“Won’t that strengthen their resolve?”

  “Depends on a number of factors,” Ser Beornric said. “Truth is, Duchess Ashling is likely quite effective at taking control of a populace. The Fyrenns have gained and lost a lot of land over the centuries.”

  Aefric sighed. “I imagine that many of the locals hate her right now.”

  “I expect they do,” Ser Beornric said. “And will for some time. Kivash won’t likely be settled again until at least the spring. And even if she then switches to the carrot instead of the stick, it may be some years yet before they come to love her here.”

  “Assuming they ever do,” Aefric said. Shook his head. “And here I come, another Armyrian noble, and the man responsible for stopping their armies. Is that it?”

  “More than that,” Ser Beornric said. “You didn’t just stop Malimfar’s forces. You froze them. And not only their armies, but their mercenaries. Their supplies. Camp followers. Siege equipment. Everything.”

  “You make it sound as though I turned them into ice sculptures.”

  “As far as the skalds are concerned,” Ser Beornric said, gently, “you did. Tales grow in the telling, your grace And the truth was impressive enough to begin with. The death count was … not insignificant.”

  Aefric puffed out a breath. Being viewed as a hero was one thing. Being viewed as a villain was something else entirely.

  “So they hate me here too,” Aefric said. “And now you’re worried about assassins.”

  “Some of them may hate you,” Ser Beornric said. “Especially those who lost relatives at Frozen Ridge. Others will fear you. Either way, we are charged with your safety.”

  Aefric looked closely at Ser Beornric.

  “You brought more troops than we discussed, didn’t you?”

  “No, your grace,” Ser Beornric said. “We brought the forty soldiers Duchess Ashling recommended to hold and guard your new castle.”

  “Beornric,” Aefric said in a warning tone.

  “That much is true, your grace,” Ser Beornric said. “However, it is also true that, in order to ensure your safety, I brought along the soldiers of your grace’s personal guard, in addition to the Knights of the Lake.”

  Another two dozen soldiers then, all of them dedicated to Aefric personally.

  “And you didn’t tell me this because…”

  “They are under my direct command, your grace,” Ser Beornric said. “And your grace has assured me more than once that I have his full support in distributing and tasking your personal guard as I see fit.”

  “In other words,” Aefric said, “you didn’t want to worry me, and you didn’t want me to cancel this trip.”

  “Between your duties and your researches, your grace has been working hard lately,” Ser Beornric said. “A vacation was certainly in order.”

  “And I couldn’t have simply retired to my hunting lodge for an aett or so? Perhaps with Byrhta Ol’Caran?”

  “Undoubtedly that would have great restorative value for you, your grace,” Ser Beornric said, smiling now. “But your grace did promise to come to Kivash and see your new castle. Not to mention that Duchess Ashling will take this visit as a kindness and a show of support.”

  Aefric laughed.

  “Your grace?” Ser Beornric asked.

  “Nothing,” Aefric said, still chuckling. “It’s just that, in my adventuring days, my forms of relaxation were often as dangerous as my work. I somehow thought that would change when I became duke.”

  “I suspect your life now is no less dangerous,” Ser Beornric said frankly. “Though the nature of those dangers has shifted.”

  “Your grace,” Ser Yrsa called up from the deck below. “A welcoming party arrives, flying Merrek colors.”

  “And this might be one of those dangers now,” Aefric said, straightening his clothes.

  There’d been some debate about how Aefric would dress when he arrived in Kivash. He was of the mind to approach this as exploring his castle. Strong cottons and leathers. But his valets had nearly thrown fits at the suggestion.

  He was a duke, arriving in a newly Armyrian city, to lay claim to a castle. He had to look the part.

  Worse, Sers Yrsa and Beornric — as well as Aefric’s seneschal, Kentigern — had all agreed with the valets.

  In the end, Aefric had surrendered that fight. Mostly.

  He’d agreed to wear a fine silk tunic of sky blue, as well as the small gold brooch surrounded by sapphires that Ashling had given him. But instead of hose, Aefric had insisted on leathers. His boots had been a compromise. High leather so soft it was creamy, but good, hard soles.

  The leathers, of course, were fine. But the silk was rumpled and a little sweat-stained from the long day at sea.

  (Of course, his valet would have expected him to wear a different tunic on the water, and change before disembarking. But Aefric was still adjusting to the idea of changing clothes so often.)

  He cheated, of course. He used a small spell he’d worked out in the early days of his apprenticeship, which freshened both his clothes and his person.

  “All right,” he said. “Now I’m ready.”

  The sun rode high and bright in the rich blue skies above, while long white clouds chased each other east.

  Warm winds blew across the deck of the Duke’s Hand from out over the Risen Sea as Aefric crossed to the gangplank with Ser Beornric by his side.

  Ser Yrsa was there and waiting, along with Sers Leppina and Arras, who wore their full plate, etched on the breastplate with the image of Lake Deepwater, marking them as Knights of the Lake. Apparently they were the two tasked to serve as Aefric’s nearest guards today, which left him wondering where the other four were.

  Ser Leppina stood almost as tall as Ser Yrsa, with an even stronger build, and a more pronounced tan. She wore her brown hair in a single long braid, that hung just past her ribcage.

  Aefric had heard that she only cut her hair when someone bested her in single combat. Long as her braid was, that must have been some time ago now.

  Which made Aefric wonder if she didn’t count training bouts. Because surely she’d faced Ser Deirdre at some point…

  Ser Arras, whose very dark black hair would likely have been thick and lustrous if she grew it out, kept it instead cut nearly battlefield short. Even so, it contrasted sharply with her skin, which was pale as any noble’s.

  Ser Arras had an aristocratic beauty that had led many to presume her the unclaimed bastard daughter of the late Duchess of Deepwater, Arinda Soulfist.

  Ser Arras was also the only Knight of the Lake who fought with two longswords.

  “Your guards are in position, your grace,” Ser Yrsa said, “and the welcoming party awaits below.”

  Aefric nodded, and turned to look down the gangplank.

  He immediately spotted Zoleen Fyrenn at the heart of the welcoming party.

  Zoleen was Duchess Ashling’s younger sister, and at least her equal in beauty of face and form. She wore her long copper curls down and wild today, hanging past her bare shoulders. Her dress was a lightweight chiffon and pale as sunrise, with a number of twists and straps that had to be a reference to a personal amusement they’d shared one night.

  In fact, to judge by the smile on her full lips and in her sapphire eyes, she’d caught Aefric noticing those twists and straps.

  She was surrounded not by other nobles but by pike-wielding guards in chainmail and Merrek tabards. No other nobles or ladies-in-waiting, but standing beside her was a magic-user Aefric didn’t know.

  He looked to be half-again Aefric’s age, though he wore his years well. His pale skin had undertones of dark red. Or maybe that just came from his long, straight hair, which was so dark a crimson that he likely had some eldrani blood.

  Yes. That would suit his fine features, as well, for he had a touch of the eldrani beauty. But either he aged more like a human, or he was much older than he looked.

  He wore robes of olive green, and carried a gnarled, blackwood staff in which at least three gemstones had been set.

  He also carried two wands at his belt.

  Aefric could feel the magic of those wands and staff as clearly as he could feel that this man was some stripe of magic-user. Likely a wizard.

  “Your grace,” Zoleen said with a small bow, “welcome to Kivash.”

  “Thank you, Zoleen,” Aefric said, giving her a smile he didn’t quite feel as he started down the gangplank, accompanied by his knights. He hadn’t forgiven her yet for something she’d done while visiting Water’s End only a few aetts ago. “It’s good to be here.”

  “Your grace,” she said again, and unless Aefric was mistaken, she was emphasizing his courtesy just a little. “May I present Farondonic, apprentice to my sister’s ducal wizard, Sirondfar.”

  “Your grace,” Farondonic said, with a deeper bow. “I’ve long been an admirer of your work. Perhaps if we have time, your grace might favor me with a word or two about our shared Art.”

  “Perhaps,” Aefric said, reaching the dock now to stand before them. “If time allows.”

  He noted that an enclosed carriage stood nearby and waiting. An enchanted carriage, much like the one King Colm had given Aefric. Horseless and luxurious, with room enough for eight inside.

  This one, of course, bore the Merrek sigil on its ebony frame, rather than Deepwater.

  Aefric also spotted soldiers of his personal guard out past the carriage, as well as protecting the other direction.

  And that didn’t include the forty soldiers he had, standing in formation and ready to move.

  “Farondonic,” Zoleen said, “You can await me back at the castle, I think. Should there be a need for magic to stand between me and harm, I’ve no doubt his grace will protect me.”

  “I am at your command, Mistress Zoleen,” Farondonic said, and transformed himself to an owl and took to the air.

  “Not bad,” Aefric said, nodding.

  “Oh, it looks impressive enough,” Zoleen said. “But it leaves me forever wondering if he’s hiding among the trees outside my window back at Fyrcloch, trying to catch sight of me at my bath.”

  “I should hope not,” Aefric said, chuckling. “Have you spoken to Sirondfar about this?”

  “No,” she said, waving the idea away. “Not unless one of those owls gives me reason to think it’s more than paranoia. Shall we?”

  Aefric nodded, and one of her soldiers opened the carriage door.

  “Ser Yrsa, Ser Beornric,” Zoleen said, “I trust you won’t mind riding up front?”

  “At your pleasure, Mistress Zoleen,” Ser Beornric said with a formal bow, and he and Ser Yrsa climbed up to where the drivers would sit, if the carriage needed drivers.

  Sers Arras and Leppina took up posts one at each door. Merrek’s soldiers, along with the soldiers of Aefric’s personal guard, formed a wall around the carriage, with Aefric’s remaining forty following in formation.

  Though Aefric still didn’t know where his other four Knights of the Lake were.

  Aefric gestured for Zoleen to enter the carriage first, and followed her in out of the midday heat.

  The interior of Zoleen’s carriage had two long, well-padded benches, facing each other. They were upholstered in white silk, with the Merrek sigil in crimson.

  She sat on the bench facing forward. Aefric sat opposite her.

  Disappointment flashed across her eyes. Had she expected Aefric to sit beside her?

  At her word, the carriage began to roll on its way.

  “I trust your grace will forgive the size of his welcome party. I could have invited some of the local nobles, but I confess I wanted your grace to myself for at least the length of this ride.”

  “That’s fine,” Aefric said, honestly. “I’m not in a hurry to play politics.”

  Before she could respond, he gestured to the area around the carriage.

  “You came with a good number of guards, though,” he said. “Are things really so bad here?”

  “It’s more than are needed,” Zoleen said. “Even without your grace’s own soldiers adding to the number. But my sister is unwilling to risk anything happening to me.”

  “She’s a good sister then,” Aefric said. He drew a breath and added, honestly, “And I share her concern.”

  “Truly?” Zoleen asked. “Your grace does not wish to see me dead then?”

  “Dead?” Aefric shook his head in disbelief. “Come on, Zoleen. That’s not fair.”

  “Your grace withdrew his permission to address him by name,” she said, pain quite visible in her eyes. “And banished me from Water’s End. I’ve found it … difficult to gauge exactly how far I’ve fallen in your grace’s esteem.”

  “I don’t know exactly either,” Aefric admitted. “But obviously I don’t wish you any harm.”

  “Your grace has not answered my letters.”

  “I told you. I need time.”

  She drew a deep breath. Slowly let it out.

  “Your grace,” she said, “I have discussed what happened with both my sisters at some length. Eppi” — meaning Queen Eppida — “thinks your grace overreacted. She agrees that I shouldn’t have pressured the lers in Riverbreak to keep Byrhta Ol’Caran away from Water’s End. But in her opinion, my actions only merited a small amount of personal censure.”

  “I see,” Aefric said. “And did she have a suggestion?”

  Zoleen’s eyes twinkled. “She recommended a good spanking.”

  Aefric laughed before he could stop himself, which got him a broad smile and a raised eyebrow from Zoleen.

  “I would be willing,” she said softly. “If your grace favors the idea.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Aefric said, still chuckling.

  He’d been a noble here in Armyr for about a season and a half now, and he was still adjusting to what Armyrians referred as “the noble privilege.”

  In essence, the noble privilege meant Armyrian nobles were free to have sex with each other whenever they liked, in whatever way they liked, assuming no one involved was closely related, and everyone involved was willing.

  There was no pressure to it, and refusal was never supposed to be taken as a slight or an insult.

  Supposedly the noble privilege helped avoid jealousies and other evils of sexual frustration. And as long as one or both drank their nysta tea, there’d be no unwanted pregnancies.

  That Queen Eppida suggested a spanking was no great shock. Aefric had learned firsthand that the woman … had some kinky tendencies.

  “What did Ashling have to say?” he asked.

  Zoleen sighed. “She said I should have foreseen your grace’s reaction. She insists that if I’d been listening when she told me about your grace, that I would have known better than to go behind your back that way.”

  “Is she right?”

  Zoleen shrugged with one shoulder. “Ash … can go on, sometimes. I developed the habit of tuning her out when I was a child.”

  Not that Zoleen was so very old even now. She was only perhaps half a year into her majority.

  “And I confess,” she continued with a smile, “I was more interested in hearing her talk about how handsome you are, and how puissant you are with magic. Her biased takes on your personality … were less interesting.”

  She shook her head. “She really can go on, at times.”

  “I see,” Aefric said. “And did she suggest a remedy?”

  “She said I could try throwing myself at your grace’s feet and begging for forgiveness, but that likely what I need to do is back off and give your grace time, then see if your grace might be willing to start anew.”

  “I’m not really comfortable with people throwing themselves at my feet and begging.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Zoleen said, teasing Aefric with his own phrase. “Personally, I’d prefer the spanking.”

  Aefric chuckled, but then Zoleen’s expression got more serious.

  “Your grace,” she said. “I know now how wrong I was. I might not’ve understood when your grace banished me from Water’s End, but I’ve had a great deal of time to think, and I’ve realized where and how I erred.”

  “Where and how?” Aefric asked.

  “While my thoughts were only on the … distraction that Byrhta Ol’Caran could have presented, I did not consider the whole of the situation. My actions kept two fiercely loyal vassals, Byrhta Ol’Caran, Baroness Regent of Riverbreak, and Vercy Ol’Karmak, future Baroness of Riverbreak, away from Water’s End at a time when they could have been impressing his majesty with tales of how well your grace has run his duchy.”

  Practically the same words Aefric had used, during his explanation of why he was so angry, just before banishing her.

  Not exactly enough to merit forgiveness. Especially since she still seemed to be missing the point.

  But perhaps she’d been tuning him out as well…

  “But even without factoring in their importance as vassals,” she continued, “I still should not have done what I did.”

  She shook her head, lips a tight line, but gained a haughtier look as she continued.

  “It’s no exaggeration to say that Byrhta Ol’Caran may be the most beautiful woman walking the surface of Qorunn,” Zoleen said. “And yet, the fact remains that she is the daughter of your grace’s own vassal. She has no title of her own, nor a powerful family supporting her. She lacks even an impressive dowry to recommend her to your grace for anything more than the bliss moment.

  “I, on the other hand,” she continued, “am a Fryenn. Sister to the Duchess of Merrek. Sister to the Queen of Armyr. I have the family and position to make a good match for your grace. And while my beauty does not compare to that of Byrhta Ol’Caran, your grace has demonstrated quite amply that he appreciates both my beauty and my company.”

  The carriage rolled to a stop.

  “I should have trusted in my own appeal,” Zoleen said, “rather than trying to remove unworthy competition.”

  Aefric sighed.

  “Your grace,” Ser Arras called into the carriage. “We’ve arrived.”

  “Zoleen,” Aefric said, “while I confess I don’t care for your characterization of Byrhta, you’ve missed the most important point.”