“He claims the deal went down when and where it did,” Kentigern continued, “because that was the only way to make sure both the money and the cargo got where they needed to go, in time for the captain to leave on schedule with the morning tide.”

  “It’s a believable story,” Ser Calder said. “And suggests there might not be any contraband at all.”

  “Of course it’s a believable story,” Ser Deirdre said, as though Ser Calder were a dullard. “What did you expect him to tell us? ‘Yes, ser knight, everything we did was above board. Oh, except for the shipment of stolen eldrani babies?’”

  “Now see here,” Ser Calder started, but Aefric raised a hand to stop the argument before it caught fire.

  “It may be a believable story,” Aefric said, “but do you believe Morgard? Or do you think he’s lying? Kentigern?”

  “I believe him,” Kentigern said. “In my opinion, he is holding back information. Not about that shipment, but about something … bigger.”

  “Ser Calder?”

  “I agree,” Ser Calder said. “He seems puzzled that we were concerned about the shipment. As though he was expecting us to ask about something else.”

  “Ser Deirdre?”

  “Oh, he’s covering something up. No doubt about that.” She sighed. “But yes, I believe he’s sincere that the textiles shipment was just a textiles shipment. At least, as far as he knows.”

  “So what does that tell us then?” Aefric asked.

  “It’s safe to say,” Ser Deirdre said, “that the textiles deal isn’t what brought him and Couglas to Ajenmoor, nor was it the reason they stayed around. Could be I caught him during his only legitimate deal.”

  “Speculation,” Ser Calder said. “We don’t have any proof that either of them have been involved in anything illegal.”

  “Do we know what they were doing in Ajenmoor?” Aefric asked before Ser Deirdre could give voice to the rejoinder on her lips.

  “They were there for trade deals,” Kentigern said. “We didn’t press for details of their business beyond the textiles shipment.”

  “Your grace thinks we should?” Ser Calder asked, dubiously. “Do keep in mind that, whether your grace confirms Morgard in his family’s title or not, he will be leaving Water’s End. And talking about his time and treatment here.”

  “You’re saying we don’t have enough to press,” Aefric said.

  “I’m saying we don’t have anything,” Ser Calder said. “We’ve been given no reason to suspect any illegal activity. He could be hiding a lover he’s ashamed to admit to, for all we know. Or maybe he made some inadvisable joke about your grace in a tavern.”

  “My gut says he’s been up to something shady in Ajenmoor,” Ser Deirdre said.

  “Fine then,” Ser Calder said with a sigh. “We have no reason to suspect wrongdoing, beyond Ser Deirdre’s gut.”

  Aefric looked at Ser Deirdre. Saw the same confidence in her eyes that he got himself, when his gut was telling him a truth in defiance of all other senses.

  He nodded to her. She gave him a fierce smile and nodded back.

  “All right,” Aefric said, “this is how we’ll play it. Kentigern. After dinner you’ll go to Morgard. Tell him why I had him summoned to court. But tell him I’m worried about what my ‘lost lers’ have been up to since the wars. I’ll be looking into his background before I’ll confirm him, so if there’s anything I’m going to find, it’ll go better if he tells me himself.”

  “Not a bad idea in general, your grace,” Ser Calder said. “Never too smart to hand someone power without knowing what kind of person they are.”

  “And I might make it a policy. I’ll decide on that later.” Aefric drew a deep breath and blew it out. “I’m still curious about the timing of a ship bound for Wulfport that didn’t get its cargo. And just what cargo they were expecting.”

  “Your grace,” Ser Calder said. “We have no reason to think it wasn’t pipe weed.”

  Aefric raised an eyebrow at Kentigern. “Do you agree with that assessment, Master Seneschal?”

  Kentigern frowned and furrowed his brow for a moment. “Your grace refers to the pipe weed reports from Goldenfall and Motte.”

  Aefric nodded, while Kentigern seemed to call those reports to his thoughts as though they’d been burned into his brain.

  “Motte ships its pipe weed overland,” Kentigern said, “but Goldenfall ships by water. And Goldenfall’s latest report … suggested that all pipe weed crops have been harvested and shipped for the year.”

  “Early,” Aefric said, “because of irrigation problems from the wars, exacerbated by the summer’s heat.”

  “We don’t know that the pipe weed shipment came from Goldenfall,” Ser Calder objected.

  “We don’t,” Aefric agreed. “But as Ser Deirdre said, ‘it’s the way to bet.’”

  “I could get the ship name from Morgard,” Ser Deirdre suggested. “Go back to Ajenmoor and dig around. See what I can find out.”

  “Meaning no offense, Ser Deirdre,” Aefric asked hesitantly, “can you do so quietly?”

  “Your grace,” Ser Deirdre said, with no more than a vague pretense at being offended. “I am like the sea dragon. I only disturb the waters when I wish to. But when I do…”

  She grinned.

  Aefric laughed. “You should take the sea dragon as your sigil then.”

  Ser Deirdre straightened as though he’d actually shocked her.

  “Sigil,” she said with a slow smile. “Truly? Your grace thinks so?”

  “I see no reason why not. Assuming, of course, you live up to your word here, and bring me the information I seek without … disturbing the waters.”

  She thumped her chest, then raised her fist high in salute.

  “I swear on my honor that it shall be done,” she said in ringing tones.

  Ser Calder’s eyes widened. As did Kentigern’s.

  “I look forward to your results,” Aefric said with a smile, then took in the others. “Anything else pressing? Ser Calder, what are those Malimfari knights up to?”

  “They’re out hunting, your grace,” Ser Calder said. “Yrsa’s scouts track them, but early indications are that they’re not straying anywhere they shouldn’t.”

  “Good,” Aefric said and stood. “Then if that’s all for the moment” — he paused, but no one interrupted — “I’ll thank the three of you for your work, and suggest we go see about dinner.”

  Water’s End had at least a dozen dining halls. And those were just the ones that Aefric had seen. They each had their purposes, and selection usually varied directly with the number of guests who’d be dining with the duke on any given occasion.

  Aefric had been absent often enough of late that several of his more prominent lers, landed knights, and other courtiers had taken the opportunity to return to their own lands and homes and deal with the mundane matters they’d had to ignore while off at court.

  That would likely change soon. Word was probably out already that Aefric was back. Further, with King Colm and Queen Eppida coming, it was a safe bet that Aefric wouldn’t leave Water’s End again, possibly before the end of summer.

  Or at the very least, this was how Kentigern had explained the common view of the situation. Aefric would not have been at all surprised to find himself leaving Water’s End as many as three or four times before the end of summer.

  He’d learned a long time ago never to expect his life to go smoothly. Made for a refreshing change when it did. And when things went wrong, as they did so often, he was ready.

  Dinner that night was in a room off the main hall that Aefric had come to think of as “the public intimate dining room.” Which meant that the grand oak table in the center seated only thirty.

  Its proximity to the great hall, with its dome, meant that the ceiling here was an arc of red and yellow stained glass. Light was provided by candelabras along the table, and a series of candles around the edges of the rectangular room.

  The candles along the perimeter were positioned to highlight the art decorating the soft gray paint of the plastered walls. In this room, that meant tapestries depicting Lake Deepwater at sunset, ships sailing the Haven River, previous dukes and duchesses hunting, and the like.

  And, of course, the Deepwater flags — the battle flag and the sigil flag — on the wall behind Aefric’s seat.

  The grand hearth along one wall was part of an even larger hearth in the great hall, on the other side of that wall. Though no fire burned in it that night. The heat of the day was past, but the evening was still warm enough to make a fire superfluous.

  The white oak floorboards were covered tonight with rugs of woven rushes, which Aefric suspected was as much to keep the floors clean as to underlay the aromas of dinner with a sweet background scent.

  Just over a season now, Aefric had lived here at Water’s End. And in that time, he’d noticed that every time he ate with his court, the seats were filled and the dinner ready to be served when he entered the dining room.

  This was true even when Aefric’s day had grown … complicated. It was true even when there were last-minute delays, such as an important late meeting with a knight, his castellan, and his seneschal.

  And yet, so far, the diners had never been kept waiting long enough to look impatient when they stood and bowed a greeting to their duke. Nor had the dinner ever seemed to suffer for an unplanned wait.

  Truly, the kitchen staff in this castle earned their pay.

  That night was no different, and Aefric had no sooner been seated — allowing the rest of the diners to sit as well — when the first servants began pouring what was called the “palate wine.”

  This was a light, dry white wine. One quarter-sized glass was given to each diner, who was expected to finish the drink before the first course of the evening was served.

  That night, Aefric thought he detected a hint of applewood in the wine, which was unusual. If interesting.

  No toast would be made with the palate wine. That was considered bad luck.

  Once Aefric had drunk his down, he greeted Zoleen, who — as the closest thing to a ranking noble in his court at the moment — sat at his right hand. She looked splendid tonight, with her copper hair piled atop her head in a fetching arrangement that left her long throat bare, but for a strand of black pearls.

  Her gown this evening was silk, and a deep sunset red, which made Aefric wonder if she’d been told how he’d be dressed for dinner.

  It looked to be a simpler design than the last gown he’d seen on her, but was no less elegant for that. Further, Aefric had been told that redheads couldn’t wear red. And yet, the dress seemed to suit Zoleen just fine.

  Unless there were multiple ranking nobles visiting Water’s End — or someone else of sufficient social standing or personal importance to the duke — the seat to Aefric’s left was filled on a rotational schedule known only to Kentigern.

  In theory, this allowed every member of Aefric’s court to have the opportunity to share conversation with their duke over dinner. In practice, it led to a lot of flirting from young noblewomen, and talk of hunting from young noblemen.

  Tonight that seat at his left hand was occupied by Ler Cynewyn Ol’Cynthryth.

  Ler Cynewyn was heavier than most noblewomen Aefric had met in Armyr, who generally tended toward slender. But she carried her weight well, in a gown of deep purple, accented by amethysts decorating her golden bracelets and thick gold necklace.

  The brown of her eyes was almost as dark as her skin, and she wore her hair in tight braids woven with garnets and moonstones that clicked when she turned her head.

  Aefric tried to recall where her lands were. Just outside Lachedran to the … east? Yes. That sounded right. Just east of Lachedran, along the shore of the lake.

  After greeting Ler Cynewyn, Aefric glanced down the table. He recognized every face, though he didn’t yet know every name offhand. Apart from obvious ones, such as Kentigern, Elkari, Ser Yrsa, Ser Beornric, and down at the foot of the table, Ser Calder.

  And, of course, the handful of young noblewomen present who’d come to him for the noble privilege. All of whom met his eye with smiles as he looked down the table.

  By tradition, no one came armed and armored to the duke’s dinner table. Even Ser Beornric had exchanged his full plate for a dark green quilted tunic.

  Technically, Aefric was breaking that tradition himself, by bringing the Brightstaff and letting it stand beside his seat.

  That had caused some … concern, when Aefric had first moved into Water’s End. His courtiers’ eyes had stared often at the Brightstaff, standing tall beside their duke’s chair.

  Worried, perhaps, that their duke’s coming armed to the table was a statement of some sort. Some might even have been concerned that he might cast spells during the main course.

  But they’d come by now to realize that the staff simply went wherever Aefric did, and most of them seemed to regard that as a harmless affectation. One that might even benefit them, if there were trouble.

  “Your grace has been absent much of late,” Ler Cynewyn said, once the salad of eggplant and mixed greens had been served.

  “Yes,” Zoleen picked up immediately, though her tone was more teasing. “And he took off so suddenly. I worried it was something I said.”

  “Really?” Ler Cynewyn said to Zoleen. “I wouldn’t have thought it was words that got you into trouble, dear.”

  “A great deal has been happening of late,” Aefric said, before Zoleen could reply to the ler. “And I hope to resolve as much of it as possible before their majesties arrive.”

  “There’ve been conflicting accounts about exactly where your grace took off to in such a hurry,” Ler Cynewyn said. “Might I ask what was so important?”

  “I don’t believe it’s a secret that those refugees who came through here recently were rescued from slavers,” Aefric said.

  “I’m sure those slavers felt naked before your grace’s spells,” Zoleen said innocently.

  “Yes, well,” Ler Cynewyn said, “few can match spells with our duke when he is armed with his namesake.” She turned to Aefric. “But surely that matter has been resolved. It is well known that the slavers were captured, their ship taken, and their former captives freed to pursue meaningful lives. All thanks to your grace.”

  “The matter of that ship has been resolved,” Aefric said. “But I cannot abide slavers, and wish to know where they were going, where they came from, and the like.”

  “But surely your grace has agents to handle such matters,” Ler Cynewyn said.

  Aefric smiled. “There are things my knights can handle for me. And there are things I must do myself.”

  “Is there any way I and mine can help?” Ler Cynewyn asked, tilting her head slightly, so that the gemstones in her braids clicked. “My husband Tegik travels a good deal for us on business. He knows people in many ports. I could summon him here to Water’s End by morning, if your grace wishes.”

  “That is a gracious offer,” Aefric said, “and you are kind to make it. That will not be necessary at this time, but I shall keep your husband in mind, as I plan the next stages of the investigation.”

  From there, with the cream of celery and mushroom soup course, the conversation moved to lesser matters. By a decree going back over a hundred and fifty years, talk of business was forbidden at the duke’s dinner table.

  Aefric and Ler Cynewyn had come close to violating that, with the talk of slavers, but as it involved news, and not truly business, Aefric felt it was all right.

  Throughout dinner, Ler Cynewyn spoke of her lands, her grain crops (in general terms), the three noble children she was fostering for lers around Water’s End, and the news of her own children who were being fostered down around Behal.

  Zoleen spoke of Merrek, of the Summer’s Eve Ball a few aetts back, and how she had helped test and train a number of horses for her sister this year.

  In all, the conversation was good, and the food was even better. The main course was a mixture of grilled fillets of three different kinds of lake fish. On their own, each was tasty, but combined together with the right spices, they created a blend of sweet and savory that enticed the tongue.

  Aefric was unfamiliar with the sliced, braised root vegetables served with the fish, but apparently they were grown in the shallows of certain parts of the lake. They were spiced with saffron, because apparently they had little flavor of their own, but were eaten for their texture.

  They were crisp on the initial bite, but then airy in a way that felt like popping a soap bubble of flavor.

  Over dessert, a rhubarb pie served with fresh cream, Zoleen found an excuse to lean closer and ask in a soft voice, “May I come to your chambers tonight, your grace?”

  “I would like that very much,” Aefric said with a smile.

  But if Aefric had been considering inviting her up for a drink straight after dinner, his plans were dashed when Ser Wardius came up and whispered in his ear.

  “Your grace’s ducal wizard has returned, and awaits your grace in the meeting room of his apartments.”

  That was that, then. Back to business.

  After dinner, Aefric had his guards escort him back to his apartments, along with Ser Beornric, through the servants’ backway.

  While business topics were not allowed at the public ducal dinner table, once dinner was over, that rule no longer applied. Aefric had learned early that if he didn’t want to catch an earful of supplications and requests, he was best off beating a swift, and concealed, retreat after dessert.

  Tonight, he even had an excuse. Which appeared to frustrate Ler Cynewyn, who clearly had something she wanted to talk about.

  Well, he’d hear about it soon enough. If not from her directly, then from either Kentigern or Ser Calder, whoever she spoke with first.

  In the meantime, Aefric and Ser Beornric returned to the round, blackwood table of the ducal meeting room, where Karbin was not alone in waiting for them. Ser Yrsa was there too.

  Aefric frowned at her, after the greetings.

  “You were at dinner with us,” Aefric said to her. “I saw you. Ten places down the table from me, on the left-hand side.”