“It would be my great pleasure, your grace.”

  She took his hand, but didn’t seem to need it as she rose gracefully to her bare feet. This close to her now, he noticed that she smelled of zinnias.

  She raised a bottle she’d held hidden inside her dark green cloak. That wistful look came into her eyes again for a moment.

  “This is the last bottle of sharabi I have, from the last vintage produced by our vineyards before the wars,” she said. “It would mean a great deal to me if your grace would share it with me.”

  “I’d be honored,” Aefric said, and fetched them two wine glasses from a beech cabinet along the wall.

  Sharabi was technically a kind of wine, but Aefric had never himself seen the grapes it was made from. He knew only that it came in several varieties, all of them shades of green.

  This sharabi was an emerald green, and had a delicate, almost minty aroma.

  “If you’ve never had the Ol’Nara vintage, your grace, may I suggest that you hold your first taste on your tongue. You will know when it is ready to swallow.”

  “Very well,” Aefric said with a smile. “What shall we drink to. Lachedran?”

  “No,” Leca said, raising her glass. “We shall drink to your grace. May your firm hand guide Deepwater to new heights of prosperity for all its peoples.”

  That, Aefric would definitely drink to.

  Leca was right about the sharabi. Its flavor was complex. It began as a crisp taste, with hints of mint, but evolved a sweetness the longer it lingered on the tongue.

  When he swallowed, it felt as good going down as it tasted.

  Before the next sip, Aefric raised his glass once more in toast.

  “Let us next drink to the Ol’Nara family and lands. May you and your brother restore both, and may your vineyards produce many more fine bottles of sharabi.”

  “From your grace’s lips to the ears of the gods,” Leca said, smiling, and they drank again.

  That finished their glasses. He hadn’t filled them very far, in case the sharabi turned out to be stronger than he expected. But it didn’t seem to be any more alcoholic than most light wines.

  Aefric reached for the bottle, but Leca interrupted him.

  “Now,” she said, her voice teasing, “there is a way to improve the taste of the sharabi even further. But it’s not for everyone.”

  “I’m willing to try,” Aefric said. “What is—”

  She leaned in and kissed him. Deeply. Passionately. She kissed him as though she’d been burning to kiss him for hours. Perhaps longer.

  Aefric found himself caught up in that kiss. His heart pounded. Need coursed through him. He swept her up into his arms.

  Their glasses, forgotten, fell to shatter on the floor. She was in his lap now, whimpering into his mouth as their kiss went on. Her hands roamed over his arms and chest as hungrily as her tongue worked in his mouth.

  The presence of her chemise was maddening. Aefric’s hands could feel the delightful contours of her body underneath, but already he found he yearned for the sensations of the fevered skin beneath.

  It was all he could do not to simply rip the garment in half.

  That first kiss finally ended, and Leca’s smile made Aefric realize he tasted three things: the mint, the sweetness, and her.

  He chuckled breathlessly.

  “As I was telling your grace,” Leca said softly, her fingers playing in his hair. “The right tongue improves the taste.”

  “Tell me then,” he said, gently stroking her neck and shoulder. “Does anything else improve the taste?”

  “I can think of a few things,” she said, heat all through her voice now, “if your grace is willing to try them.”

  He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

  Leca proved to be an enthusiastic, adventurous lover. Not at all the shy, hesitant woman she’d pretended to be at dinner.

  Afterward, as the two of them lay sated for a time, they spoke first of small matters. She asked about his scars, and how he’d come to possess the Brightstaff. He asked about how she’d grown up, and how her life in Lachedran had been.

  But then Aefric asked two questions he’d been waiting to ask.

  “Who is to inherit your family lands, you or your brother?”

  “Morgard is my elder by three summers, your grace,” she said. “He would have taken possession of our lands already, but for two things. He needs to be formally acknowledged by your grace, and he needs funds to begin rebuilding.”

  “Obviously I’ll be happy to see to the former. And as for the latter—”

  “Oh, he’s been working towards it for some time now, your grace,” she said, nuzzling Aefric’s shoulder. “He works with Brangford, and invests when he can.”

  “Where is he now, then?” he asked, stroking the soft skin of her shoulder and side. “Here in Lachedran, or in Ajenmoor with Brangford?”

  “In Ajenmoor, your grace.” She raised her head and gave Aefric an almost fretful look. “It’s the first time he’s left town on business, and I confess I miss him.”

  “No doubt he’ll return soon.”

  “I hope so.” She walked her fingers across Aefric’s chest and smiled. “Distract me, your grace?”

  “Happily,” Aefric said.

  He kissed her, and then they sought deeper distractions together.

  When next they rested, savoring languorous contentment, Aefric fetched the bottle and more glasses, and they drank sharabi in bed, speaking of little matters and paying each other little compliments until Aefric asked another important question.

  “I am troubled to hear how you and your brother were displaced by the wars. Do you know of any children of nobles in similar situations?”

  “Only Edric, your grace.”

  “That serving boy?” Aefric asked, as though uncertain. “The one who escorted me to dinner?”

  “Yes, your grace,” Leca said with a smile. “Did he do well? I assigned him the task myself.”

  “Very well,” Aefric said.

  “Good,” she said, then sighed deeply, which in her current naked and glistening state was distracting. Fortunately she continued speaking before Aefric found himself too distracted.

  “I’d wanted him assigned to my brother, for proper page training, like Morgard went through when he was young. But Brangton insisted on keeping Edric here in the house. Said he could train the boy just as well.”

  Aefric frowned and sighed deeply as he shook his head.

  Leca’s turn to get distracted, watching his chest rise and fall with the sigh.

  “So many muscles for a wizard,” she said softly, reaching out with her free hand to run her fingers over his chest. Circling the scar on his ribs that had been left by the point of a tarok’s spear, long ago.

  “I trained as a dweomerblade as well,” he said softly. “With the Iron Wands.”

  “Very impressive, your grace.”

  Aefric drew another deep breath, enjoying the touch of her fingers, before forcing his attention back to important matters.

  “But about Edric,” he said. “He really ought to be formally fostered. Trained as a page in a noble household, taught the ways of nobility, and then prepared to inherit and run his family lands, once he’s of age.”

  “I agree, of course,” Leca said, then tossed down the last of her sharabi and leaned back to set her glass on a nightstand. Her gaze roved over Aefric’s naked body the whole time.

  “I’ll bring him with me to Water’s End, then,” Aefric said. “See him placed with an appropriate household.”

  “That would be wonderful, your grace,” she said, stalking closer now on her hands and knees, sleek as a hunting cat.

  Leca snatched Aefric’s glass from his hand. Poured the last of his sharabi on his chest. It felt cool and sticky against his skin.

  She tossed the glass away to shatter over by the hearth.

  Aefric tried to make a joke about Leca having to clean that up, but never got the chance.

  She pounced, pinning him to the mattress, and started licking the sharabi from his chest.

  That was the end of their conversation for quite some time.

  4

  Aefric and Leca were awakened the next morning by the two serving girls who’d prepared Aefric’s bath the night before.

  Outside, the sky was still dark, with the first hints of the graying dawn on the horizon. What light they had here in the bedroom was provided by candles the servants carried, though they quickly lit the oil lamps, bringing a warm yellow glow to the shambles of the bed.

  Aefric shared a good morning kiss with Leca that tasted more of mint than Aefric expected, and came away from it smiling.

  “Another blessing of our sharabi,” Leca said. “Avoids morning breath.”

  Aefric chuckled, and started to get out of bed, already thinking ahead to his travel and plans, and certain that Leca would want to begin her own day.

  Apparently Leca had other plans.

  She grabbed him by the arm and tugged, while lying back among the sheets.

  “Are you sure about this?” Aefric asked quietly, gazing into soft brown eyes that definitely looked certain.

  “Who knows when I’ll get to share a bed with your grace again?” she said softly, and gave him an enticing smile. “So I want very much to lie with my duke one more time, before he returns to Water’s End. If your grace will permit me that pleasure, of course.”

  “Permit it?” Aefric whispered, smiling despite himself as he looked her over. “Why, I find I’m tempted to insist upon it.”

  “Clear the room,” Leca said to the servants. The moment they were gone she spread her arms, quirked a smile, and said, “I am, of course, entirely at your grace’s command.”

  She was a compelling woman, in her way, and far more interesting than Aefric had originally believed.

  In that sense, it was probably a good thing she was married. Which was one of the odder thoughts he’d ever had about a woman who was sharing his bed.

  But at the moment, far more pleasant facts about her demanded his attention.

  Once they were finished, with one more kiss for good measure, Leca donned her chemise and cloak and left with a light step.

  As he watched her go, Aefric realized there was one downside to their last hurrah. He no longer had time for a bath.

  So while the servants fussed about, he did his best to wash up at the basin, then donned clothes from the armoire. He probably should have had his traveling clothes cleaned, as Ser Yrsa had, but he simply hadn’t thought to do it. Not with Water’s End so close.

  He could have cleaned his clothes with magic, of course, but he wanted to get out of that habit. It was important for the servants to have their work.

  He chose soft, brown leather pants that would work well with his usual belt, and let him carry his wand and sword again. For a shirt he selected a soft, red tunic trimmed and embroidered with gold thread.

  No jewelry today, though. Not for travel. The jewelry went back into his backpack.

  Then, hair combed, he called the Brightstaff to his hand and told the serving girls — who were, at this point, changing the bedding — that he was ready to be escorted to breakfast.

  Aefric had been hoping that Edric would be his escort, but the serving girl with the hints of auburn in her hair abandoned the bedding to escort him herself.

  This morning Ser Vria and Ser Wardius were on active guard duty, and flanked Aefric as he followed the serving girl back down the stairs to the same dining room for breakfast.

  Breakfast was a much more stilted affair. And not just because the children were present, seated in the middle of the table and trying very hard to avoid drawing attention.

  They even dressed as though trying to remain invisible. They wore simple outfits of neutral colors that might almost have been chosen for their ability to match the chairs they sat on.

  Sufidia was absent this morning. Apparently this meal was only for family and guests.

  The mayor was dressed in shades of dark red today that gave him a grand look, going well with both his weight and the medal of office, around his neck.

  Leca’s burnt orange dress was of a light, summertime weight. Though it was far more covering than what she’d worn the night before, beginning with a high collar and falling as low as her ankles, with hints of red silk showing through slashed sleeves that extended down to her wrists. For jewelry, she adorned only her wedding band and a silver necklace that featured a yellow diamond.

  Aefric tried not to think about whether or not that necklace was a specific allusion to the much larger yellow diamond atop the Brightstaff, standing beside his chair.

  She didn’t help the matter by toying with her diamond once in a while, when he happened to be looking at her.

  Mayor Brangton himself seemed … out of sorts about something this morning.

  Aefric devoutly hoped the mayor wasn’t having second thoughts about approving Leca’s visit to his room. But if so, he didn’t demonstrate any displeasure with her, or with Aefric.

  It just seemed more that his thoughts were elsewhere.

  Aefric was trying to decide how much he could trust his read of the situation. Because if something was troubling the mayor, he wanted to know what.

  Unless what troubled him happened to be what Aefric and Leca had done last night. And that morning.

  Yes. That would be just about the only thing that could make the morning breakfast even more awkward than it felt already.

  For her part, if Leca noticed the stilted sense to the room, she ignored it. Or perhaps she was determined to overcome it.

  Because she was obviously in a marvelous mood, carrying the conversation about Lachedran mornings, the bustle of the docks and the city and the like.

  She spoke enough that no one else really had to, while they all ate oat bread sweetened with honey and a selection of sliced meats, cheeses, and fruits. With the meal, as appeared to be the breakfast custom throughout Armyr, they drank only fresh water.

  The mayor seemed to take little interest in his food, and none at all in the conversation, until Leca said, “Oh, and your grace, I’ve already told Edric to pack his belongings. He’ll be ready to leave at your grace’s command.”

  Those last three words. She made them sound so innocent. And yet, from the sparkle in her eye, Aefric suspected those words would forever be a private joke between them.

  Before Aefric could follow that thought too far afield, the mayor finally spoke up.

  “What’s this? What’s this about Edric?”

  “Oh, isn’t it wonderful, Brangton?” Leca said excitedly. “His grace has offered to take the boy to Water’s End and see him properly fostered and trained.”

  “But … we can handle those things here,” Mayor Brangton protested. “Your grace, surely there’s no need to trouble yourself about the boy.”

  “There’s every need,” Aefric said, softly but firmly. “As the merchants, sailors, farmers, miners and other common folk must know that they have their duke’s love and support, so too must the nobles know this.”

  “But—”

  “Edric is the son of a ler. And I understand he is the inheritor of his family’s estate. As his liege, it is my responsibility to see to it that he is trained and prepared to handle his duties. Fosterage, and page training, are only the first steps.”

  “And yet your grace never had such training—”

  Leca dropped her fork. Ser Beornric slammed down his water glass. Ser Yrsa threw down her knife.

  All three glared at Mayor Brangton.

  Apparently making such a statement about one’s duke was even more of a breach of etiquette than Aefric would have thought. Which, in its way, might have been proving the mayor’s point.

  Ser Beornric and Ser Yrsa both drew breath, likely to say something scathing.

  Leca spoke up first.

  “Your grace,” she said, rapidly and urgently. “Please forgive my husband for his poorly chosen words. Clearly his love for the boy has made him forget himself.”

  Mayor Brangton still looked as though he wanted to argue. Started to say something, but Leca didn’t give him a chance.

  “Obviously,” Leca said quickly, her gaze shifting from her husband to Aefric and back as she continued, “we are both thrilled that his grace takes such an interest in even the least members of his nobility. And we are both quite pleased that we have been able to bring this matter to your grace’s attention, and to see that Edric’s ascension to his proper role in society is assured.”

  During this interplay, Aefric noticed the reactions of the children.

  Both Ula and Lila paled and bit their bottom lips to keep from talking. Somfort only expressed himself in the universal language of teenagers.

  He scowled.

  Finally, though, one of the girls spoke.

  “Must Edric leave us, your grace?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Aefric said gently. “I’m grateful that your family was able to take him in after the wars. But now it’s time for him to live with a noble family. And learn what it will mean to serve as steward to lands in his duke’s name.”

  Mayor Brangton bowed his head.

  Leca watched him as though not certain she could trust him to speak for himself. But with the silence stretching uncomfortably in the room, she gave him the chance.

  Mayor Brangton drew a calming breath, seeming to put himself together as he did. He ran his hands down the front of his robes, and touched his medal of office, and those actions seemed to help.

  “My dear wife is quite correct,” he said, then smiled. “As she so often is.” He drew another breath and said, “Please excuse my ill chosen words, your grace.”

  “Think nothing of it, Mayor Brangton.” Aefric smiled, and assisted Leca’s effort to help the mayor save face. “I know you’ve come to love the boy. You are free to write, of course, and he to visit, in time. But this really is what’s best for him.”

  “Of course, your grace,” Mayor Brangton said, and the man’s smile looked strained.

  “Can we write too?” one of the girls asked, though Aefric wasn’t sure if this was Ula or Lila. Either way, the other nodded her head rapidly.