“But why does it matter?” Ser Calder asked. “Why does it have to involve a port known to both? Wouldn’t it be smarter for the delivering ship to sail into a new port?”

  “No,” Ser Yrsa said. “New ships are marked and watched. Known ships are a known quantity. Ports used by the slavers would have a market for their cargo. Ports used by the smugglers would be places they know how to move that cargo.”

  “And there are only three remaining, known to both,” Karbin said. “One, as I’m sure you all expected, is Kefthal.”

  A general murmur of agreement around the table.

  “The other two,” Karbin said, pointing to the map, “are here, Redport, and here, Wulfport.”

  Oppressive silence settled on the room.

  Wulfport was in Malimfar, which was bad enough. But Redport, that was here in Armyr…

  “I thought you said they conducted no illegal business in Redport,” Aefric said.

  “The smugglers never did. I’m reasonably certain of that. The slavers…” Karbin shook his head. “I got just enough in hints and implications from the prisoners in Ajenmoor to make me uncertain. I need more time to investigate.”

  “You mustn’t,” Kentigern said. “Not without permission from the king.”

  A few mouths opened to reply, but Kentigern got there first.

  “If one duke investigates another for taking part in a slavery ring without first at least discussing the matter with his majesty, that duke is asking for censure. And punishment.”

  “Unless he’s right,” Aefric said.

  “Even then,” Kentigern insisted. “Oh, the punishment might be lesser, but that duke would still be guilty of acting above his station. And the only station above the duke is that of the king himself.”

  “I think we all agree,” Ser Beornric said diplomatically, “that none of us want to give the impression that his grace here wishes to usurp royal authority.”

  “No way in any of the thirteen hells do I want to usurp royal authority,” Aefric said. “I have plenty of authority right now, thank you. So let’s move on past that point, shall we? Redport can wait until King Colm arrives.”

  “The king is coming?” Karbin asked.

  “As is the queen,” Kentigern said, “and full royal entourage.”

  “What about Wulfport?” Aefric asked, bringing them back on topic. “What do we know there?”

  “Too much,” Karbin said, shaking his head. “I confirmed that Wulfport has been a regular business stop for both the slavers and the smugglers since midway through the Godswalk Wars.”

  That was a big enough accusation to settle silence on the room for a moment.

  “Do you have proof?” Aefric asked.

  “Nothing conclusive,” Karbin said. “Not at this time.”

  “But you do,” Ser Calder said suddenly.

  Once everyone was looking at him, Ser Calder continued, addressing Aefric now.

  “When our good court wizard was last in Wulfport, tracing the slavers, he was assaulted by a wizard for asking the wrong questions. Tracing slavers, not pirates,” Ser Calder said, then turned to Karbin. “I know you said it was one of Nelazzi’s wizards who attacked you, but you yourself admitted it was late and you were tired. Clearly the wizard was a contact of those slavers, there to quash an investigation into Wulfport that would yield more fruit.”

  “That does sound reasonable,” Ser Beornric said.

  “What made you think of Nelazzi?” Aefric asked Karbin.

  “I’d run into the tactic before, when I’d crossed paths with the pirate queen. But I suppose it could have spread by now…”

  “Either way,” Aefric said, “it’s clear that the slaver ring goes through Malimfar and—”

  Kentigern cleared his throat.

  Aefric sighed. “And I’m not allowed to take any action where Malimfar is concerned.” He shook his head. “Fine, then. We’ll keep everything about that confined to this room for the time being. But Karbin, I’ll want a detailed report to give his majesty.”

  “And you’ll have one. There are a couple of more leads I could check out, if you like. Leads that would not take me into Malimfar or Redport.”

  “Fine then,” Aefric said. “Do any of the rest of you have anything pressing?”

  “Nothing yet,” Elkari said. “I may have found a precedent that might apply to the Dragonscar mine that touches on Duke Wylyn’s land. I need more research to be certain.”

  “Good,” Aefric said, and was about to dismiss the meeting when she spoke up again.

  “And I’ve had my assistants compiling a list of lers and territories from before the Godswalk Wars, for comparison with the duchy as it stands, for purposes of aiding the search for missing lers.”

  “That reminds me,” Kentigern said. “I suppose this is as good a time as any to mention that your grace has had a rika this morning from Mistress Karaleca in Lachedran, to say that she’s gathered her committee and begun her search.”

  “She wrote to say that?” Ser Yrsa asked.

  “Well,” Kentigern said, then pulled out the small, rolled up message itself. “I think it was an excuse to offer her thanks again, and remind his grace that she’s doing this.”

  “Fine,” Aefric said, taking the message, but not reading it then. “If that’s all, then let us adjourn. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

  By midday, Aefric was certain of three things.

  The first was that his seneschal deserved a raise. Aefric wasn’t sure what he was paying the man, but it wasn’t enough.

  Over the course of the morning, Aefric, Kentigern, and Ser Calder had gone over a good portion of the things that were involved in running the duchy.

  Reports from the vassals about the state of their lands, and their needs going forward.

  Reports from the mayors, lers, and landed knights in the ducal lands about their status and their needs going forward.

  Amalgamated reports that gave an overview of the state of production of every single crop grown between Kerrik Forest in the east, the Risen Sea in the west, the Dragonscar in the north, and the Merrek border in the south.

  And not just the crops. The mines and quarries, timber and construction. There were similar reports about trade, both overall and by category. The states of the various trades and guilds. And more than that besides.

  And Kentigern had organized all of these things. Not just into coherent reports, but he ordered the reports themselves, so that one lead into the other.

  By the time Aefric had to make a decision about something, Kentigern had made sure he’d already received all pertinent information.

  The man was a gem.

  The second thing Aefric had grown certain of was that he had no immediate need to get rid of Ser Calder. While they were working, the man behaved himself, and at least seemed to understand that he’d been overstepping his bounds.

  The rhythm Aefric established might have helped there. First, he let Kentigern report on a topic. Then he asked Ser Calder for his thoughts, and, where appropriate, a little of the history.

  For example, Ler Osgood, whose lands were just west of Behal, was reporting that the hot summer had hurt his production of sweet peppers, and that he would need permission to raise taxes to see his people through the winter if he did not receive ducal aid.

  But this was a trick Ler Osgood had played more than once. Kentigern knew that, and had warned Aefric that, after receiving permission, Ler Osgood was likely to report that he’d saved his harvest — but not lower his taxes again.

  Still, it was Ser Calder who suggested sending a knight down to investigate. Without warning.

  Apparently Duchess Arinda used to respond with a rika suggesting sending someone down to examine his situation, which was usually enough to get Ler Osgood to claim he’d had a breakthrough in irrigation and saved his crop after all. Or something along such lines.

  Perhaps, however, skipping the rika and sending a knight down to investigate — undoubtedly proving that the peppers were doing just fine — might put a stop to this trick for good.

  “Ser Grey,” Aefric had said, smiling, “would be perfect.”

  “You would send Behal’s castellan?” Ser Calder asked, almost sounding offended, but then furrowed his brow as he thought about it.

  “Wait,” he said. “You want to send someone to show you’re taking his cow spittle seriously. If you’ll pardon my phrasing, your grace.”

  “Exactly,” Aefric said. “Arinda never actually sent a knight, there’s no precedent. So if I start by appearing to take him seriously enough that I send a castellan down to assess how much aid he needs, I have the right to more than a little anger when it turns out to be a false excuse.”

  “And everyone in the Behal region knows Ser Grey’s reputation. He won’t dare lie to her face.”

  “There is always the possibility,” Kentigern said, “that he’s telling the truth this time.”

  “Perhaps,” Ser Calder said, “but given his history, it’s not likely.”

  “Either way,” Aefric said. “If it’s an actual problem, for once, and I send Ser Grey, it tells all my lers and my people that I take such problems seriously.”

  “And if it’s not an actual problem,” Ser Calder said, quirking a half-smile, “you have an indisputable witness when you call him to account. I like it.”

  By the third time Aefric took one of Ser Calder’s suggestions and gave it his own twist, Ser Calder laughed aloud.

  “We must play chess sometime, your grace,” he said. “From the angles you take on problems, I suspect that you develop your knights and wizards in ways that no one can see coming.”

  “Whereas you favor bishops and rooks?” Aefric asked.

  Ser Calder nodded acknowledgment, but he was smiling. Aefric began to feel that he might be able to work with his castellan after all.

  The third thing Aefric became convinced of, as the morning crawled past, was that he would soon need to visit Motte.

  He couldn’t put his finger on why. But something in the reports from Motte felt … off. Kentigern couldn’t spot it, and neither could Ser Calder, but Aefric couldn’t shake that feeling.

  And for all that people called him a wizard, properly speaking, Aefric was a dweomerblood. And intuition was as much a part of how he lived and worked as logic and precedent. Perhaps more so.

  It felt like the same kind of intuition right now telling him that something was wrong in Motte.

  But he didn’t have time to check into it. Not right now.

  At midday, Aefric took his lunch alone, on his private balcony. That might upset a few people who had hoped for his company, but it was a lovely day — if hot — and Aefric wanted to get some letters written before he left for Silverlake.

  The letters to Maev and Byrhta were both difficult, for much the same reason. He wanted to share with both of them all that had been going on. Not just to express it, but to get their opinions.

  Unfortunately, he had to be more circumspect than that in letters. Especially when writing to Maev, who was all the way down in Varondam where, for all he knew, they might insist on reading her letters.

  So with Maev Aefric spoke of how he missed her, and how, alas, he never reached the dragon’s skeleton because he’d been called back from the Dragonscar by business that couldn’t wait.

  He wrote about fighting smugglers and slavers — and rescuing the refugees — but confined himself to a single line complaining about the politics of his cities.

  He couldn’t explicitly mention the visit by the princesses. There might be political implications. So, instead, he made a single-line reference to princesses hunting in his lands.

  Maev, he felt, would understand that. She always spoke of their feelings for one another as a mutual hunt. The use of the plural would surely catch her attention and convey his meaning.

  Aefric did mention the coming royal visit, though. No reason he could think of not to, and it might help make sure she got his message about the princesses.

  He did not greet Maev on Byrhta’s behalf. If they wanted to send messages back and forth, they could write their own letters.

  With Byrhta, his letter covered much the same ground, for Aefric missed her as well. Though he could be more explicit about the visit of the princesses. She might have heard about it by now anyway.

  The other letter he had to write was to Vercy, which would likely disappoint her. Because unlike the other two letters, this one wasn’t very personal. Aefric covered many of the same events, but from more of a distance, with less of his personal take. And, if anything, less actual information.

  Aefric frowned as he read it over. Added a paragraph at the end expressing gratitude about all she was learning and all she was doing both for Riverbreak and all of Deepwater.

  He didn’t address Vercy’s suggestion about a possible husband for Byrhta, but he did add a personal note about the joys of sailing out on the lake. Just so he didn’t come across as too cold or distant.

  He didn’t want to hurt her. He just didn’t want to encourage her.

  Unfortunately, Aefric’d gotten so involved in writing his letters that he needed to bolt down what must have been a very good lunch, while it was hot. It was a meat pie featuring lamb and a mixture of vegetables in a flaky, buttery crust. Even cold, it was still better than a lot of what he’d eaten during his adventuring days.

  Then, it was back into his primary office for an afternoon of more reports and decisions.

  By the time he was done for the day, Aefric found himself hoping that something attacked them on the way to Silverfall. Just for the change of pace.

  It was late afternoon that day, and preparations were underway for the Duke’s Hand to take Aefric and a small entourage from Water’s End to Alimar’s Launch, up in Silverlake.

  At the moment, however, Aefric was letting others see to those arrangements. He was sitting at the red, polished calinwood desk in his … third? No. Fourth best office, down on the bottom floor of the Castle at Water’s End, and close to the docks.

  Out of the way, leaning against the calinwood cabinets, stood Ser Vria. Because everyone objected to Aefric taking this meeting without at least one guard in the room, and Ser Vria had the added benefit of speaking at least some High Eldrani.

  How much she spoke of that language, Aefric wasn’t sure.

  Facing Aefric across that desk and seated primly on finely carved calinwood chairs, were Li’nasachal and Li’sheneesha, with their dark, eldrani beauty, their flame-yellow eyes and long, vivid hair, the purple of late sunset. They weren’t dressed in rags this time, but in light brown cotton. Li’nasachal in tunic and breeches, and Li’sheneesha in a robe.

  Flags of Armyr and Deepwater adorned the soft gray of the plastered walls, but the eldrani looked back and forth between Aefric and the recent portrait of Aefric, before Li’sheneesha spoke.

  “The artist has a feel for the body,” she said, in High Eldrani, “but not your soul, Kalifnia.”

  Kalifnia. Aefric hadn’t heard that term since he was last in Ahlisklasach, an Eldrani city near Thunderwood. The word best translated as “low king,” which might be a reasonable way to refer to a duke.

  “The soul can be a bit much to ask of an artist,” Aefric said.

  “It is the soul that matters,” Li’nasachal said. “Without the soul, a portrait is just a collection of colors. However pretty.”

  “Well,” Aefric said, “at least the colors are pleasing then. I understand you would not list your skills for Ulltruchu, nor for my seneschal. You do understand that we only seek this information to help you find homes and work.”

  “We could not trust that information to underlings, Kalifnia,” Li’nasachal said. “For if we did, we would never be allowed in your presence.”

  “Please step back from the desk, your grace,” Ser Vria said, drawing her sword and stepping up beside the desk.

  Li’nasachal and Li’sheneesha did not react. They didn’t even acknowledge Ser Vria.

  “Your guard illustrates my point,” Li’nasachal said.

  “Your grace, please,” Ser Vria said, in the common tongue.

  “I don’t believe they intend me harm, Ser Vria,” Aefric said the same way.

  “Upon our lives,” Li’sheneesha said in High Eldrani, “I swear we do not.”

  “A gamble set,” Ser Vria said in High Eldrani, by which Aefric was pretty sure she meant that their lives were already in the balance.

  “What are these skills?” Aefric asked, shifting back to High Eldrani.

  “From what they’ve said so far, they can only be Sinflissacta,” Ser Vria said, in the common tongue. “Soul thieves.”

  “We are not thieves,” Li’nasachal said, finally looking at Ser Vria. “Your poor command of the True Tongue shames your family.”

  “Your calling shames yours,” Ser Vria snapped back, clearly itching to use the blade in her hands.

  “Ser Vria,” Aefric said sharply, in the common tongue. “Take two steps back and lower your blade. Use it only if they actually try to harm one of us.”

  “Yes, your grace,” she said immediately, and did so.

  “She is obedient, at least,” Li’sheneesha said. “As one of her station should be.”

  There were so many things Aefric wanted to address right then, but he decided to start with this one.

  “You understand the common tongue.”

  “And speak it,” Li’sheneesha admitted with a frown. “But there was no profit in admitting so earlier.”

  “And it is a … harsh language,” Li’nasachal said. “It does not … it does not flow as the world flows.”

  “Nevertheless,” Aefric said. “No more pretending not to understand it. And I’ll have you both apologize to my knight. There may be a misunderstanding, and if so, we shall resolve it. But you’ve still been rude to her.”

  The look both eldrani gave Ser Vria didn’t help their cause. They clearly looked down on her for not being pure-blood eldrani. Some places cared about that, others didn’t. But Aefric wouldn’t have it here in Deepwater.

  “As Kalifnia says,” Li’nasachal said, “so must we do. I regret my rudeness to you, Ser Vria.”