He shook his head. “She’ll lose allies, won’t she?”

  “Not completely,” Cyneswith said. “She’ll still be countess, and our county is the greatest in Merrek. She’ll remain a force to be reckoned with. But Mother will lose standing with her allies. And the loss will cost her in negotiations for at least a season. Perhaps a year or more.”

  She very deliberately looked away up the stairs to the first vase of fresh daisies Aefric had seen and smelled for some time on this walk.

  “The loss will also set back my marriage prospects. The families of prospective husbands will insist on waiting to see if this error of Mother’s is an aberration or indicative of a trend.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Aefric said softly.

  “Your grace has no need to be,” Cyneswith said, flashing Aefric a shy smile. “Your grace has already been a great help to me. Covering my … impulsiveness with the flattery that I charmed your grace into considering me a potential bride. That will do more to draw interest to me than any factor other than my future title.”

  Aefric wasn’t sure what to say to that. His instinct was to try to boost her confidence. To tell her how much she had to offer, and the like. But that impulse had gotten him into trouble before…

  “Even now,” Cyneswith continued, her voice calm and strong though she flushed bright red, “there are those down in the great hall who will believe that your grace intends to seek bliss with me tonight.”

  Aefric was deciding how to tell her that she was simply too young for him to think of that way, when Cyneswith spoke again.

  “I know better, of course,” she said. “Her grace has made clear that your grace is to be offered leaba each night while he remains her guest here at Ottarvigi. And while I qualify for the noble privilege, I could not, of course, offer your grace leaba.”

  They reached the door to Aefric’s rooms then, and Cyneswith turned to face Aefric full-on. All of his knights — save for Ser Deirdre of course — stood nearby, watching.

  “I know I stand only the slimmest chance of one day becoming your grace’s bride,” Cyneswith said softly. “But I should be most pleased to come to your grace’s rooms one night.”

  Looking into those brown eyes, Aefric could only answer honestly. “A night I’ll look forward to one day.”

  For a brief time after Cyneswith’s departure, Aefric was joined in his first sitting room by Sers Beornric and Yrsa.

  They sat on dark red couches, looking out through wide glass windows over the city below, and sipping on a dark beer brought out by a mousy, but efficient serving lad.

  The dark beer was rich, and nutty, and seemed to round out the evening’s dinner well.

  “That was quite a display,” Ser Yrsa said.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Ser Beornric said. “She didn’t go in for a kiss, which I half-expected her to.”

  “I meant down in the great hall at dinner,” Ser Yrsa said, arching the split brow above her red eye.

  “Oh, that,” Ser Beornric said with a smile in his voice. “Before we get into that, may I just say one thing?”

  Ser Yrsa nodded for him to proceed.

  Ser Beornric stroked his mustaches, then turned a broad smile on Aefric. “I’d say we have another contestant for your hand.”

  “Did you really kiss her hand?” Ser Yrsa asked.

  Aefric only got as far as nodding before Ser Beornric grimaced and said, “Well, it’s the girl’s own fault for offering it.”

  “Still shouldn’t’ve,” Ser Yrsa said, shaking her head before taking another sip of beer.

  “I know, I know,” Aefric said. “Which is why I let Ashling spread the rumor that I did it because Cyneswith had charmed me.”

  “Knew it wasn’t her charms,” Ser Yrsa said. “Nothing against the girl, but the way your grace’s social calendar has been since becoming duke, she’s hardly enough to get your attention.”

  “Or is she?” Ser Beornric said teasingly. “Has your grace decided—”

  “Oh, enough,” Aefric said. “You both know me too well for that.”

  “Then can we talk about what happened in the great hall?” Ser Yrsa asked.

  “What?” Aefric said. “Did you expect me to lie about the Threepeaks?”

  “Of course not,” Ser Yrsa said, “but did your grace know about the dispute regarding Kivash?”

  “That Countess Siburh disputes Ashling’s right to claim it as ducal land? Yes. But no details. I don’t know the source of her claim.”

  “Did you know that Duchess Ashling has been saying that Countess Siburh’s claim isn’t just inferior, but entirely without merit?”

  “No,” Aefric said.

  “It’s true,” Ser Beornric said. “Ashling’s stance is that the papers that form the foundation of Countess Siburh’s claim were forged.”

  “So my point about the Threepeaks…”

  “Will be interpreted as siding with Duchess Ashling,” Ser Beornric said. “Especially since no one can prove differently because she just cut off access to you.”

  “I’m not sorry about that part,” Aefric said. “I’m too tired to deal with that rabid pack of werewolves down in the great hall.”

  “And before you departed the great hall, you kissed Ashling on both cheeks,” Ser Yrsa said. “Powerful statement.”

  “Look,” Aefric said with a sigh. “I know Ashling is getting some mileage out of all this—”

  “Getting what?” Ser Yrsa asked.

  Huh. Another of Keifer’s sayings from Earth had slipped in without Aefric noticing. Odd.

  “Sorry,” Aefric said. “Old Sartis street jargon for covering a lot of distance with very little effort. Point is, of course Ashling is using my presence here to her advantage. That’s what she does. Why should I begrudge her though?”

  Ser Yrsa frowned. Sighed.

  “Your grace,” she said. “You must remember that Ashling plays a very long game. What you do to aid her now may come back—”

  “—to haunt me later,” Aefric said. “I understand. But I also understand something else. I’m better off with her as an ally than as an enemy. And so far, she’s been a good ally.”

  “So far,” Ser Yrsa said.

  “And when the day comes that she gives me reason to doubt her—”

  “It will be too late,” Ser Yrsa said, “and she will already have completed the move you didn’t see coming.”

  “Yrsa,” Aefric said.

  “Your grace,” Ser Yrsa said.

  “What is the purpose of scouting?”

  Ser Yrsa frowned, then sighed. “I see your point, but—”

  “What is the purpose of scouting?”

  “To keep an eye on one’s enemies,” Ser Yrsa said shortly. “And of course it’s easier to keep an eye when you know where they are. And of course it’s easier to do this when they think you’re allies. But do you intend to tell me that you’re faking your friendship? Because I will find that very hard to believe.”

  “Of course not,” Aefric said. “But my role is to be honest. To forge alliances and make friends. To guide in the best way that I can.”

  “Ah,” Ser Yrsa said, understanding. “So your grace would not bind me from ensuring that a weather eye is kept on, shall we say, Fyrenn influence?”

  “Bind you from it?” Aefric said, chuckling. “By the gods I rely on your doing it.”

  He raised his tankard in toast. “To each of us serving Deepwater and Armyr as best we can.”

  They drank to that, then. And they drank together for a while longer, discussing their plans for their continuing investigation of Hrafnvigi.

  But as the hour grew later, the time came for his knight-advisers to seek their sleep.

  Aefric mounted the stairs in his apartments to his bedroom, then, and began to undress. Sleep would be welcome, and Ashling had provided him a bed that was more than good enough for the job.

  Not so large as his beds at Behal and Water’s End, but the feather bed was still far grander and softer than anything Aefric had known during his adventuring days. Well-stuffed, with silk sheets, and a silk canopy suspended from four posts.

  Aefric was in his closet, hanging up his tunic and about to see to his pants when Ser Leppina called up the stairs.

  “Your grace,” she said. “Two serving women ask for admittance.”

  Two again? If Ashling kept this up, and word got out, some nobles might never be satisfied with a single offering of leaba again.

  But perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps they’d come for some other purpose.

  Aefric took the Brightstaff in hand, but didn’t bother putting his tunic back on as he descended the white stone stairs to see about his visitors.

  He found waiting for him in the pink sitting room the same two serving women from the night before. The one with long blonde hair, the other whose black hair she kept cut short. Both pretty and tanned and shapely, even in their livery.

  And the way they smiled as their eyes devoured Aefric made clear why they’d come before either ever said the word, “leaba.”

  6

  Not long after dawn the next morning, Aefric and his knights returned to Castle Hrafnvigi to continue their exploration.

  Once inside, rather than taking the main stairs and expected doors, they traveled through the series of secret passages that began all the way down with the first floor guest rooms, and continued on up, seemingly through the whole of the castle.

  His knights, of course, were keeping an eye out for threats, as well as helping him generally search the castle and get a sense of what remained from the previous owners.

  Aefric, though, had an extra purpose now. One he didn’t share with the others. Not because he felt the need to hide it, but because they couldn’t help him.

  Not even Ser Deirdre. For though she had a good nose for magic, to say that a dweomerblade’s skill at finding and understanding the magic of clay and stone was limited was to understate the matter.

  Such magic was practically a blind spot in her vision.

  So it would be up to Aefric himself to find the clues he needed. Assuming that they existed. That that this castle was indeed patterned after the work of the great Raend. Or even built by that storied vohlcairn himself.

  A wonderful idea. If Aefric could find proof.

  Perhaps a heart to the keep. Something that would help Aefric unlock its secrets. Relimmorea’s imp certainly implied as much.

  But if so, the day’s exploration began with little sign that this was anything more than an ordinary castle.

  The third and fourth floors presented no challenges to their new owner, save enough dust to choke a small animal. So much dust here that even by the light of Aefric’s spells, the air seemed hazy. He and his knights kept wet cloths over their mouths and noses to help their breathing.

  These two floors were mostly living spaces, likely for family and important others. Very few single rooms, mostly apartments of two to four rooms each, as well as parlors, and a game room on each floor devoted to bowling.

  While the rooms and apartments were finely furnished, and there were clearly personal possessions and moneys left behind, it was also clear that most of these rooms had been vacated well before Armyr had taken Kivash.

  Ser Yrsa guessed that the denizens of these two floors had likely been off at the front, for the war. And thus, had likely been caught up in the events of Frozen Ridge.

  The fifth floor looked to have been dedicated to storage. Extra furniture that might be needed for private rooms. A variety of games for the game rooms, and other such things.

  Whole sections of that floor, though, had been emptied entirely. As though they might have served some purpose many, many years ago. But it was a purpose that the Hrafntonn family saw little need to perpetuate.

  Searching that floor made for a pleasant variation in one sense. The secret passages were tight quarters, but the main hall along each floors was wide enough to fight a skirmish, if needed. And all those empty rooms had helped remind Aefric that he wasn’t just sneaking through cramped passages, he was claiming a new castle.

  That was easy to lose track of in those tight, stone passages full of dust, where he was practically tripping over his knights.

  They stopped for water from their skins at the end of every floor. As much to remoisten their clothes and rinse the dust out of their mouths as because any of them thirsted.

  Back in the secret passages, mounting the stairs to the sixth floor, they followed the same order they’d been following.

  Ser Deirdre up front, keeping an eye out for magic, followed by Sers Yrsa and Beornric, then Aefric, then the Knights of the Lake.

  Up the tight stone stairwell they went, until Ser Deirdre reached a landing.

  “This door is locked,” she said, sounding offended.

  “How can it be?” Ser Yrsa asked. “Is there an actual place for a key?”

  “I have the keys,” Ser Beornric said. “If you two wedge aside, I’ll—”

  “There’s no keyhole,” Ser Deirdre said. “There is some magic to it. Yes. There’s a spell lock. Shall I handle it, your grace?”

  “Wait,” Aefric said, then cast his spell to detect traps and checked the door.

  Or tried to. There were three knights in his way, and two of them were fairly large individuals, even when they weren’t wearing full plate armor. Which they were that day.

  “I have to get past,” Aefric said.

  “This sounds like a bad idea, your grace,” Ser Yrsa said. “Better to take the regular stairs up and come at this from the other side.”

  “She’s right,” Ser Beornric said. “Something goes wrong, your grace will be up front with none of us able to move to assist.”

  “I could move to assist,” Ser Deirdre said.

  “It’s still a pinch point,” Ser Yrsa said, “and still a bad idea.”

  “Let me at least see if it’s trapped,” Aefric said.

  Sers Yrsa and Beornric tightened against the side of the stairwell as much as they could, while Aefric did his best to slip past them.

  One advantage to silk, over armor. Though silk did show the dirt more readily than armor did. The brightness of Aefric’s red silk shirt had been dulled by dust, as had the dark orange of his hose, though the effect was less visible there.

  Aefric noticed that Ser Deirdre made little effort to move aside as he reached the small landing beside her. If anything, she seemed to press against him.

  “Excuse me, your grace,” she said softly, her jade green eyes smiling. “Have to stay near at hand, in case your grace needs me.”

  Interesting. Ser Deirdre smelled like violets. He’d never noticed that before.

  Aefric cast his trap-detecting spell, but through the yellow diamond the oak door looked clean. Nothing reddened to indicate a trap.

  “Clear,” Aefric said, then frowned. “But there’s more magic here than the spell lock.”

  “I stand by my course of action,” Ser Yrsa said. “We should go back down and come up by the main stairs.”

  “I don’t know,” Ser Deirdre said softly, close enough that Aefric could feel the warmth of her breath on his neck. Which meant she’d removed the moist cloth from her mouth. “There’s something to be said for close quarters work.”

  “Give me a moment to examine the spellwork,” Aefric said, doing his best to ignore Ser Deirdre’s flirting.

  He quickly determined that the spell lock had been cast by the same magic-user who’d trapped the treasury.

  But what was the other magic?

  Something … latent. Waiting. On the other side of the door…

  “There’s some kind of latent magic on the other side of the door,” Aefric said.

  “Please, your grace,” Ser Yrsa said. “Come back down.”

  “It’s not a trap,” Aefric said. “But I think you’re right.”

  “What about the spell lock?” Ser Deirdre said. “Would your grace disarm that first?”

  Aefric turned to her. “Why? So you can open the door?”

  Ser Deirdre’s teeth gleamed with her smile. “The door must be opened at some point, your grace. Otherwise your grace will be creating ever so much more work for his servants.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Aefric said.

  “Does your grace order me not to open the door?”

  Aefric chuckled. “I know how well you take to orders.”

  “Depends on the order,” she said softly.

  “How about this?” Aefric said. “I’m going to ask you not to open that door, until we’ve seen what’s there from the other side.”

  Ser Deirdre sighed. “Very well, your grace. Whether your grace disarms the spell lock or not, I shall leave that door closed until your grace asks to have it opened.”

  “Thank you, Ser Deirdre.”

  Aefric turned away.

  “Your grace isn’t going to disarm the spell lock?” Ser Deirdre asked.

  “No,” Aefric said, shaking his head. “Not until I know what that latent magic does. And I’m not going to take the time to try to examine it. Not with all of you waiting here on the stairs. It’ll keep for now.”

  Ser Deirdre chuckled softly, as Aefric resumed his place in the marching order and followed his knights back down to the fifth floor.

  Back in the main part of the castle on the fifth floor, the dust was not so thick as it was in the secret passages.

  Here the wide stairwell that continued from the lower floors on up to the sixth had clearly seen a lot of use right up until the time that the Hrafntonn family was required to vacate their castle with only the clothes on their backs.

  Here, Sers Temat and Micham took the lead — each carrying a blade lit by Aefric’s spells, followed closely by Ser Deirdre, who kept an eye out for magic. Sers Yrsa and Beornric came next, followed closely by Aefric, with the Brightstaff’s diamond aglow. Then Sers Vria and Arras, with Sers Leppina and Wardius on rear guard, also with blades lit by Aefric’s magic.

  The stairwell led to more than just a landing. The area at the top of the stairs was wide and long, and clearly had seen a great deal of use in combat training for the family. Cabinets full of padded armor along one side, matched by others with blunted steel weapons on the other side. At the far end, a series of calinwood bookcases full of texts about martial theory, mostly dedicated to combat at the level of individuals and small groups.