There.

  Oh, but it was small. And subtle. And hard to focus on.

  What was it?

  No. No good.

  Aefric returned his thoughts to his body. He frowned at the pendant by candlelight.

  There was something else going on in there. He felt confident of it now. But it was something hard to see…

  Illusion?

  Could there have been illusion magic inside the wind spells, hiding something deeper?

  Aefric rolled his shoulders and hips. Adjusted his position on the stool.

  And once more he shifted part of his consciousness into the flow of Qorunn’s magic, and again into the pendant.

  This time, he sought first and foremost the telltale signs that Kainemorton himself had taught Aefric to look for.

  And he went slowly, carefully over all three spells one at a time.

  But that yielded no further information.

  So Aefric went in at them again, this time as one…

  There.

  There weren’t three incomplete spells. There was one, complete spell. And it had nothing to do with the wind…

  Aefric doubled down on his focus. Gave the investigation all the slow, careful attention he could manage.

  He found the keystone.

  Suddenly, it all made sense.

  There were a total of two spells on the pendant. The first was the illusion. The pretense of three incomplete spells that hid the presence of the other, very complete spell.

  That second spell, though, was the one that mattered.

  That was a passage spell.

  The bearer of this pendant could pass through a certain set of magical defenses with impunity. Might even be able to lead others. That was less certain, at this point.

  So Aefric continued his investigation. All thoughts of lunch or other business were gone now. He would stay with this as long as he needed…

  When Aefric finally opened his eyes, the candles on the walls of his laboratory indicated he’d been sitting there for … eight hours?

  Yes. Eight.

  That explained why Aefric’s stomach was rumbling louder objections than Ser Calder had been earlier.

  But it was worth it.

  The pendant could indeed bring more people along, if they were all within a structure. Say, a ship.

  Assuming the bearer of the pendant knew the key phrase. Which Aefric now knew was “safe haven.”

  He chuckled, and dangled the bronze pendant before him. No wonder Gwawl wanted it back so badly. This pendant was the key to entering some secret lair.

  Nelazzi’s?

  No way to tell. Not from the spells. But given Gwawl’s connection to Nelazzi, that the pendant served as passage to her secret hideaway seemed likely.

  Unless that was just hope talking.

  Perhaps he was simply tired and hungry, but something about this didn’t make sense. The spell Aefric had found under the illusion, that was a potent little bit of enchantment. Too potent, and too coherent, to survive long in a cheap pendant like this one.

  Heck, even the illusion was too much to last long in a pendant like this one.

  And yet, Aefric found no signs of decay in either spell.

  That … that didn’t make sense.

  There had to be something more going on here.

  Could the inner spell be the illusion?

  No. No, it couldn’t. That would require an illusion that was still too high quality for this pendant.

  Two excellent spells. Both within a vessel that shouldn’t have been able to hold either.

  So either Aefric was wrong…

  …or there was more to this pendant than there seemed.

  Aefric crossed the room on tired feet. He needed rest and food. But at least the stool that had kept him from stiffening up this time.

  He opened the door to the landing, where Ser Vria and Ser Micham immediately gave him their attention.

  “Ser Calder and Ser Beornric are down in the sitting room,” Ser Vria said, “awaiting your pleasure, your grace.”

  Aefric looked back and forth between Ser Micham and Ser Vria for a moment.

  Both were more than attractive enough to draw and hold attention. Though out of their armor, Ser Micham would still be big and tough-looking, whereas Ser Vria, properly dressed, could be mistaken for one of the noblewomen of Aefric’s court. Especially with her eldrani heritage…

  “How much longer are the two of you on duty?”

  “We’d be off duty right now,” Ser Vria said, “but we weren’t willing to yield guard of the door until your grace came out.”

  “I think Arras and Wardius are downstairs,” Ser Micham added, “ready to relieve us.”

  “Excellent. And thank you both for your dedication. In fact…” Aefric lowered his voice, and gestured for his knights to lean closer. “I need the two of you to do something for me, if you’re willing.”

  “Anything, your grace,” Ser Vria said, while Ser Micham said, “Name it and it’s done, your grace.”

  “I knew I could trust you both,” Aefric said with a smile. He held up the bronze pendant. “Once you’re off duty, I want you to dress like courtiers, and act like a besotted couple. Take this with you to the finest jeweler in Water’s End. Make sure anyone who sees you thinks you’re there for a promise ring, but insist on seeing the master jeweler in person, in private.”

  He pressed the pendant into Ser Vria’s hands.

  “Once you’re alone with the master jeweler, look at some rings. Make it believable. But before you leave, maybe pretending it’s an afterthought, ask the master jeweler to inspect this closely. Say it’s an old family heirloom that’s supposed to be worth something, but looks like dung.”

  “It does at that,” Ser Vria said, then whispered, “Your grace believes there’s something more to it?”

  “There might be, but right now … what I’m seeing doesn’t make sense. I need to know what a master jeweler thinks of the structure of this thing. And I need this kept quiet.”

  “We’ll handle it, your grace,” Ser Vria said, and Ser Micham nodded.

  “Thank you. No one else can know you have the pendant, and bring it back to me personally.”

  “Of course, your grace,” Ser Vria said, then frowned. “But if I may ask, why all the secrecy?”

  “They say Nelazzi has eyes in every port,” Aefric said with a grimace. “Well, I trust my inner circle, but Water’s End is still a port city. And I need to keep Nelazzi in the dark.”

  “No one will learn about this from us, your grace,” Ser Micham said.

  “Thank you,” Aefric said, then started down the stairs, where he was met by Dajen, who had one eyebrow raised as he looked over Aefric’s clothing.

  “Your grace is rumpled,” Dajen said. “And clearly he has been … perspiring.”

  Aefric paused. Considered arguing. Sighed. “You want me to change my clothes.”

  “I desire that your grace only ever presents himself as befits a nobleman of his standing and accomplishments.” Dajen smiled. “Though I should also note that a change of clothes can bring a new outlook on the problems a duke may face, as well as providing a fresher, more confident feeling overall.”

  “He’s good,” Ser Micham said softly.

  Aefric couldn’t deny that he’d worked hard that day, and he probably smelled like it.

  “Fine,” Aefric said. “You win. I’ll change.”

  “I assure your grace that the victory is his,” Dajen said, leading Aefric to his closets, where his body servants came to attention. “And he will understand why, once he has changed.”

  So Aefric stripped down, cleaned up at a basin, brushed out his hair, and dressed in the evening clothes selected by Dajen.

  A long silk tunic of midnight blue, subtly embroidered with silver thread, and slashed across the middle by a cloth-of-silver belt. Hose the purple of late sunset. Low slippers of soft, creamy leather that had been dyed to match his tunic.

  For adornment, a small platinum brooch that featured a large cat’s eye gemstone. And, of course, Aefric carried the Brightstaff.

  As Aefric looked himself over in the mirror, he realized he did feel better and more coherent.

  He almost said so, but one look at Dajen told him there was no need. The wise old valet already knew.

  In the main part of Aefric’s public sitting room were a series of plush, well-padded couches and armchairs, that could likely sit up to twenty people. Thirty, if they were all friendly enough.

  Most of those seats were empty when Aefric came down the stairs. But more of them were taken up than he’d expected.

  He’d been told by his knight-guards to expect Sers Beornric and Calder. But Ser Yrsa had joined them. As had Zoleen Fyrenn, whose slow appreciative gaze made Aefric feel even better about his clothing choice.

  All four of them stood and bowed as he reached the foot of the staircase.

  Two of the knights were dressed as they had been earlier. Sers Calder and Yrsa remained in their tunics and hose, with Ser Calder also wearing his doublet.

  Ser Beornric had changed out of his full plate armor, though, and now wore a russet tunic with pale brown hose.

  Sers Yrsa and Beornric were still armed, of course, though Ser Calder, Aefric was pleased to see, was not.

  Zoleen Fyrenn wore a complex, eye-catching evening gown that matched the sapphire blue of her eyes.

  During the bows, Aefric noticed four pages along the wall, awaiting his attention.

  “Wait,” Aefric said to the assemblage, raising his free hand. He turned to Sers Vria and Micham. “You’ve been on duty long enough. Go. Rest. Eat. Do whatever it is you guys do when you have time to yourselves.”

  “Sparring or sex, most likely,” Ser Yrsa said dryly, as Sers Vria and Micham left Aefric’s apartments to be about their mission.

  Aefric looked over at Zoleen Fyrenn and the three remaining knights.

  “Do any of you have anything immediately pressing?”

  They all admitted that they didn’t.

  “Pages first then,” Aefric said.

  The first page stepped forward, bearing a scroll. He bowed and presented the scroll. “From your grace’s historian.”

  “Thank you,” Aefric said, taking the scroll, tucking it into his belt, and dismissing the page.

  The second page stepped forward. “There has been a rika from Galdiff Reteka of Ajenmoor, assuring your grace that he has received your grace’s court wizard, and is rendering him all assistance.”

  “Does like his credit, doesn’t he?” Ser Yrsa said.

  “Thank you,” Aefric said, dismissing the page.

  The third page stepped forward. “Your grace’s seneschal requests a meeting before your grace retires for the evening.”

  “Very good,” Aefric said. “Tell Kentigern I’ll see him after dinner.”

  As the third page left, the fourth page stepped forward, bowed, and said, “There has been a rika from Baroness Herewyn Ol’Norette, of Norra. She invites your grace to the Feast of Dereth Sehk, which is to take place during the last three days of the final aett of summer.”

  “Has my seneschal already been informed of this one?” Aefric asked the page.

  “It was Master Kentigern who bid me deliver this message to your grace.”

  “Excellent, thank you,” Aefric said, and dismissed that page as well, before walking over to join the others on his couches.

  “I’ve never heard of the Feast of Dereth Sehk,” Aefric said, standing the Brightstaff beside his chosen seat. He sat, and gestured for the others to sit as well. “Do any of you know what it is?”

  “Only practiced in Norra, I believe, your grace,” Ser Calder said.

  “Well, of course it’s only practiced in Norra,” Zoleen said. “It was in Norra that the final battle was said to take place. Your grace doesn’t know the story?”

  Aefric shook his head.

  Zoleen smiled, clearly pleased to be the one to tell it.

  “Prior to the Godswalk Wars,” she said, “only once were the gods ever said to have trod the face of Qorunn. Thousands of years ago. Long before even my ancestors established the principality of Fyr.

  “Most of the gods came down for reasons known only to themselves. Though most like to say that they came to bless temples and worshipers, or even just to prove that they existed.

  “But when they departed once more for their heavens and hells, it was said that the derekek emperor Orsk Nolekk was furious. He ruled more than half of Qorunn at the time, and had been told by his priests that he was to be taken up with the gods, to join their number.

  “But he’d been left behind. And in his fury, swore he would conquer all of Qorunn. If the gods wouldn’t take him in, he’d crush all their temples and slay all their priests. If he couldn’t be a god, then neither could they.

  “War raged across the lands of Qorunn. It was said that the humans and na’shek formed their first alliance then. And that the alliance included even taroks and borogs, in places.”

  “Don’t forget the kindaren,” Ser Calder said. “They were part of the alliance too.”

  “I’m telling this story,” Zoleen said, looking very much like her sister Ashling for a moment. She turned back to Aefric and continued.

  “I have heard this story since childhood, and studied it myself. I have never run across credible references to the kindaren as part of the alliance, and believe that their race, like the eldrani, is too young to have been involved. Inclusion of the kindaren can only be a later addition to the story, and not a reflection of true events of the time.”

  She gave the knights each a look that challenged them to correct her. They allowed her to continue without comment. She turned back to Aefric.

  “As would happen thousands of years later with the Godwalk Wars, the final battle took place within the lands that we now know as Armyr. The Godswalk Wars, of course, had their final major battle in your own duchy of Deepwater. But the war against Emperor Orsk came to its conclusion in what we now call the barony of Norra.”

  Aefric might have disputed that the Battle of Deepwater was the final major battle of the Godswalk Wars. But that point wasn’t worth interrupting the story.

  “The alliance,” Zoleen continued, “under the leadership of a human named Dereth Sehk, met the forces of Emperor Orsk and dealt them a sound defeat that broke the power of the derekek armies.

  “It is said that, after Orsk’s defeat, the derekek were cursed by the gods to never again form or hold a kingdom. Which is why, to this day, they prefer sailing the seas, lakes, and rivers of Qorunn.”

  “The last, as I understand it,” Ser Beornric said, “is speculation.”

  “Perhaps,” Zoleen said, giving Ser Beornric an arch look. “But I do not believe, Ser Beornric, that you can name any derekek kingdoms that have existed in the last thousand years. Or am I mistaken in this?”

  “There are those who dispute that Emperor Orsk was derekek,” Ser Calder said. “Some say he was human. Others, a borog. And the name certainly sounds—”

  “Naming styles and conventions change with time,” Zoleen said, then turned back to Aefric. “We have histories at Fyrcloch Castle that go back almost that far, if your grace would be interested to read them.”

  “I would,” Aefric said, giving her a smile, “when I could find the time.” He sighed. “Speaking of which, I suspect that these three good knights have not come to discuss history with me, but have business that requires my attention. Yes?”

  Sers Beornric and Calder nodded. Ser Yrsa only gave Aefric a look that said the answer was obvious.

  “I thought as much. Why don’t the three of you await me in the meeting room, and I’ll join you in a moment.”

  Ser Beornric cleared his throat. “Your grace has not eaten since this morning.”

  “Nevertheless,” Aefric said, though his stomach chose that moment to sound an agreement with Ser Beornric.

  Once all three knights were on their way into the meeting room, Aefric smiled at Zoleen.

  “You’re early,” he said.

  “Well,” she said, giving him a coquettish smile, “your grace has not been seen since the departure of the princesses this morning. I wished to ensure that your grace had not been spirited away by amorous royalty.”

  Aefric laughed.

  “Or worse,” Zoleen continued, “forgotten our appointment.”

  “Impossible,” Aefric said. “I have a kiss to return, after all.”

  “I like the sound of that,” Zoleen said, her voice low and warm. “So long as the evening doesn’t end with that kiss.”

  Aefric held her gaze and shook his head slowly. “It won’t.”

  “Then I shall look forward to returning later,” she said, then cocked head to one side. “Unless your grace wishes me to await him upstairs?”

  “No,” Aefric said with a smile. “I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on work. Better you return later.”

  “Until then, your grace,” she said, and took her leave.

  Once she was gone, Aefric sighed. He’d been warned too many times not to trust Duchess Ashling…

  “Dajen,” Aefric said.

  “Your grace,” Dajen said, stepping forward.

  “If Zoleen Fyrenn returns before I am ready to retire, have her await me in the upstairs sitting room.”

  “Yes, your grace.”

  “She may suggest waiting for me in my bedroom,” Aefric said. “But you know only that she was to be admitted to the sitting room. Is that clear?”

  “Of course, your grace,” Dajen said, then frowned. “If I may ask, does your grace feel he has reason to expect Mistress Zoleen to be admitted somewhere without your grace’s prior permission?”

  Aefric smiled and clapped Dajen on the shoulder.

  “Nothing I’ve seen here at Water’s End would make me think so,” he said. “But once, in Behal, I found Byrhta Ol’Caran awaiting me in my chambers, when I was not expecting her.”

  “Was her presence … unwelcome, your grace?” Dajen asked.

  “Not at all,” Aefric admitted. “But it was unexpected.”

  “Yes, well,” Dajen said with as close to a grimace as Aefric had ever seen from him. “Your grace must remember that Mistress Byrhta is well known both here and at Behal. Duchess Arinda gave her the freedom of her castles, and … I daresay that most of the servants will continue to do so, unless your grace instructs otherwise.”