“In fact,” Aefric said, forcing calm against the rising panic of his knights, “I don’t know that. Not until I have a look at the curse itself.”

  “Do you know how to contact Kainemorton?” Ser Beornric asked, urgently. “Maybe he could come help?”

  “It’s chancy at best,” Aefric said. There were now five knights between himself and the writing on the wall, so he reread the note, looking for clues, as he finished answering the question. “He never stays long in any one place.”

  “Then surely,” Ser Yrsa said, “we can find a way to—”

  “Enough,” Aefric said. He turned a level gaze on his knights. “I know that all of you are only trying to protect me. And I love you for it. But this is a matter of magic. And until I have the chance to examine the curse, I wouldn’t even know what to say to Karbin or Kainemorton.”

  “But what if the note is a bluff?” Ser Yrsa said. “What if the curse is activated by studying it?”

  “It isn’t,” Ser Deirdre said, and when everyone looked at her, she continued. “There were multiple layers of illusion concealing the note and the words on the wall. If studying activated it, why bother?”

  “All right,” Ser Yrsa said, “that’s a fair point. But I have trouble believing he’d give you until Midwinter to find a way to defeat his curse. Why not activate it immediately?”

  “Because he screwed up,” Aefric said. “And he’s trying to cover for it.”

  “How so?” Ser Beornric asked.

  “He was planning to take the contents of both his bedroom and his lab. Maybe his reagents room as well. But the spell he used must be too time-consuming. Likely he’d barely finished the first casting, before the family was calling for him. Demanding that he come lay traps.”

  Aefric nodded toward the words on the wall. “Even the curse was something he read from a scroll, rather than casting on his own.”

  “But he had time to carve the words,” Ser Yrsa said.

  “I doubt he used a hammer and chisel,” Aefric said. “But the point is, he had to leave behind his grimoires. For a wizard, that’s like leaving behind an arm.”

  “Both arms,” Ser Deirdre said.

  “He’s desperate to get them back. Desperate enough to give me a pass on the curse, if I deal ‘fairly’ with him for the grimoires.”

  “I hesitate to ask…” Ser Yrsa said.

  “I haven’t decided about the grimoires yet,” Aefric said. “But I haven’t ruled out ransoming them back. For the moment, though, I will see this curse. So if you’d all please.”

  His knights moved back to give him room.

  Aefric crossed the room and looked over the words graven in the white stone before him. The words of the…

  Aefric started laughing.

  “Your grace?” Ser Yrsa asked.

  “Laughing at one’s fate is admirable,” Ser Deirdre said. “But I think avoiding it is better.”

  “No,” Aefric said, still laughing. “You don’t understand.”

  He lost himself laughing again while the others came closer.

  They all looked at him as though he were insane.

  “You were right, Yrsa! It’s a bluff!” he said, though his laughter. Forced a deep breath so he could get a whole sentence out. “A marvelous bluff, and one that would work on almost anyone.”

  “Maybe we can contact Kainemorton?” Ser Yrsa asked Ser Beornric.

  “I might be able to help there,” Ser Deirdre said softly.

  “Yes,” Aefric said, still laughing. “Kainemorton. He’s the key.”

  “Of course, your grace,” Ser Yrsa said, taking one of his shoulders in a strong grip, and starting to turn him away again. “We’ll contact him for you and—”

  “No,” Aefric said, trying to pull his shoulder back, but not having much luck against her grip. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then perhaps your grace could explain it to us?” Ser Beornric asked cautiously.

  “All right,” Aefric said, but he needed several deep breaths to stop laughing. It really was a brilliant bluff.

  Once he had control of himself again, he gestured for his knights to come closer. At some point, he’d let the light on the Brightstaff lapse — likely just before checking for traps — but he lit it again now, so the letters graven on the wall would be clear.

  “This isn’t a curse,” he said, fighting down another chuckle.

  “But how do you know that?” Ser Yrsa asked.

  “Because I both read and speak this language,” Aefric said, and laughed again briefly. “Kainemorton insisted I learn it, when I studied with him.”

  “What language is it then?” Ser Deirdre asked. “Because I sure don’t recognize it.”

  “Almost no one does,” Aefric said. “Not in this world.”

  “Your grace,” Ser Beornric said, sounding as though he might be questioning Aefric’s sanity again.

  “All right,” Aefric said. “The explanation. Do any of you remember the name of the first human empire?”

  “Rentiss,” Ser Yrsa said quickly. “Back when we were a young race. Back before even the elves and orcs had finished killing each other off.”

  “That’s right,” Aefric said, and pointed at the words on the wall. “And that is Rentissi. Their language.”

  “Rentiss fell thousands of years ago,” Ser Yrsa said. “Nothing remains of that empire but stories. And you’re telling me you speak their language?”

  “The language held on here long after the empire fell,” Aefric said. “Mostly in a written form, used by wizards. Which was why Kainemorton learned it originally.”

  Aefric shook his head. “It fell out of fashion centuries ago, though. Became more fashionable to use common languages, and simply rely on cyphers, where needed.”

  “So why learn it?”

  “Because the Rentiss Empire didn’t just rise here,” Aefric said. “Kainemorton told me that it rose and fell in hundreds of worlds. Some where the Rentissi are loved. Others where they’re reviled. But in many of them, all that remains is their language.”

  “And that’s why Kainemorton wanted you to learn it?” Ser Deirdre asked. “He wanted to take you with him to other worlds?”

  “He thought I might want to learn about traveling the worlds someday.”

  To visit Earth once more was always implicit in those discussions, but only because Kainemorton knew that Aefric had once been Keifer McShane.

  Elbar’s Blood, it had been Kainemorton who brought Aefric to Qorunn in the first place.

  “If your grace does so,” Ser Deirdre said almost shyly, “might I accompany him?”

  “I haven’t worked through the magic of teleportation yet,” he said, smiling self-deprecatingly. “Much less the spells that would carry me to another plane of existence.”

  He quirked his smile at her. “But if I go, and you’re around, I’ll make sure to invite you.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” Ser Deirdre said, almost glowing with her smile.

  “So what does it say then?” Ser Yrsa said, pointing at the words on the wall. “If it’s not a curse, what is it?”

  “These are the keywords to commanding the castle,” Aefric said.

  “You mean this is like one of Raend’s creations?” Ser Deirdre asked, the only one as excited about this as Aefric himself.

  “I mean Raend signed his work,” Aefric said, pointing to the name at the bottom.

  He sent his knights out of the room then, and read aloud words to claim possession of the castle, and its magics.

  As he spoke those words, hot power flooded him. Swept through his body, as though scalding the aetheric part of himself.

  The power of the castle, testing him. If he couldn’t handle the power, he couldn’t command it.

  But Aefric had been through tests like this before, most obviously from the Brightstaff.

  Here, it was a matter of asserting himself not as a magic-user, but as a liege lord.

  Had Aefric still been an adventurer, he might have failed that test. But he’d been a duke now for more than a season, and growing into his role.

  He had the poise. He had the confidence. And the power bowed to him. Yielded up its secrets, as it settled into an equilibrium within him.

  He could now light any room within the castle with a thought. Call forth ghostly servants and warriors as needed. Seal the castle to intruders. Fill it with magical wards and traps far beyond anything that Larus Hrafntonn had left behind.

  And much, much more. Including, should he choose to, the ability to reduce the whole castle and its contents to an easily portable cube smaller than his fist.

  Oh, this castle was a wonder indeed.

  After Aefric finished his formal claiming of Castle Hrafnvigi — which he resolved to rename, now that it was his — he allowed Ser Deirdre to break the remaining spell lock on the other door into what had been turned into a trysting room.

  Aefric decided to cast an illusion of his own, before leaving that room. He wanted to cover the Rentissi words on the wall.

  True, almost no one could read them, but why take a chance? He’d have the wall paneled later, or…

  Aefric was halfway through casting that illusion, when he realized he didn’t need one.

  He dismissed his half-cast spell, and merely swept his hand through the air. As he willed it, the Rentissi words submerged into the stone. Unless he willed otherwise, those words would not be visible again until his death.

  He turned to his knights.

  “The nature of this castle must be kept a secret,” Aefric said. “Let the world believe it’s just an ordinary castle. If word gets out that it’s one of Raend’s creations — and portable, if desired — there are many who would kill to possess it.”

  His knights slapped their hilts, committing to keeping the secret.

  From there, Aefric and his knights returned to the sixth floor master bedroom and tested the chutes to see where escape route led.

  The chute Aefric took snaked its way down, but was smooth enough that the ride felt comfortable. He arrived at the bottom slowly enough to land on his feet without issue.

  Several of his knights were already waiting for him, of course, with magically lit weapons raised.

  Aefric chuckled and had the castle light the room for him, while more knights came out of two of the three chutes that led into this room.

  This low, wide room of white stone. They were still in the castle. Aefric could feel it.

  Ser Deirdre, arriving last, was the only one to whoop as he came.

  “That was fun,” she said, grinning, and her enthusiasm brought matching grins from several other knights.

  Though Aefric doubted the ride was as much fun in full plate armor.

  “Single door over here,” Ser Yrsa said. “Leads—”

  “Out of the castle,” Aefric said. “They had to tunnel to clear the other side of that door. It’s not part of the castle.”

  “Yes,” Ser Yrsa said, as though she considered Aefric’s statement a little too obvious for comment. “And I’m torn about this. On the one hand, Ashling will probably give us whatever building this tunnel comes out into. Gods know she’s happy enough with you. But if we do—”

  “If we do, she knows where the escape route comes out,” Aefric said. “I’m not worried about that.”

  “Is your grace worried about assassins learning from Ashling’s people where this entrance is?” Ser Yrsa asked dryly. “Because I am.”

  “It’s not much of an entrance,” Ser Beornric said. “I wouldn’t fancy trying to climb back up one of those shafts.”

  “Wouldn’t stop a determined assassin,” Ser Yrsa said.

  “Nevertheless,” Aefric said, “there’s no need to worry. That door is optional.”

  He waved his hand, and it became solid white stone.

  “There are a few places in the castle where the doors are optional. For example, There are two subterranean floors currently not in use because access was cut off to them some time back. Oh, and each of the towers could have a trapdoor.”

  “Then why does just the wizard’s tower have one?” Ser Beornric asked. “I could think of several uses for an extra room in those other towers.”

  “That was all the previous owner wanted,” Aefric said with a shrug. “I think somewhere along the way, the Hrafntonn family lost the keywords. That’s the only reason to have some of those unnecessary light spells. Not to mention, this place would have been much harder to clear. And I couldn’t claim it, if it already had a living claimant.”

  “But you won it in battle,” Ser Yrsa said.

  “Raend didn’t care about things like that. If the castle accepts you, it’s yours until you die or give it away. And I’m pretty sure the Hrafntonns wouldn’t agree to give it away.”

  “Maybe the castle rejected one of the inheritors?” Ser Beornric asked.

  “Possible,” Aefric said, “though it’s a poor statement about the family, if so.”

  “Either way, it’s your grace’s now,” Ser Deirdre said. “Sounds like the Hrafntonns are in for a bad time if they try to come back.”

  “They are,” Aefric said.

  Ser Yrsa cleared her throat.

  Aefric gave her a questioning look.

  “Well, as this room and that tunnel can be used for escape,” she said, “we should still figure out where it goes. And either buy or get Ashling to give you that property.”

  “Fair enough,” Aefric said.

  Aefric brought the door back. They all passed through it into a moist, narrow tunnel that was lower than Aefric liked. He had to watch his head, and he wasn’t the only one.

  Fortunately, the light spells on his knights’ weapons were still active, so they could see clearly the dripping, mossy gray rock around them.

  He sent the door away again, once the last knight was through it.

  Interesting that he could do that from outside the castle. He’d have to test and see how far away he could be and still effect changes within it…

  The tunnel came out in the basement of a warehouse on the river. An empty warehouse, that looked as though it hadn’t been used since Armyr took Kivash.

  Stone foundation and basement, but otherwise wooden construction. Looked strong enough. And it had two rowboats and a small sloop tethered to a dock in the back.

  Aefric was standing in the warehouse doorway, looking at those boats and blinking at the harsh, late afternoon sunlight, when Relimmorea’s imp flew down and landed on the wooden dock in front of him. Its hot iron scent strong even over the sea breeze.

  Sers Beornric and Vria were beside Aefric in an instant, weapons drawn.

  “I come in peace,” the imp said, empty hands raised.

  Aefric nodded and gestured for his knights to ease back.

  The imp bowed. “My mistress commends you on accomplishing in three days what the Hrafntonn family has failed to do for at least six generations.”

  That could only mean properly claiming the castle. Aefric made a small sound somewhere between disbelief and amazement.

  “Your mistress felt that?” he said. “She must be even more puissant than I had been led to believe.”

  “You are most kind to say so,” the imp said with a bow. “But it must be remembered that she, herself, has enjoyed a great deal of experience with just that sort of magic. You will find it lends you … a certain sensitivity.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “My mistress also wishes me to assure you that she shall keep the secret of your castle, provided you keep the secret of her tower.”

  “I agree, of course,” Aefric said. “Such matters are no one’s business but our own.”

  “I thank you on her behalf.”

  “And I thank her through you,” Aefric said. “May I ask a question?”

  “You may,” the imp said, “provided you understand that I may not have leave to answer it.”

  “Of course,” Aefric said. “But this is what I’m curious about. If your mistress understood the nature of the castle, why didn’t she claim it for herself?”

  “There are many reasons,” the imp said. “But foremost is this. My mistress has grown past the urge to seek out glories and treasures. She is satisfied enough to see such a castle for the work of art and Art that it is, without the craving to possess it for herself.”

  “Then she has grown in wisdom as well as power,” Aefric said, giving the imp a small bow.

  “You are most kind to say so,” the imp said. “Farewell, Aefric Brightstaff.”

  “Farewell,” Aefric said, as the imp spread his wings and took to the air.

  “It seems you’ve made a friend,” Ser Beornric said.

  “Safer to think of this as a truce with a neutral third party,” Aefric said. “With the possibility of becoming allies one day.”

  “If I heard the imp right,” Ser Beornric said, “Relimmorea sounds more positively disposed towards you than negatively.”

  “Perhaps,” Aefric said. “But you have to keep in mind. She’s clearly hundreds of years old. She’s probably slow to trust.”

  “Better neutral than an enemy,” Ser Yrsa said, stepping out onto the dock. “Slow to trust doesn’t mean slow to distrust. You didn’t make her angry, and that’s not nothing.”

  “More than that,” Ser Beornric said. He nodded at the warehouse. “Unless I miss my guess, she just told you she knows where the escape route comes out at, but she’ll keep that a secret too.”

  Aefric chuckled. “Better to stay on her good side, then.”

  “Yes,” Ser Yrsa said. “And to dig an alternate escape route. Can that escape door be moved?”

  “I’m … not sure,” Aefric said. “I’ll have to try.”

  “If you can, good,” Ser Yrsa said.

  “In the meantime,” Ser Beornric said, looking over the warehouse and the dock, “this one is well worth having.”

  “I’ll talk to Ashling,” Aefric said, smiling. “It’s time to head back for dinner anyway.”

  “Thank you,” Ser Micham said, then quickly gave an abashed smile when he realized he’d said that aloud. “Excuse me, your grace. I should’ve eaten more at lunch.”

  “That’s all right, Ser Micham,” Aefric said. “I’m hungry too. Feels as though that boar was hours ago.”