, I see benefit in hurting the influence of others, and raising myself in your esteem in the process.”

  Aefric looked at her sideways. “Is that what you’re doing?”

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll spin it that way if I ever have to tell others about this conversation. But the truth is, I do like you. I’ve never had a friend among the peerage before. But I’d like to think that perhaps you and I could be friends.”

  “I’d like that,” Aefric said. Toasting with coffee was unusual, but drinking coffee with dinner at all in Armyr was unusual. “To a lasting friendship between us.”

  “May it live on in our children someday,” she confirmed, raising her own cup.

  And together, they drank.

  Aefric was given the three uppermost levels in a tower as his rooms. The windows were large, and glass. They had no shutters, but the outside world could be closed away by heavy, velvet curtains of deep indigo.

  All of his rooms had white oak floorboards, though the plastered walls and ceilings varied in color. A dark brown for the small library of local history books, as well as what appeared to be a decent-sized meeting room. A pale pink for the sitting rooms (there were three, of varying sizes and intimacy). A soft orange for the closet and dressing room, and pale blues for the bedroom, bath, and garderobe.

  The closet had a good deal of fine clothing, much of which looked as though it would fit Aefric.

  Fresh daisies in every room lent a pleasant scent to the air, even more so than the rugs of woven rushes, which were clearly fresh.

  All of his rooms here were lit by magic, and he was pleased to see that the black marble tub was heated by magic as well. It would take forever for hot water to get all the way up here.

  The garderobe, also, eliminated by magic. Which was good, because Aefric didn’t want to imagine his waste raining down from this kind of height.

  There was no balcony, but considering the height involved, he didn’t expect one. Up here, the winds would be too wild.

  Oh, the tower didn’t compare to the Seven Great Spires of Water’s End, but it was still higher up than Aefric had been recently, when he wasn’t flying.

  All the same, it was a pity there was no balcony. Aefric was more than a little wound up from his conversation with Ashling — and from three cups of coffee over dessert — and soaring off into the early stars of night would have been a good way to give himself time to think, as well as burn off some nervous energy.

  Although he could just imagine the reactions of Sers Yrsa and Beornric, had he done so. Flying off over an unsettled city, without anyone guarding him.

  Sers Yrsa and Beornric…

  Aefric began pacing his largest sitting room as he thought. There was plenty of room here, between large, overstuffed couches, over near the large hearth.

  The Brightstaff bobbed along in the air behind him, keeping pace.

  Ser Beornric, as he’d discussed with Ashling, had been provided by King Colm. Likely because the knight’s views were the sort that the king wanted to emphasize in Deepwater.

  So not a spy, per se, but still an influence that Aefric needed to be aware of.

  As was Ser Yrsa. She’d been Arinda’s general. What did that say about her as an adviser?

  Aefric tried to think about the kinds of advice he’d gotten from Ser Yrsa.

  Most of it had involved his own security and safety. And she’d been right far more often than wrong. Aefric might never have learned about Zoleen’s work against Byrhta, if not for Ser Yrsa.

  Oh, this was the kind of thinking that was new to Aefric. Combats and tactics he understood. Making rulings and evaluating the fairness of laws, well, those he was new to, but he felt confident in his sense of morality and ethics.

  But what about the more … nebulous aspects of nobility? All the dozens of small decisions that Aefric made every day. How many of them did he really make? And how many did he allow others to make?

  And of the latter, how many of those others were following the guidance of the Soulfist family, rather than Aefric’s own guidance?

  Would Aefric need to … what … he wasn’t even sure what the word was for going over all of the laws and policies of Deepwater and reviewing them.

  Was that auditing? It sounded like an audit, but there was probably a better term for it. A term that someone like Ashling, raised to be a noble, would know at once, while an up-jumped street rat like Aefric wouldn’t even recognize the word.

  A knock interrupted his pacing. The Brightstaff came automatically to his hand. He looked over at the dark red door.

  This was the largest sitting room. Which meant he was on … yes, the lowest floor of his rooms. That meant that the door he looked at led out into the hall, where two of his knights stood guard.

  “Yes?” Aefric called over.

  Ser Vria opened the door enough to poke her head in. “Two servants to see you, your grace.”

  “Send them in,” Aefric said, frowning with puzzlement. He couldn’t imagine what could bring two servants all the way up here without his having sent for them.

  The servants were young women, fidgeting just a little as though nervous about something. One had short black hair, and the other long, blonde tresses.

  “Yes?” Aefric asked.

  They looked at one another, visibly fighting not to giggle. They couldn’t have seen more than a single summer past their majority.

  The blonde seemed to be the more assertive, because she was the one who drew a deep breath, bowed, and said, “We’ve come to offer your grace leaba.”

  Leaba, the custom of a bedmate, offered only to a visitor among the ranking nobility of Armyr. It had to be offered freely, by a member of the common folk. It could not be ordered or coerced or paid for in any way.

  Aefric had been given leaba before. Even allowed it to be offered on occasion, when he was the hosting noble.

  But always it had been one person offering leaba.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Aefric said slowly. “Am I to choose between you?”

  That would be a difficult choice. They both filled out their Merrek livery well, they both had smooth, lightly tanned skin, and pleasing features.

  “No, your grace,” the brunette said with a bow. “Her grace gave us permission to offer your grace leaba together.”

  “Together,” Aefric said.

  “Yes, your grace,” they both said, bowing, and small, excited giggles fought to get out through their words.

  Ah. So this was Ashling’s way of teasing Aefric with the possibility of sharing the noble privilege with her and another noblewoman at the same time.

  Well, far be it for Aefric to be a bad guest.

  “Then I am most happy to accept,” Aefric said.

  5

  Early the next day, Aefric and his knights returned to Castle Hrafnvigi to continue their exploration.

  With the single exception of Ser Deirdre, who wore her maroon leathers, all his knights wore their full plate armor today. Even Sers Yrsa and Beornric, who must’ve decided that they didn’t want the risk of facing more skeletons unarmored.

  Aefric doubted there would be more skeletons, but couldn’t blame them for playing it safe.

  Aefric himself wore clothes that had been provided by Duchess Ashling. A navy blue silk tunic, quilted and embroidered with silver thread, over black hose. He wore low boots of soft leather that had been dyed black, to match his belt.

  The wand Garram rode at his belt, along with his belt pouch and the silvered dagger that Ser Wardius had found the day before. And, of course, Aefric had the Brightstaff in hand.

  Sers Temat and Arras had only a touch of pallor to indicate that they’d been wounded yesterday. Such was the power and skill of Ashling’s cleric of Nilasah.

  They were the ones chosen to carry the two somewhat magic weapons found in the Hrafnvigi museum the day before. The spear for Ser Temat, and the gladius for Ser Arras.

  In addition to the extra armor and weapons, the exploration itself was handled with a good deal more caution that day.

  The Knights of the Lake began the day by moving as a unit through the secret passage they’d found in the first-floor guest rooms, intent on opening every secret door they came to as they worked their way slowly through the castle.

  Ser Deirdre went with them, checking for magic.

  Aefric, to his consternation, did not. But while Ashling might’ve given Aefric a good reason to question the advice of his advisers in general, he couldn’t find fault with their reasoning this time.

  The Knights of the Lake were there to protect him from hazards, and it had been proven twice yesterday that there were hazards in the castle.

  So Aefric could either insult his knights, or let them do their jobs. While he did a job they could not and should not do.

  While his knights were exploring the castle, Aefric returned to the accounting office with Sers Yrsa and Beornric, entered the treasury, and took a better look at Aefric’s new wealth.

  More specifically, they searched to see if anything lay hidden among those chests full of coins and gemstones, those stacks of jeweler’s bars of gold and silver and even a little platinum.

  And it was a good thing they did.

  When spending that much time in a single room, Aefric would either have to tune out certain distractions, or deal with them. Normally he might tune them out. But that morning his stomach reeled with uncertainty over the influences in his life, and what he might or might not need to do about them.

  He felt the need to eliminate whatever distractions he could.

  Starting with the dust.

  Dust lay thick all about him in the treasure room. Clearly no one had cleaned in there for at least a few aetts before Armyr took Kivash this past spring. To say nothing of since.

  When Aefric had first entered, the day before, he’d been distracted by all the glimmering treasure. Not to mention that he’d been more than a little exhausted after defeating that magical trap.

  But now that he was to spend some time in this room, he wouldn’t do it tasting dust and sneezing every few minutes.

  Aefric kicked Sers Yrsa and Beornric out of the treasury. They could go through the accounts, if they wanted, but surely there were no dangers left in the treasury, and Aefric wanted to deal with the dust his way.

  No wizard’s valet. Not for this. Not thorough enough.

  No, Aefric centered himself, and cleaned the room the way he used to clean the alchemy lab in Kainemorton’s tower, back when he’d been apprenticed to the Mage of Marrisford.

  Aefric went inch by inch over the chamber, cleaning it with magic. The walls, the ceiling, the floor. The chests. Their contents. All of it.

  Cleaning this way, as he had so often, once upon a time, Aefric slipped into an almost meditative state.

  All of his attention on what he did, as he moved slowly over the whole of the room.

  The smooth repetition of the simple steps of the spell. A spell he’d cast so very many times. To clean and polish with magic that any apprentice could figure out.

  Wiping away dust. Scrubbing away grime. Rendering pristine everything in his path.

  And as he did this, he found himself slowly tuning out his sense of the light spells that brightened this room enough to make the freshly cleaned coins and gemstones sparkle.

  He tuned out the scry ward next. A good, workmanlike spell that would keep magic from detecting this room, or its contents. But nothing that needed his attention.

  Finally he tuned out the dwindling remains of the spell trap he’d defeated.

  There was peace and clarity in this kind of work. Peace and clarity that kept apprentices sane under their intense workload. And right now, Aefric needed that level of peace and clarity.

  He was about three-quarters of the way through the room — just finishing the third chest of gemstones — when he felt a spark, off to his right.

  Unknown magic?

  Could there be more magic in this room than just the light, the scry ward, and the dregs of that trap?

  Aefric hadn’t noticed anything more the day before, but he hadn’t spent long in here. And he’d been more than a little drained at the time.

  Ser Deirdre hadn’t either, but she’d spent even less time in the treasury than Aefric had. Plus, she was a dweomerblade. Her focus was such that there were types of magic she might miss.

  Aefric stopped cleaning. Stretched out with his senses, moving his attention slowly through the flows of Qorunn’s magic to ease around the room until—

  There.

  Behind the small stack of platinum bars fit for jewelry making, Aefric could detect a touch of magic to the white stone wall.

  Aefric moved the platinum bars aside by magic, then knelt before that section of wall.

  Down near the bottom. Yes.

  Couldn’t be a door. He’d checked for doors yesterday. Couldn’t be a trap, either, for the same reason.

  Anyway, it was too small to be either. No more than the length and breadth of Aefric’s hand. Right down where the wall met the floor.

  Aefric set the Brightstaff to stand beside him. Rubbed his hands together. Murmured the right words, and pressed his palms to his closed eyes.

  In a single movement, he drew his hands away and opened his eyes.

  No change. So this was not an illusion then. That spell would have revealed an illusion cast by even the likes of Kainemorton himself.

  What was it then?

  Maddening. This whisper of magic.

  Old magic. It felt very old indeed. Decades, at least. Possibly centuries. Aefric could tell that much.

  But it was elusive. Difficult to grasp with his mind. This was like trying to gauge the feel of something his fingers couldn’t quite grasp.