That crystal and its chain were among the few objects he’d brought from Earth, the world in which he’d been born Keifer McShane. Where he’d met a woman named Andrea — Andi, as he usually called her. Where they’d fallen in love, and married.

  Where they’d been happy.

  Until a car accident took her from him. Sent him into a spiral where the only meager pleasures he retained were in basketball and roleplaying games.

  The path that had led him to back Del Baker’s Jumpstart campaign for the sixth edition of The Torn Kingdoms. Where he’d supported at the “Duke of Deepwater” level, which apparently hadn’t been offered to everyone…

  “The crystal and chain sit in my rooms at Water’s End,” Aefric said, voice hushed more by the hour than the topic. “A place of honor. But no longer a constant reminder.”

  Octave said nothing. Just continued to play her fingers back and forth along his collarbone.

  Nevertheless, he felt her question in the air. And decided to answer it.

  “As duke, I’m expected to marry and have children. Wouldn’t be right for my future bride to see around my neck a constant reminder of a past love.”

  Octave nodded, still tracing with her fingers.

  “When last I shared your grace’s bed,” she said softly, “the pain of that loss was yet strong. Is it still?”

  Aefric reached up and stroked her cheek. “My true healing began that night.”

  Octave smiled warmly.

  “And she who gave me that crystal,” he said, “would be grateful to you.”

  “I was truly the first, after her death?”

  That was true and not true. The part of him that had grown up in Qorunn as Aefric had known and loved — briefly — many women. But the part of him that was Keifer hadn’t seriously considered touching another woman after Andi died.

  The true part felt stronger, though.

  Aefric nodded. “And a good deal of time had passed.”

  Octave’s eyes moistened. She clutched Aefric for a moment, her face against his chest, while he held her, uncertain what was bothering her.

  She looked up, and the tears trailing down her cheeks puzzled him further.

  “That your grace went so long … untouched.” She shook her head. “Did no other women even try?”

  With Aefric, yes. Certainly. With Keifer, though…

  “In truth?” He shrugged. “If they did, I didn’t notice.”

  “Oh, your grace—”

  “Keep in mind,” Aefric said. “For most of this time, I wasn’t a duke. I was just an itinerant adventurer. And I wasn’t in Armyr, where seeking the bliss moment is a common pastime.”

  “Your grace,” Octave said firmly. “I could be a tavern wench in Sartis, but if I saw you come in one night, I’d do my best to make sure you left with me.”

  Aefric chuckled.

  “Your grace thinks I jest,” she said, half-smiling herself now, as she wiped away her tears. “I do not. In fact, I suspect that many others tried, and your grace didn’t notice because they didn’t have a good tradition like leaba to make their intentions clear.”

  “Perhaps,” Aefric said.

  “Speaking of leaba, your grace,” she said with a different kind of smile altogether. “As you are awake, and so is your bedmate, all that remains is more pleasure.”

  She trailed her hand down his chest then to stroke someplace lower, and Aefric pulled her into a kiss.

  And then they were busy for quite some time, before they returned to sleep.

  Aefric was awakened sometime later by Octave’s gentle hand. Though as his eyes opened, he was disappointed to see that she was already out of bed and dressed in her pale blue frock. That could only mean that their time together was coming to its end.

  Morning light streamed in through the open windows, which said further that she’d been awake longer than she needed to be, just to slip into her dress.

  All the same, Aefric was tempted to pull her back into bed. Not necessarily even to seek the bliss moment again — though she did make the prospect tempting — but just because he wasn’t ready to start his day yet.

  She must’ve seen the temptation in his eyes. She laughed joyously.

  “Ah, would that I could slip back out of my dress and between those sheets with your grace again. But I have my duties to see to. And her lordship expects your grace to join her for the ride south to Asarchai, for the feast.”

  Aefric sighed.

  “If it helps, your grace, Ser Beornric awaits you in the sitting room. With breakfast.”

  “Hardly a winning comparison,” Aefric said, looking her over with a smile. “But I suppose it’s time.”

  “Your grace should come just to visit sometime,” Octave said. “Spend a few days here with no great agenda, and free to pursue … other pastimes.”

  Aefric chuckled. “Temptress.”

  “Thank you, your grace,” she said, looking pleased.

  Aefric stretched and got out of bed, and was gratified that the sight of his naked form distracted Octave from whatever she intended to say next.

  He stretched again, arms wide, legs tensed, and torso bowed with the move. Putting on a little show for her.

  Octave stopped moving about and watched with frank approval.

  “Perhaps your grace could visit again soon?” she asked, her voice a little huskier.

  “I suspect I’ll want to stop here for the night on my way back to Water’s End.”

  “And I’ll beg her lordship for the chance to offer your grace leaba when you do.” She shook herself. “Come now, your grace. I cannot see to my other duties until you’re washed and dressed.”

  “I can see to those things myself,” Aefric said. “Wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”

  “Oh no, your grace,” Octave said, smiling. “Can’t have that. Not when these are the duties I’m most looking forward to today.”

  She took her time washing and shaving him at the copper basin, and afterward seemed to be groping him with the towels as much as drying him off.

  But then she dressed Aefric in his brown riding leathers, with a silk tunic of navy blue, which had the Deepwater sigil — a lake, with a sword emerging from it hilt-first — embroidered in gold thread above his heart.

  And she went out of her way to make sure she was satisfied with the way the fabric lay against his skin.

  His boots for the day had hard soles, for traveling, but otherwise were of soft, buttery brown calfskin that cradled his feet and calves. His belt matched, and bore his belt pouch along with the sheaths of the wand Garram and his noble’s dagger.

  All nobles of Armyr wore a dagger at all times, no matter how formal the setting or complicated the outfit. A tradition that went back hundreds of years. Perhaps further.

  This excellent dagger had been found for him in his new castle in Kivash. It had an ebony handle, carved with the likeness of a raven. A straight, steel blade edged in silver, about as long as Aefric’s hand.

  Octave then combed out Aefric’s long, sandy blonde hair. Stroked his shoulders, back, and chest a few more times under the pretense of “dusting.”

  Finally, she stepped in front of him, looked him up and down critically, and said, “There. A proper noble. Or did your grace want to wear one of the hats I found in his trunk?”

  Aefric chuckled. Hats had been out of fashion for a number of years in Armyr. But his valets at Water’s End, especially Dajen, had been encouraging Aefric to wear hats, and make them fashionable again.

  Both his valets seemed convinced that Aefric could somehow set the trend.

  Of course, Aefric would be riding all day in the sun anyway…

  “Perhaps a hat would help with the sun.”

  “Oh,” Octave said, sounding more excited about the prospect than Aefric felt. “Then this one, your grace.”

  She went into the trunk and pulled out a bycocket hat. Its body was Deepwater gray, but its turned-back brim — which formed a point in front — was navy blue.

  The hat also featured a colorful tailfeather from a pyltenius bird: a hint of yellow near the quill, through an orange that darkened into a blazing red and finally a deep blue at the tips.

  She positioned the hat on Aefric’s head. She put one hand to her chin and tilted her head one way and then the other, assessing the hat’s position. She adjusted it slightly, then smiled.

  “There. Perfect. The very image of Maddox himself.”

  Maddox. The name sounded vaguely familiar to old memories he had as Keifer, but Aefric didn’t know the name at all.

  “Maddox?”

  “Your grace doesn’t know the stories of Maddox?” Octave sounded scandalized. “An ancient wandering skald, solving problems and satisfying women everywhere he went.” She smirked. “So the resemblance extends beyond the physical.”

  Aefric laughed. “Perhaps another hat would be more appropriate for a duke, then.”

  “No, please, your grace,” Octave implored. “I tease, but the hat is most becoming. Please wear it.”

  “Very well,” Aefric said.

  “Thank you, your grace,” Octave said with a bow. “And now, I should be about my duties.”

  “Wait,” Aefric said, taking her by the shoulder as she turned away.

  Octave turned back, curious.

  “I am, after all, permitted to give a present to the woman who offers me leaba.”

  Gifts were allowed, though not required. And nothing that could be construed as payment. So nothing in the way of coin, of course, or anything too valuable.

  But Aefric had taken to carrying things he could give as gifts for such occasions.

  In Kivash, where Duchess Ashling had permitted two women to offer him leaba together on each of three straight nights, he’d thrilled them with beautiful ivory combs.

  Apparently they hadn’t expected anything more than his company.

  The first time Octave had given him leaba, he’d given her a bolt of fine cloth that matched the blue of her eyes.

  This time, he’d brought something more personal, just in case she came to him again.

  Aefric dug in the second large, wooden trunk for his old adventuring backpack. A massive, leather thing, strewn with more pockets than most would ever need, which meant almost enough pockets to suit him.

  From within a small pocket sewn inside the main, central pouch of the backpack, he retrieved a simple, thin gold chain, with a faceted, teardrop crystal of purple rubellite.

  Not what Andi had given him, of course. The links of that chain had been finer still, and the crystal had been quartz.

  But the reference was obvious.

  “Oh, your grace,” Octave said, sounding astonished. “I couldn’t. It’s too fine. And—”

  “There is symmetry between this and another necklace,” Aefric said. “The woman who gave me the other necklace, I loved her more than life itself. After she died, I thought I would never hold another woman again. Never … do a lot of things again.”

  He held up the gold chain with its rubellite.

  “Fitting,” he said, “that this necklace goes to the woman who reminded me that I am not dead. And that the woman whom I loved so fiercely would want to see me happy again. Would want to see me … seek love with women again. Seek pleasure, with women again.”

  Aefric held the necklace up in both hands, and Octave, eyes misty and lips trembling, leaned forward so he could put it around her neck.

  Once it was in place, he kissed her gently.

  “Thank you, Octave. For everything.”

  “I promise you, your grace,” Octave said, looking him in the eye, “the honor and the pleasure were mine.”

  The sitting room in Aefric’s guest chambers at Norrtarr was small, but sufficient for its task. Gray stone walls, lightened with tapestries heavy on the pale yellows and blues.

  The stone floor was covered in carpets woven from some kind of green leaves, strong as linen. A fresh, herbal scent to the air suggested that sweet herbs had been scattered beneath those carpets just yesterday.

  Wide windows with their casements thrown open for a view past the farmland to the conifers of mighty Kerrik Forest in the distance to the east. Resplendent, with the sun only just cresting the tallest of those trees.

  And before that window, a round oak table spread with an assortment of sliced meats and fruits, along with honeyed oat bread, a pair of copper mugs, and a copper ewer that Aefric knew would be filled with water. The traditional Armyrian breakfast drink, to go with the traditional Armyrian breakfast.

  Two matching oak chairs at that table, large enough and strong enough to accommodate even Beornric, a man thick mostly with muscle, who quickly hopped to his feet as Aefric entered the room.

  Ser Beornric Ol’Sandallas. A knight of strong reputation, from an old Armyrian noble family. He’d served directly under King Colm most of his twoscore and more summers, most notably during the Godswalk Wars.

  But it was during the Godswalk Wars that Aefric’s decisive actions at the Battle of Deepwater turned the tide against the armies of borogs marching in service to that evil god, Xazik the Flayer.

  Aefric was called the Hero of Deepwater after that. And many credited him with saving countless lives.

  As soon as Aefric was created Duke of Deepwater by King Colm Stronghand, Ser Beornric entered into Aefric’s service. It didn’t take him long to prove his worth and be named captain of Aefric’s new Knights of the Lake, as well as a trusted adviser.

  Beornric kept his graying black hair cut battlefield short, but since he’d come into Aefric’s service, he’d grown out a bushy mustache that he seemed to enjoy quite a bit.

  All knights had their scars, but Beornric’s — from what Aefric has seen — were mostly on his hands and arms. Those scars on his arms were covered today by a quilted tunic of deep blood red, worn over brown riding leathers.

  As always, his heavy longsword hung at his side.

  “Good morning, your grace,” Ser Beornric said with a smile. “I like the hat. Gives you a roguish look. Rather like Maddox.”

  “Good morning, Beornric,” Aefric said. “I’ll have to hear the stories of this Maddox sometime.”

  Aefric felt pleased with himself that he hadn’t added the “ser” courtesy to Beornric’s greeting. Beornric, along with Aefric’s general, Ser Yrsa, had been working to break him of the habit of giving people their courtesies at all times, and instead doing so only when socially appropriate.

  Tricky habit to break, it seemed.

  Beornric chuckled as Aefric stood the Brightstaff beside his chair, and sat.

  “That will take a good while,” Beornric said. “Maddox’s name is attached to a great many stories. I’ve always favored the tale of how he avoided a war by getting two tarok princesses to fight over him.”

  “I don’t think taroks have princesses,” Aefric said, selecting a slice of roast turkey. “Their governing style tends to be clan-based, with chiefs and subchiefs.”

  “Good story though,” Beornric said with a shrug.

  Aefric frowned as he chewed his first smoky bite of turkey. Cocked his head to one side.

  “How did getting two princesses to fight over him avert a war?” he asked. “Seems to me like the sort of thing that causes wars.”

  Beornric smiled and stroked his mustaches.

  “Would your grace care to hear the story? And delay discussing business?”

  “No,” Aefric said with a sigh. “I’m sure we have important matters to cover before we ride south with Baroness Herewyn. Any word from Yrsa?”

  “A rika this morning from Ajenmoor. No signs of Malimfari ships anywhere near our waters. And no word about the pirate queen Nelazzi being anywhere near our coast. Some stirrings that she’s west of the Risen Sea right now.”

  “Good. I take it the message was too short for word about our defenses, or our progress on rebuilding the coast?”

  Most of Deepwater’s coastal towns had been destroyed during the Godswalk Wars. Aefric hoped to have them at least partially rebuilt before winter.

  “Not from Yrsa, but Baron Osmaer of Haven sends word that Haven’s coastal towns are rebuilt, as are the three southernmost in your ducal lands. Osmaer continues his ride up the coast, seeing to the farmland while workers see to the towns and farms.”

  “Very good,” Aefric said. “And I think his acolytes of the Green Lord… Well, I suppose they’re full clerics themselves now … they’re all three in Goldenfall?”

  The county of Goldenfall, the part of Deepwater most devastated by the Godswalk Wars.

  “Not quite,” Beornric said. “Two are in Goldenfall. The third is finishing her work in Felspark.”

  The barony west of Norra. Hit almost as hard as Goldenfall, though not quite.

  “Good. I don’t want any of my people starving come winter. Bad enough that many still lack their own homes.” Aefric tossed three ripe, delicious slices of orange into his mouth, chewed them and swallowed before asking, “Any word from Kivash?”

  Kivash. Coastal city on the southern bank of the Indecisive River, which formed the border between Armyr and Malimfar.

  The city was once Malimfar’s, but after Aefric stopped the Malimfari invasion at the Battle of Frozen Ridge — which Aefric still didn’t think of as a battle, properly speaking — Armyr marched down the river valley and seized Kivash, in retribution.

  Aefric had been given a castle there, as a sort of thank-you.

  “Karbin remains there at Castle Cairdeas, working on those wards that Larus Hrafntonn left on your new grimoires. Apparently they’re quite intricate. Though he says negotiations are near completion for returning those historical objects to the Hrafntonn family.”

  Aefric hadn’t wanted any negotiations there. The Hrafntonn family had been forced to abandon a sort of family museum when they fled the castle he was later given. Old armor and weapons and artwork of far greater sentimental value than monetary.

  Aefric had wanted to simply return those pieces of Hrafntonn family history as a gesture of goodwill.

  But apparently that wasn’t how things were done between noble families. The castle was now Aefric’s, including everything within its walls.