“The issue isn’t her position, though,” Aefric said. “It’s the pride that comes with power.” He held up the pendant. “This is the work of a master. I might not be good enough to cast the spells I found on this thing.”

  “Could be both are commissions…” Ser Yrsa stopped her own sentence and shook her head. “No. Who would trust a safe passage charm to the spells of an outsider?”

  “Exactly,” Aefric said. “She’s got someone working for her who could enchant this pendant. Which means that if she needed major spells cast in the Dragonscar, this wizard would cast those too. Otherwise, she’d risk offending that wizard, and losing him or her.”

  “There’s one more possibility,” Ser Beornric said darkly. “The wizard who enchanted that pendant might’ve been killed when the work was finished.”

  “True,” Aefric said, frowning. “Though wizards of this power don’t slay easily.”

  “It’s not worth gambling on,” Ser Yrsa said. “If she failed, she’d have an angry, powerful wizard on her hands. And if she succeeded, she’d lose a useful resource.”

  “So the Dragonscar question remains,” Ser Beornric said. “Too much to hope they were related.”

  “In the meantime, then,” Ser Yrsa said, “ignore Nelazzi and focus on the slavers. The more immediate threat. Act as though your anger about the slavers has made you forget Nelazzi’s involvement. After all, she made her fame as a pirate, not a slaver. With time, she’ll lower her guard.”

  “And then, when the time is right,” Aefric said, “we crush her.”

  “Ideally in a single swift, decisive stroke,” Ser Yrsa said. “But if not, we’ll be in a stronger position for her response.”

  “Just as well,” Ser Beornric said. “With both the king and queen only days away, you don’t want to be planning a sea war.”

  Aefric blew out a breath, then sat up straight.

  “Hey,” he said. “Would Ser Calder take it as a promotion to be made vassal directly to the king instead of to me?”

  “Not at his age,” Ser Yrsa said. “Sorry.”

  “Ah, well.”

  “Your grace,” Dajen said from the doorway. “Master Kentigern is here to see you, if your grace has time.”

  “By all means,” Aefric said, “send him out. And fetch him some beer and tart, as well.”

  Aefric was tempted to conjure up a wind. The balmy, still air of the evening was proving too much, after the long day he’d had.

  The level of focus he’d needed to defeat the illusion on that pendant, and then learn all he could from its spells, had been draining. Not so much for his magical reserves, as for his mind.

  Didn’t help that the greenwood chair he sat on was surprisingly comfortable. Or that he was full after the salmon dinner, and the tart afterwards, and pleasantly relaxed by the beer…

  Aefric realized with a start that he’d missed the last portion of Kentigern’s report entirely.

  “I’m sorry, Kentigern,” Aefric said. “I’m afraid I missed everything after the grains report.”

  Ser Yrsa pulled a coin from her purse and handed it to Ser Beornric.

  Kentigern gave them a questioning look.

  “The bet was about his grace’s attention,” Ser Yrsa said frankly. “I was sure you’d notice you lost it before our duke did.”

  Kentigern huffed and stroked his beard, but then looked sharply at Aefric for the first time.

  “Your grace is exhausted,” Kentigern said.

  “More mentally than physically, but yes,” Aefric said. “But I know I need to hear the reports, and I’m sure there are decisions I have to make about them.”

  “You could hand some of that off to Calder,” Ser Yrsa said. “Might smooth things a bit.”

  “Not until he falls in line,” Aefric said, then explained to Kentigern the disagreement with Ser Calder.

  “I do apologize, your grace,” Kentigern said, bowing his head. “I should have seen this coming.”

  “You’re not his keeper,” Aefric said.

  “No, but I’ve worked with the man for years, as my mother did before me. I should have seen his resentment coming, and warned you.”

  “The actions are his,” Aefric said, “and so is the responsibility. I won’t have you blame yourself for his behavior.”

  “Perhaps I could speak to him?”

  “No,” Aefric said firmly. “He has created the situation for himself. He will either accept his place, or be replaced. I will not bow to my own castellan.”

  “Nor should you,” Ser Yrsa said. “And Calder knows that, whether he wants to accept it or not.”

  “As for the rest of this…” Kentigern said, then shuffled the disturbingly large stack of parchment he’d been making on the table. “Most of it can wait for tomorrow.”

  “All right then,” Aefric said. “I’ll get a good night’s sleep and spend most of the day tomorrow working through those matters with you. Let’s get as much straightened out as we can before their majesties arrive.”

  “Excellent,” Kentigern said, pleased. “Thank you, your grace.”

  “Otherwise, I should probably call it a day.”

  “If I might have a little more of your grace’s time,” Kentigern said. “There are still two other matters I should inform you of tonight.”

  “And there’s still the question of that scroll from the historian,” Ser Beornric said. “I can’t be the only one curious about it.”

  Aefric had forgotten about that scroll. He took it from where he’d stashed it at his belt and set it on the table.

  “Yours first,” he said to Kentigern.

  “Thank you, your grace.” Kentigern shuffled aside most of the paperwork, and selected a single sheet. “This has a report of the cargo recovered from the smugglers, and my recommendations for redistribution of the grain and seed.”

  Aefric looked it over. It looked good overall — most of it going to Goldenfall, which had been hit the hardest by the wars, and some to Felspark, which had suffered the second worst. Although Felspark was further along the road to recovery, thanks to those young clerics of the Greenlord, whose services had been provided by Baron Osmaer of Havenford.

  Of the rest of the seed and grains, some of it had been marked for distribution to the rebuilding efforts along the coast, but the rest had been marked for trade.

  Aefric pointed out that last category. “I don’t want those traded, right now.”

  “Other places need them too, your grace,” Kentigern said. “But even you can’t afford to supply everyone.”

  “I don’t mean to,” Aefric said with a chuckle. “But one area has fallen through the cracks of our rebuilding efforts. My own lands between the lake and the Golden River.”

  “Ah, of course,” Kentigern said, and visibly ran some calculations. “Should be enough there to get the steadings of three or four lers running again.”

  “We may need to spread it thinner than that,” Aefric said. “Getting a dozen of them started is likely better than giving three or four a larger hand up.”

  “I’ll find a way to make it work, your grace,” Kentigern said, shifting Aefric’s attention to the rest of the report. “I have appraisers going over the various artwork, but it may be some time yet before we have a true sense of the value there.”

  “Mark any of it you think I should consider keeping, and make the rest available for trade. I like the idea of using any money we get from that cargo to help refugees from the wars. Both those we saved from the slavers, and those here in Deepwater.”

  “Speaking of the refugees,” Kentigern said. “Of the forty, two dozen are farmers.”

  “Probably best sent to Goldenfall or the lands I just spoke of, I suspect,” Aefric said.

  “That was my plan, your grace,” Kentigern said. “Another dozens are crafters. Woodworkers and stonemasons, mostly.”

  “The rebuilding projects on the coast?”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Kentigern said. “But I could redirect some to the lake’s east side, if you’d rather.”

  “No, we have enough local people in need of work to handle that.”

  “There are the two derekek,” Kentigern said. “But all they have to do is head down to the docks and they’ll likely have captains competing for their services.”

  “Fine,” Aefric said.

  “Which leaves us with two of the eldrani,” Kentigern said with a sigh. “They … declined to name any skills when Ulltruchu organized that list for me.”

  “Oh?” Aefric asked. “Which two?”

  “Li’nasachal and Li’sheneesha,” Kentigern read from a list.

  “The two dark-skinned eldrani,” Ser Beornric said.

  “I recall them,” Aefric said. “I assume they were told that the list is only being compiled to help them?”

  “Ulltruchu and I both told them this. They insist that they will list their skills, and I quote, ‘only to the master of the Brightstaff.’”

  “Odd way to phrase it,” Ser Beornric said.

  “It’s a translation issue,” Aefric said. “One way of showing respect in High Eldrani is to refer to someone not by name or title but by accomplishment.”

  “So they consider your greatest accomplishment carrying a magic staff?” Ser Yrsa asked.

  Aefric chuckled. “Haven’t I told you how I got this staff?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll have to tell you sometime. But their choice of that honorific suggests that they know the story. Which is interesting. All right.” He turned to Kentigern. “I’ll see them tomorrow as well. Is there anything else for tonight?”

  “Nothing pressing, your grace.”

  “Then let’s see about that scroll.” He opened the scroll from Elkari.

  The wording was dense. And her handwriting small. Aefric had to light up the yellow diamond atop the Brightstaff to read it. And mentally exhausted as he was, he needed three tries to make sense of it.

  It was a report of events that took place between two seasons and one year ago that might have involved the Dragonscar. And there was little to it.

  The most interesting item on the list was a shipwreck during a major winter storm, where the survivors washed up in the cove at the mouth of the Dragonscar.

  Aefric frowned, and passed the report around.

  “Looks to me,” he said, “as though we might now know when that cove came to the attention of the smugglers, slavers and so on. But I don’t see anything there that helps figure out who both found the gold and tried to keep people away from it.”

  “May I hold onto this?” Ser Yrsa asked. “I’ll check it against scouting reports. Maybe something will turn up.”

  “Please do,” Aefric said. “And now, if that’s all for today, I’m going to turn in.”

  Sers Yrsa and Beornric exchanged an amused look.

  “Sleep well, your grace,” Ser Yrsa said, with barely a pretense of innocence.

  Aefric almost said something. But then, what did it matter if they knew that Zoleen would be joining Aefric that night? Those two had pushed him to embrace the noble privilege as part of setting his own nobles at ease.

  And quite frankly, after the day he’d had, Aefric thought he deserved a little fun.

  Aefric’s private sitting room was much smaller than his public floor sitting room, but it was a little more lavish. For example, it was carpeted with rugs thick enough for Aefric’s toes to sink into, when he was barefoot.

  He wasn’t barefoot now. He still wore the same outfit he’d worn when he’d gone downstairs earlier. He’d considered changing — Dajen had seemed to feel that he should — but given the way Zoleen had looked at him in his midnight blue velvet tunic with its silver embroidery, he felt motivated to keep wearing it for now.

  Here, there were only two couches and a single armchair facing the large hearth, with the couches angled to make the chair the point of the triangle they formed with the wall.

  The hearth was cold tonight. There was no need for a fire, for the late evening chill had yet to descend.

  The couches and chair were well-padded enough to sink into, and the couches long enough to sleep on, should Aefric ever feel so inclined.

  A triangular table of polished calinwood sat between them.

  Opposite the hearth were glass doors leading onto the small, private balcony.

  Along one wall were cabinets, beginning near the circular staircase, and doors leading to other private rooms. On the wall opposite, two doors. One leading into Aefric’s bedroom, and the other into his closets.

  The walls were bare of art that night. Duchess Arinda had kept portraits of herself and her family on those walls, but Aefric had moved those portraits to another part of the castle. They would be part of a more formal display honoring the Soulfist family, and other past dukes and duchesses of Deepwater.

  He had yet to settle on what should replace them here.

  He was contemplating that very question over a goblet of water when Dajen ascended the stairs and cleared his throat.

  “Your grace, Mistress Zoleen Fyrenn has arrived. May I bring her to you?”

  “Please,” Aefric said, checking himself from standing.

  That was one of the harder things he’d had to adjust to, in becoming duke. As Keifer McShane, he’d been raised to stand when a lady entered the room.

  Growing up here in Qorunn as Aefric, that habit had remained with him. If anything, it had been emphasized by the fact that he’d been an untitled, itinerant adventurer. In those days, he’d only come into contact with nobility in three circumstances.

  The first was when they sought his help with some problem in their lands. At times like those, giving the nobles and royals their social due had helped them swallow their pride in seeking aid from an outsider.

  The second was when those problems were resolved, and they wanted to either reward Aefric, celebrate him, or both. At times like those, not giving nobles and royals their due was asking for trouble. After all, they no longer needed him.

  The third, well, was when some misunderstanding had led to them thinking he’d broken a law, or something similar. Times like those, respectful deference was the only way to go.

  But now Aefric was a noble. And not just any noble. He was a freaking duke. People were supposed to stand when he entered the room, not the other way around.

  For Aefric to stand when anyone less than royalty entered the room, that would be making a statement about that individual’s importance to Aefric, personally.

  And he’d just met Zoleen.

  He did, however, move from the chair to the couch that would give him a better view of the stairs.

  Dajen returned shortly, announcing Zoleen as she ascended the stairs. She still wore that complex gown of sapphire blue, to match her eyes.

  Aefric found himself glad she didn’t just show up in a cloak and nightshirt. That happened once in a while, when a woman arrived for the noble privilege. And when it happened the first time he would sleep with a woman, he found it … rushed.

  “Your grace,” Zoleen said with a smile and a deep bow. “I was only too happy to receive your summons. I’d begun to fear that your grace would work through the night.”

  “Another night, perhaps,” Aefric said with a smile. “But how could I focus so on work when I knew that you were waiting for me?”

  She gave a small bow to the compliment.

  “Would you care to join me on the couch for some sharabi?” Aefric asked.

  Zoleen’s eyebrows raised a fraction — perhaps surprised that he didn’t take her straight to bed — but she smiled. “I’d be delighted, your grace.”

  Dajen was quick to provide the sharabi and withdraw while Zoleen took her seat beside Aefric.

  “To your grace,” she said, raising her glass of tonight’s pale green sharabi. “May Deepwater know many years of peace and prosperity under your rule.”

  Aefric raised his glass in confirmation, and they drank together. Tonight’s sharabi was light, sweet, and carried a clean, wintergreen undertaste.

  They settled back on the couch then, and spoke of small matters for a time, before Zoleen said, “I understand their majesties are coming for a visit. Is this their first visit since you were created duke?”

  “It is,” Aefric said. “Though I don’t think it’s as much a formal visit as it is to see about what Malimfar and Caiperas are up to.”

  “Forgive me, your grace,” Zoleen said, “but it’s a mistake to think so. They could send an agent for that. If they’re both coming, and with full retinue, then this is a formal visit, and quite possibly a check to see how you’re doing.”

  “In what way?”

  “Reports,” Zoleen said, “can be exaggerated or misstated. King Colm will want to see for himself how things stand here in your duchy.”

  “You sound as though you don’t approve.”

  “It’s not my place to approve or disapprove of the actions of my king,” Zoleen said, then shrugged one shoulder. “But I will say that his majesty can be … more involved in the territories of his vassals than most monarchs.”

  “Your sister has had problems with him?”

  Zoleen curled her lips inward as she smiled, which gave her an appealingly mischievous look.

  “My sister is the queen, your grace.”

  Aefric chuckled. “I believe you knew I meant your other sister…” Aefric cocked his head at her. “Or is this situation more complicated than that?”

  Zoleen shrugged playfully and sipped her sharabi.

  “Very well,” Aefric said. “I’ll consider myself warned. Thank you.”

  “I believe I’ve had enough sharabi,” Zoleen said, playfully, “if your grace would care to express his thanks with more than words.”

  He kissed her then, and the wintergreen of the sharabi was strong on her tongue, though underneath he could detect the bitter hints of nysta tea.

  They kissed there on the couch for a time. Unhurried. Just allowing the passions and pleasures of a new lover build, until they grew heated enough that at last Aefric picked her up and carried her to his bed while Zoleen leaned in and nibbled along his neck.