“As do I, Ser Vria,” Li’sheneesha said. “I shall further say that I have heard tell of your prowess with your blade.”

  The compliment was unexpected, but it was a good sign.

  “Now,” Aefric said. “Clearly I am unfamiliar with the term, so what is a Sinflissacta? I know that sin refers to the present state of a person’s soul, but that’s all I recognize of the word.”

  “Your command of the True Tongue does you credit, Kalifnia,” Li’nasachal said.

  “We are,” Li’sheneesha said, in the common tongue, for a change, “how shall I say? Surveyors of the soul. Assessors. Judges. With the proper rituals, we can look into a person, and know their true nature as it exists in this place at this moment, and even follow that nature forward and backward in time, for a distance.”

  “Why have I never heard of this before?” Aefric asked.

  “It is … a … forgive me,” Li’nasachal said, “my command of the common tongue is … lacking. It is an art long forgotten by all save those of our order. It is little called, and less practiced.”

  “We were only on this side of the Risen Sea,” Li’sheneesha said, “because we had been called to Ahlisklasach to clarify the succession.”

  “And you were taken captive while returning to Sartis, to catch a ship back across the sea,” Aefric said.

  “A destiny shifted,” Li’nasachal said, “in ways even we could not have foreseen.”

  “But I could send you back across the Risen Sea, if you wish,” Aefric said. “We have ships going that direction, I’m sure.”

  “Destiny has shifted,” Li’sheneesha said, as though that should have explained everything, but when it clearly didn’t, she continued. “There are events, Kalifnia, that shift one’s destiny. Once such has happened, fighting those events brings only pain.”

  “We believe,” Li’nasachal said, “that you have experience with such an event, Kalifnia.”

  They weren’t kidding. It was just such an unexpected shift in destiny that brought him to Qorunn in the first place.

  “We are here now,” Li’sheneesha said. “We must follow this strand of the shifting fates. Should the time come to do so, we shall return home.”

  “Until then,” Li’nasachal said. “We are here, and we wish to be of service to you, Kalifnia.”

  “As … Sinflissacta?” Aefric asked.

  “We are what we are,” Li’sheneesha said in the common tongue. “As you must be who you are, until you shift destiny, or are shifted by it.”

  Aefric needed a moment to shake off the chain of thoughts that one started.

  “Why do some call you soul thieves?” he asked.

  “Fear,” Li’nasachal said. “Ignorance.”

  “You must understand, Kalifnia,” Li’sheneesha said. “When we are called to read a soul, much hangs in the balance. When the reading is poor, some feel that we have stolen their destiny. Given it to another.”

  “Over time,” Li’nasachal said, “accusations of stealing destiny became accusations of stealing souls. But neither is true. We cannot touch the soul any more than you might reach up your hand and touch the sun.”

  “How could you be of service to me?” Aefric asked. “What could I expect to learn from such a reading?”

  “If we understand what role a person is to have in your service, Kalifnia,” Li’sheneesha said, in the common tongue, “we can tell you with certainty whether or not that person is right for the position. If they will prosper or fail.”

  “The words are imprecise,” Li’nasachal said. “It is not only a person’s skill that determines their successes and failures, but whether or not they act in accordance with the callings of their soul. These things cannot be hidden from us.”

  “We can hear their soul’s song,” Li’sheneesha said. “And we listen. The soul sings only truth, and cannot hide behind perceived duty, honor or fleeting needs and desires.”

  “The soul knows,” Li’nasachal said. “Always.”

  Aefric sighed and shook his head. “That may be, but even your own people have lost faith in your arts, or they would not be forgotten.”

  “As Kalifnia says,” Li’nasachal admitted.

  “If I tried to rely on your arts when it came to promotions, or granting offices and the like, it would be seen as though you were making the decisions, not me. I couldn’t take that risk.”

  “As Kalifnia says,” Li’sheneesha said, “so we have heard tell before. Sometimes from our own people.”

  “Are you certain you wouldn’t rather return to your order?”

  “Destiny has tilted,” Li’nasachal said. “And it tilts us your way, Kalifnia. Until such time as we rebalance the scales, we must here remain.”

  “All right,” Aefric said, then stood. “You can stay here at Water’s End for now. But we’ll have to figure out what to do with you before the end of summer.”

  “As Kalifnia says, so shall it be,” they said together.

  He dismissed them then, and as they left, Ser Vria said, “I know you like to help everyone you can, your grace, but mark my words. Those two are trouble.”

  Aefric had the sour feeling she might be right.

  The sun was still an hour or two off from setting, when the Duke’s Hand pulled out of dock at Water’s End, and made its way north toward the Searun River.

  As it did, Aefric sat in his carved chair on the afterdeck, with Ser Beornric sitting near him, on a canvas folding chair.

  Both were finishing up their dinner. Trenchers of roast beef and steamed broccoli, covered in melted cheese. To drink with it, a good red wine, that seemed to bring out more character in the beef.

  The day’s heat was finally diminishing, and the winds were pleasant — if too weak to help yet, though the captain swore that would change soon. Plus, there was something soothing about the sounds of the ship and the sailors going about their tasks.

  Aefric found himself relaxing.

  Which, naturally, was when Ser Beornric spoke up.

  “I still think we should have brought a larger entourage.”

  “Beyond the knights of my personal guard?” Aefric asked. “If I showed up with all the soldiers of my guard as well, I’d look like an invading force.”

  “But you came without any advisers but me,” Ser Beornric said. “Not even any lers. Looks rushed.”

  “Perhaps,” Aefric said, “but this is one time when thinking like an adventurer is likely to help me. I show up like any other duke, I’ll put Wylyn on his guard. But if I show up like myself, with an urgent matter to discuss, that he’ll know how to deal with.”

  “And the rest of his court might underestimate you?” Ser Beornric asked.

  “It’s a possibility,” Aefric admitted. “And one that suits us well.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Ser Beornric said. “They’ve been dealing with Duke Wylyn since the time of King Colm’s father. No doubt they have a handle on dealing with you adventuring types.”

  “Yes, well,” Aefric said. “Duke Wylyn and I … weren’t exactly the same kind of adventurer.”

  “There’s more than one kind?” Ser Beornric said in mock innocence.

  Aefric chuckled. He knew that Duke Wylyn Stormsent had once been a member of the Thieves Guild of Sartis. But there was no reason to bring that up here and now. For all he knew, the man hadn’t stolen so much as a coin since he was made duke. So Aefric raised another point instead.

  “You weren’t present at my installation ceremony.”

  Ser Beornric shook his head.

  “Duke Wylyn didn’t show up with courtiers. He showed up with bodyguards dressed as courtiers. If I show up with only knights at my side, he’ll know how to deal with that. If I show up with a ler or two, complicates matters.”

  “Could throw him off,” Ser Beornric said. “That would be to our advantage.”

  “Maybe,” Aefric said. “Too many variables right now.”

  “Then let’s talk about the person you’re definitely offending today.”

  “Which one?” Aefric said with a sigh.

  “Countess Briluufa. She’s your neighbor and hers is the nearest port in Silverlake. But you’re skipping past Redport and sailing for Alimar’s Launch.”

  “It’s a shorter, straighter road to Castle Stormsent from there,” Aefric said. “Alimar’s Launch is the obvious choice. Even if I weren’t trying to stay away from Redport right now.”

  “Nevertheless,” Ser Beornric said. “She’ll be offended.”

  “Well, let her,” Aefric said, shaking his head. “I can’t please everyone.”

  “Just warning you,” Ser Beornric said. “After all, threat assessment is a large part of my job.”

  “And is she a threat?”

  “At the moment, not much of one,” Ser Beornric admitted. “But that could change.”

  “Well,” Aefric said, “depending on what we learn at Silverlake, perhaps we’ll return through Redport, and give the excuse that I felt I should visit the duke before visiting his vassal.”

  Ser Beornric frowned. “Might work.”

  “Well,” Aefric said. “If not, she can join the line of people who want to kill me, and pray that I’m still alive when her turn comes up.”

  “I do wish you wouldn’t joke about such things.”

  “Sorry. But I spent years as an adventurer facing death regularly. Got well used to joking about it.”

  “But you’re a duke now,” Ser Beornric said, arching an eyebrow. “And you have no heir.”

  “Hey. At least I’m not flying up there on my own.”

  “Fair enough,” Ser Beornric said, then gave Aefric an assessing look as he sipped his wine. “It’s just the two of us right now, your grace.”

  “Yes,” Aefric said suspiciously. Clearly Ser Beornric wanted to talk about something he considered sensitive. Or tricky…

  “If … if you have any thoughts about marriage and heirs, this might be a good time to discuss them. I have no agenda, save wanting to see your grace well married, with heirs, and preferably happy.”

  “You sound as though you have thoughts. Care to voice them?”

  Ser Beornric frowned and sat forward. Lowered his voice a little, though Aefric doubted anyone was near enough to hear him speak.

  “I think that, when it comes to marriage and children, you’ve been looking at the battlefield, but not the war.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you,” Aefric said.

  “In battle, you exchange blows with the enemies nearest you. It is … easy to get caught up in that. To see the world around you reduced to either allies to aid, or enemies to slay, and lose track of the goals and objectives that put you on the battlefield in the first place.”

  Aefric nodded. He’d experienced the sensation, especially during some of the longer battles during the Godswalk Wars. Hours could pass where all he could do was struggle to keep himself and his allies alive. With no mental space to give to thoughts about where he was, what the larger goals of the conflict were, and so on.

  “You think that, romantically, I’m caught up in battle haze?”

  “I do,” Ser Beornric said. “Right now, I suspect that when you consider thoughts of marriage and the future, you think first of Princess Maev and Mistress Byrhta, and hardly at all about anyone else. Two princesses visited your court, and while they were there, you considered them as well — whether you wish to admit it or not — but now that they’re gone, I imagine they’re gone from your considerations.”

  “Maev and Byrhta are wonderful women,” Aefric said. “Princess Astrid and Princess Xenia, they’re vipers.”

  “Princess Maev cares for you,” Ser Beornric said. “There’s no denying that. Byrhta as well. Any fool could see that when she looks at you.”

  Ser Beornric shook his head.

  “But Princess Maev is off in Varondam, negotiating an alliance and a marriage. And make no mistake, she’ll marry their king, if that’s what it takes to seal that alliance. And Byrhta, for all she may be beautiful and intelligent, she’s still the daughter of your own vassal, with hardly any dowry to speak of.”

  “Duchess Arinda flouted convention when she considered marriage.”

  Ser Beornric looked Aefric sharply in the eye.

  “Duchess Arinda died without a husband to mourn her, or children to carry on her name. And for all she flouted convention, she sought an advantageous match. Don’t you doubt it.”

  “You think I should consider the other two princesses?” Aefric asked in disbelief. “I’d have to insist on separate chambers just to make sure I wake up each morning.”

  “Many noble couples sleep in separate rooms,” Ser Beornric said, “and only come together to conceive children or seek the bliss moment.”

  “So you do think I should consider those two.”

  “I think you shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss them,” Ser Beornric said, then drew a deep breath. “But I think you should look beyond them, too. You’re a duke, and a powerful duke. You would make a good match for many princesses, and having your seneschal seek royal permission to invite a few to visit might be a good idea.”

  Aefric scoffed. “You think that’s the real reason King Colm is coming. To push me on the marriage front. Maybe suggest a few princesses.”

  “I think he might,” Ser Beornric said. “But there’s another you should consider as well, and I don’t think she’s seriously occurred to you.”

  “Who?” Aefric asked.

  “Zoleen Fyrenn.”

  “I thought you all considered her part of a plot by her sister to get Deepwater back into Fyrenn hands.”

  “Yrsa thinks that,” Ser Beornric said. “But I think she served with Duchess Arinda for a long time, and Duchess Arinda never got along with Duchess Ashling.”

  “Next you’ll be suggesting I marry Ashling herself.”

  Ser Beornric gave Aefric a look.

  Aefric’s jaw dropped. “She prefers women.”

  “Baron Osmaer prefers men,” Ser Beornric said. “But when he took up the barony decades back, out of duty to his position he married one of the daughters of Baroness Herewyn’s grandfather. By reputation, they got along well, though each, of course, had lovers. And their marriage produced four heirs.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Aefric said. “Why didn’t he bring his heirs when he came to meet me in the spring?”

  “Because he has outlived them,” Ser Beornric said with a sigh. “And the wife, as well, who took her own life, in grief. He swore not to put himself through that again, and no one would blame him. Though it means that, when he passes, you will have to find a new baron for Havenford.”

  “So you do think I should consider Ashling.”

  “You like beauty and brains. She has both. And together you would be quite a force to reckon with.”

  “I’m not sure how the marriage would work,” Aefric said. “It’s not as though we could live together full time.”

  “You could,” Ser Beornric said. “Spending half the year in one of your duchies, and half the year in the other. But you could as easily live separately and only come together to produce heirs.”

  Aefric thought about that for a moment.

  “Wouldn’t work,” Aefric said, shaking his head. “Ashling and I would both want to be in charge. We’d be forever butting heads.”

  “Which, I suspect,” Ser Beornric said with a smile, “is why she sent her sister to you.”

  “This is too much,” Aefric said.

  “I thought it might be,” Ser Beornric admitted. “But all I hoped to accomplish was to start you thinking about marriage and your options in … broader terms than you had been.”

  Aefric snorted. “Mission accomplished.”

  Ser Beornric chuckled.

  Aefric cocked his head at Ser Beornric.

  “Dajen mentioned that the servants would all choose Byrhta to be my wife, if they could choose. Who would you choose?”

  “My choice doesn’t really matter, your grace.”

  “Nevertheless, I would like to know.”

  “I would see you married into a royal family. I know you would prefer Princess Maev, but Rethneryl has three princesses who might make good matches for you. And Hatay and Shachan, on the other side of the Endless Mountains. They likely have princesses to consider as well. And then, of course, there are Malimfar and Caiperas…”

  “Surely some of them would want to marry princes,” Aefric said, exasperated.

  “Yes, but Armyr is a rich kingdom, and it has only one prince. Killian. And with Princess Maev off in Varondam, likely to be married, they have to look beyond her too. So if any of the nearby kings and queens wish to marry their families into Armyr and an alliance, their daughters will have to look beyond our prince. And guess who that leaves.”

  Ser Beornric pointed at Aefric.

  “There’s also Duke Wylyn,” Aefric said, hopefully.

  “Duke Wylyn is long married, your grace. He has three children, two daughters and a son. And before you ask, his son is already married to the daughter of one of Rethneryl’s more prominent counts.”

  “Of course,” Aefric said.

  “And lest his daughters concern you,” Ser Beornric said, “his eldest is married already, and living off in Hatay. And I believe his youngest daughter was widowed during the wars. But I believe she’s betrothed again, though I don’t recall to whom.”

  “That’s something, at least.”

  “But in terms of eligible Armyrian bachelors, I’m afraid that after Prince Killian, you’re next in line.”

  Lovely. Just the sort of thoughts that would keep Aefric awake late into the night, as he tried to sleep in his cabin belowdecks.

  Aefric emerged from his cabin just after dawn the next morning, dressed in riding leathers and a quilted tunic of Deepwater gray. And as he did, the Duke’s Hand sailed into port at Alimar’s Launch.

  A boulder out in the harbor was large enough to hold a small lighthouse, though that lighthouse was no longer standing. The top half of it was gone entirely, leaving a jagged stone reminder of what had once been.

  Clearly the sea devils had rained havoc on Alimar’s Launch, during the wars. And this had never been a big port town to begin with. In fact, from that viewpoint, Aefric was impressed that it had survived at all.