More concerning was the presence of soldiers from Goldenfall and Riverbreak, patrolling the Kingsroad as well. Aefric could only hope that they were there to deter bandits, and not because problems were brewing between his vassals.

  The last thing he needed was to have his vassals start fighting one another.

  Aefric had lunch purchased from vendors on both sides of the road, so he couldn’t be seen as playing favorites. Lunch, in this case, was roast chicken with rosemary, along with honeyed oat bread and fresh, roasted tara.

  The meal was good, but Aefric couldn’t help thinking about how Dajen had been right about one thing. Aefric had gotten used to excellent fare from his chefs at Water’s End and Behal. If he ever tried to return to adventuring, the hardest part would be eating his own cooking once more.

  The afternoon heat was just shy of scalding. Even the dusty air of the road felt warm in Aefric’s nostrils. There was a bit of a breeze, but it was gentle here, and coming from behind them. Not much good, for cooling the day.

  How much worse must that heat have been for his guards, in their armor.

  Couldn’t be helped, though. If they were to make Tafarac before twilight, they had to push a bit. Shorter rests, and too much heat.

  But the heat was the worst enemy they faced that day, and they made Tafarac just as dusk began to rise.

  Tafarac sat only a short ride south of the Kingsroad. It wasn’t the baronial seat of Felspark. That was Ruunkeep. Farther south, near the junction of the Tainfyr and Fyrsa Rivers.

  Tafarac, though, was built around a secondary baronial castle, and both town and castle were big enough and sturdy enough to have come through the wars mostly intact.

  The town was built in three ascending layers, each with its own wall. Wooden, for the newest and lowest part of Tafarac. Stone for the raised, older part of town, and more stone for the wall surrounding the highest part, the hexagonal castle itself.

  Aefric’s party was met at the wooden gate by Baroness Blaewyn Ol’Felruun herself, and her brother, Ler Ordnoth Ol’Felruun.

  Oh, they also had a party of a dozen soldiers in livery emblazoned with the Felspark sigil — three white stars, falling to the sinister, on a background of goldenrod — but Aefric was more interested in the fact that the baroness and her brother had come themselves.

  Very different, from the last time Aefric had arrived at Tafarac. That time, Ler Ordnoth had met them on the road, but Baroness Blaewyn had waited on her baronial throne, diadem in place, and challenged Aefric on every front.

  It seemed she’d come to appreciate her duke since then.

  Today the baroness wore riding leathers of her own and sat a white stallion. No diadem today. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was bound behind her with goldenrod ribbons. On her bright red silk shirt, a gold necklace featured three diamonds.

  Her brother wore a white shirt that practically frothed with lace, bound by a cloth-of-gold sash belt over gray hose.

  Both of them wore knee-high boots of leather, but while hers looked as though they’d seen several hunts, his looked as though the soles had never touched dirt.

  Ler Ordnoth wore a slender rapier and dueling dagger. The baroness, herself, was unarmed.

  “Your grace,” Baroness Blaewyn called out with a smile so big it seemed to strip her of the five years she had on Aefric. She slid down from her horse to give him a proper bow. “It is with great pleasure that I welcome you back to Felspark.”

  Aefric stepped forward and kissed her offered hand. He smiled. “Thank you, your lordship. It’s good to be here.”

  “Much as I might wish to exchange pleasantries here and now,” Baroness Blaewyn said, “I’m sure your grace and his company are tired and hungry.”

  “They are,” Aefric said, “as am I. About my soldiers…”

  “They are as welcome here as my own, your grace,” the baroness said with a quirked smile. “Only foreign soldiers are not allowed within my walls.”

  Aefric chuckled. She’d argued against hosting his soldiers last time, when he was newly made duke. Apparently she’d come to appreciate him more than he’d thought.

  They both remounted, and she began to lead the way.

  “With permission, your grace,” the baroness said, riding beside him, “I would like to tell of the good done by the priest of the Green Lord your grace sent us.”

  “Please,” Aefric said, beginning to understand her apparently complete change of heart from the woman who’d so challenged him this past spring.

  Of course, back then, her lands had been so devastated by the wars that they might not have produced enough food to see her people through the winter.

  Though no one was better for healing land than a priest of the Green Lord, surely his work here was not yet finished…

  “Please do,” Aefric said, eagerly, “I’d like to hear all about it.”

  The baroness arranged a feast for them that night, with all of her lers, knights, and other courtiers present. Even Aefric’s soldiers were feasted, albeit in a separate hall, with her own soldiers.

  Aefric’s feast took place in the main hall of the castle, just inside the main doors. A squared room in a hexagonal castle. The main hall here had seemed large, the first time Aefric came though, but after Water’s End, it seemed tiny. Even though it had to have been sixty feet to a side.

  The floors were stone, and recently swept. The walls had been covered in special tapestries for the feast. Ones that depicted feasting and dancing and drinking.

  Very different from its usual tapestries of Ol’Felruun hunting scenes, and the Ol’Felruun family tree.

  Aefric and his knights sat with the baroness and the most prominent of her lers at a table raised on a dais in the center of the hall. The other diners ate at tables that were arrayed around the dais like the spokes of a wheel.

  After the salads and the soup, they were served a tender, roast venison, with a selection of root vegetables from the first crop of the season — thanks to that priest of the Green Lord — and for dessert a delicious three berry pie.

  A dance followed the feast, which seemed like overkill. He was only to be here for a single night. He and his were already weary from the long day’s travel.

  But he could not refuse the dance. That might have insulted the baroness and her court, when she was clearly trying to make up for her rudeness that past spring.

  Sixteen musicians, with drums and strings and flutes accompanied a trio of kindaren singers, who worked a kind of magic of their own, with their sweet harmonies.

  They seemed to banish fatigue, and encourage dancing.

  It wasn’t actual magic though. Aefric checked, by reflex. No, it was just their talent, as singers, and the way they worked with their band.

  Aefric had not brought clothes for such an occasion, of course. But that didn’t matter. Apparently, sometime in the last several aetts, the baroness had commissioned a small wardrobe for him, to be kept on site, should he need it during a visit.

  So instead of his riding clothes, he was provided a soft gray shirt that had so much lace at the cuffs and collar that Aefric felt as though his every movement rustled. A cloth-of-silver sash belt, over pale blue leggings, and soft leather shoes that felt almost as though Aefric were getting a foot rub with every step he took.

  Because the fashion in Felspark allowed weapons at a dance — rapiers, for most — Aefric wore the wand Garram at his hip. And, of course, he carried the Brightstaff, which bobbed around behind him on the dance floor when he danced.

  And oh, did he dance. It seemed that every noblewoman in Felspark past the age of majority wanted to dance with her duke at least once. More than once, if allowed.

  Even the baroness herself took a turn around the dance floor with Aefric, and she moved with impressive grace.

  Aefric did more dancing that night than perhaps all his nights before it.

  Well, certainly more than he’d ever done before in Qorunn. He did remember, though, the way he, as Keifer, used to go dancing with Andi at least once a week. (Which was like an aett that lasted only seven days.)

  This was back when they were in college, and for a while after graduation.

  Andi did love to dance, so. Enough that dancing again gave him a touch of heartache for the woman who had died in an accident, and shattered his life a world away.

  Perhaps the most impressive element to the feast was that no one brought up business. Not the baroness herself — even though she likely needed something from her duke — and not any of the guests.

  That was downright strange. In Aefric’s time as duke, he’d yet to see lers gather without finding some pretext to at least hint at things they needed from their duke. A business connection, money, seed, soldiers for one thing or another, aid with construction, something.

  And yet, no one said a thing. Not during the feast. Not during the dancing. It was as though all such topics had been forbidden for the night.

  Instead they all, women and men alike, either tried to impress Aefric with stories of their deeds or details of their own lands, crops, or what have you. Or they plied Aefric for stories of the Battles of Deepwater and Frozen Ridge, or for tales from his adventuring days.

  Aefric indulged them. Listened to their stories, and told his own. Laughed and joked with them as well.

  He avoided recent topics, of course, but had more than enough tales from his travels to satisfy their curiosities.

  Overall, it was quite a pleasant party, if unexpected.

  Towards the end of the evening, as he finished his second dance with the baroness, she was slow to release his hand.

  “Must your grace leave us in the morning?” she asked. “I could arrange a hunt, or some jousting. I would very much like to host your grace properly.”

  “I am sorry,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze, which she returned, but didn’t let go. “But I am meeting their majesties on the road.”

  “Even so,” she said. “Would not Tafarac be the finest place to do so? It’s older than Norrtarr, and more impressive, if I say so myself.”

  “I’d prefer not to compare the holdings of my vassals,” Aefric said. “But in any event, I’d rather meet their majesties on the road itself.”

  She gave a slight frown, and Aefric could tell she was wondering why he wanted speed now, even though he was too late to meet King Colm at Kerrik.

  “Is there anything I and mine might help with, your grace?” she asked carefully. And quietly, Aefric noticed. “I know my soldiers and knights would be as happy to ride to your aid as I would myself.”

  “And I am grateful for it. But there is no need for such,” Aefric said softly. “I would have preferred to meet their majesties at Kerrik, true, but business prevented it. Now I would at least meet them on the road before they’re hosted by one of my vassals.”

  Understanding spread across her face.

  “Have no fear, your grace,” she said, so softly now he could only just hear her over the music and conversation going on in the hall around them. “I’ve no doubt that Herewyn will speak as well of you as I will, should his majesty ask.”

  “I thank you for that too,” Aefric said, matching her volume. “Nevertheless, I think I’ll make a better impression, meeting them on the road.”

  “As your grace desires, then,” she said, and pressed her forehead to the back of his hand, before finally releasing his hand. “No formal breakfast in the morning. I’ll have food brought to your rooms, and your horses readied for an early start.”

  “Thank you, your lordship,” Aefric said.

  “I do have one request, if I may, your grace.”

  “What would you have of me?” Aefric asked.

  “I know your grace’s morning comes early. But if your grace would be so kind, choose one of my ladies for the noble privilege tonight.”

  She glanced around the room, and following her gaze Aefric noticed that at least a dozen women were watching their conversation avidly.

  “They all think I intend to claim the noble privilege for myself, which, assuming your grace approved, would be my right as hostess.” Baroness Blaewyn gave Aefric a slow look up and down with a small smile. “I confess, I’m tempted. Your grace is quite pleasing to look upon, and I’m curious to see more of that scar I spot now and then beneath his collar.”

  She shook her head. “But I think letting one of the ladies of my court have that pleasure in my place would be wise politically.”

  Aefric snorted a soft laugh. “Truly?”

  “Truly,” she said with a nod. “That priest you sent us has done wonders, praise Halstaffur. But I will still have to make a few hard decisions as winter approaches. Some of my lers will benefit, others … will not. This feast, and another I have planned for the fall, will help maintain good relations and make those decisions easier.”

  “And my going to one of them for the noble privilege…”

  “When I could claim it for myself?” the baroness said. “Oh, they will remember that as well.” She chuckled and patted Aefric on the shoulder. “No pressure, your grace. I ask only that your grace satisfy the goodwill of my lers. Assuming your grace is willing.”

  Aefric chuckled. “Well, I must admit, this was not the sort of request I expected, but I think I can accommodate you.”

  He raised a warning finger quickly.

  “I’m not going to let you choose for me.”

  “Of course not, your grace. I would never dream of doing so.”

  “With that in mind,” he said, “are there any you’d ask me to avoid? If the noble privilege is truly a privilege in this instance, I might as well not be seen to reward someone who’s been giving your lordship problems.”

  “Your grace is most kind,” she said with a small bow. She lowered her voice a little further, and nodded toward a small, conversing crowd. “The one in the complicated, low-cut gown of red chiffon. That’s Ler Sineas. She’s been a thorn in my boot all year.”

  She nodded to another group. “The blonde woman, holding the diamond-studded faux wand. That’s Martret. She’s the rumormongering wife of Ler Cormananth. Together they’ve been sowing dissent among the lers about my recovery plan.”

  “Then I shall choose neither of them,” Aefric said with a smile.

  By noon the next day, Aefric and his company were making good time east along the Kingsroad toward Norra.

  Recovery efforts were visible on both sides of the road. They’d even passed one new town on the Goldenfall side of the road.

  Well, properly speaking, they’d passed what would be a town by sometime this coming autumn. Hopefully before the rains came. Right now, it was a town in progress. Houses and buildings were being built in something like an organized process, and over a third of them were finished.

  It looked as though they were using recovered stone from the remains of towns destroyed in the wars, along with new-cut wood.

  Among the finished buildings nearest the road was an inn, where Aefric had sent soldiers to purchase lunch. Strips of baked turkey, with a wheel of sharp cheese to share, and several loaves of a dark rye bread. Along with a cask of a good, crisp day beer.

  It might have been Aefric’s imagination, but the day seemed cooler than yesterday. If only just barely. And the fields along the sides of the roads were in much better shape than the last time Aefric came through.

  The hot summer hadn’t been kind to those fields, but they still held onto some of their green, and their smells were much more what he was used to, riding past farms and pastures.

  They were making good time, and once they mounted up and started riding again after lunch — with Aefric and Ser Beornric riding in the center of a circle of his knights, half the soldiers in front and half in the rear — Ser Beornric finally brought up the subject he’d clearly been holding onto all morning.

  “That wasn’t the baroness I chased out of your room this morning.”

  “I’m not sure ‘chased’ is a fair descriptor,” Aefric said. “She was already dressed, and kissing me goodbye when you knocked. But you’re right. She wasn’t the baroness.”

  Their horses clopped along the road. Ser Arras sniggered into her hand, pretending to cough.

  “Oh,” Aefric asked. “Did you want to know who she was?”

  “Your grace spends one night in Felspark,” Ser Beornric said, “and chooses a woman other than the baroness for the noble privilege? How can I be anything but curious?”

  “It’s hardly mandatory that his grace sleep with the baroness,” Ser Temat said. “Or that the baroness sleep with him, for that matter.”

  “Did the baroness ask, and get refused?” Ser Vria asked.

  “That’s not what I heard,” Ser Wardius said. “The way I heard it, they were … in close conversation after a dance—”

  “I can confirm that,” Ser Arras said. “I was watching.”

  “—but that she asked his grace to choose another.”

  “Odd, that,” Ser Micham said with a frown. “With leaba coming back into fashion, I would have thought the baroness might’ve steered his grace that direction. Saves possible political complications.”

  “Leaba was never a popular practice in Felspark,” Ser Arras said. “And I suspect political complications were the point. Did you see who his grace chose?”

  “Obviously not,” Ser Beornric said, talking over the other knights. “And I would be very curious to know.”

  “Ler Idrina Ol’Teyruun,” Aefric said.

  “Lovely girl,” Ser Vria said. “Such a pretty face, with those cheekbones and chin. Soft brown eyes that looked almost shy. And all that long blonde hair. Like a halo of sun.”

  “Young for a ler, too,” Ser Temat said. “Only a handful of years past her majority. I’m not even sure she’s as old as our duke.”

  “She inherited early, unfortunately,” Ser Arras said. “Her parents and older brother were killed in the wars. Her younger brother is training as a page in Castle Ruunkeep.”

  Aefric raised his eyebrows at her.