“Oh, she’s good,” Ser Arras said softly, admiration in her hazel eyes. “Just the right tones. Just the right timing.”

  “Duchess Arinda taught her personally,” Ser Micham said, toying with the half-ear he’d lost to a borog’s spear during the wars. “Back when she was a page.”

  “One moment,” the gatekeeper called. And then another voice replaced his.

  A male voice that affected a world-weary tone.

  “Ah, Ser Vria is it?”

  “I am,” she answered. “And beside me stands Ser Temat. With whom am I now speaking?”

  “I am Ler Tanaron Ol’Yorett. And while his excellency would normally be most pleased by the … sudden and unexpected arrival of his grace, I’m afraid that admittance tonight is not a possibility.”

  “You dare refuse your overlord?”

  “Such an accusation is most unwarranted,” Ler Tanaron said. “It isn’t a matter of refusal, my good knight, but a matter of practicality. His excellency’s castle is full to bursting with royal guests. There’s simply no room for his grace, to say nothing of more knights.”

  “This is unacceptable,” Ser Vria spat.

  “Yes, I know,” the ler said. “But what can be done? At least half of their majesties’ entourage will be camping in the castle courtyard as it is. There’s hardly enough room to walk about. Admitting another guest, even one as … important as his grace, is simply not an option for us.”

  Within the carriage, the yellow diamond atop the Brightstaff in Aefric’s hand began to glow.

  Aefric realized then that his grip on the staff had gotten white-knuckled, and that he could feel anger roil in his stomach, and tense his arms and shoulders.

  “Your grace,” Ser Beornric said urgently. “You mustn’t. Not with their majesties present.”

  “I know,” he said through gritted teeth, while outside Ser Vria continued arguing with Ler Tanaron. “Ferrin’s probably trying to get me to do something violent, flashy and magical. Probably even … warned … their majesties…”

  “Your grace,” Ser Beornric said in a warning tone. He raised his hands as though ready to grab Aefric, if Aefric tried anything.

  But Aefric smiled. Started laughing, low and apparently menacingly enough to disturb his knights. They all gave him concerned looks.

  But the diamond atop the Brightstaff dimmed.

  “I know what to do,” he said.

  “Your grace,” Ser Beornric said again. If anything, he sounded even more cautious.

  “Have no fear, Beornric,” Aefric said. “I won’t do anything violent.”

  As a gesture of trust, Ser Beornric sat back. But he ran his fingers over his bushy salt-and-pepper mustaches nervously.

  With but a few words and a quick pulse of power, Aefric cast a spell that would carry his next words to the ears of the king.

  “Your majesty. I apologize for not meeting your party at Kerrik. But apparently my count reached you first. I would join you at Forest’s Edge, but it seems my recalcitrant vassal intends to refuse me entrance. I shall find a place to camp and meet your majesty in the morning.”

  With that, Aefric felt a sense of closure, as the spell completed and those words were whisked through the aether to the ears of King Colm.

  Aefric smiled at Ser Beornric. “Give Ser Vria another minute or two to argue, then call her and Ser Temat back over.”

  “We’re going to camp, instead?” Ser Beornric asked dubiously.

  “I doubt that a great deal,” Aefric said, smiling even wider.

  It was never necessary to call Sers Vria and Temat back over to the carriage. Ser Vria had hardly exchanged another dozen arguments with Ler Tanaron before Aefric heard the creaking and grinding of something being raised or lowered.

  Raised, if it was a portcullis. Lowered, if a drawbridge.

  Sers Vria and Temat mounted the seats atop the carriage that would normally have been used by the driver, and the carriage began to roll.

  No bridge to roll over, so it must have been a portcullis being raised. They rolled through an arched, torchlit passage of pale granite and into a courtyard by twilight.

  Sers Vria and Temat leapt down from their perch, and opened the doors of the carriage.

  Aefric allowed the knights of his personal guard to precede him out, gathering their baggage from the top of the carriage before forming up on the right-hand side.

  The left-hand door was closed as the last of them left through it to join the formation.

  Ser Beornric exited next, through the open right-hand door, and stood to one side. He called out in a ringing voice, “His grace, Ser Aefric Brightstaff, Duke of Deepwater, Baron of Netar, and Hero of the Battles of Deepwater and Frozen Ridge.”

  Thus announced, Aefric stepped out, whispering the word, “Arcoa,” as his boot touched the dirt of the courtyard.

  There was a slight sucking sound in the air as the carriage resumed its toy form once more, which Aefric called to his hand with a gesture, and tucked into the backpack which waited at his feet.

  The torchlit courtyard was large enough to host a decent tourney, though tonight it was full of tents and pavilions. So that much had been true, at least.

  Surrounding the courtyard on three sides was a reasonably tall castle wall, with a series of towers spaced along it, and crenellations facing outward.

  On the fourth side of the courtyard, directly ahead of Aefric, was the keep itself. Two wide stories of pale stone, with small towers at the corners, and a half-size third story in the center.

  The tents and pavilions were abuzz with activity, but closer to Aefric — just on the other side of his wedge of knights — were about three dozen Motte soldiers. All in chainmail, all with spears. And all with those spears held ready, albeit not actively menacing.

  “Your grace,” a familiar voice called down from the wall. “Their majesties shall be out to greet you shortly.”

  It was a young woman’s voice. And Aefric knew that voice, but had not heard it for some time…

  He looked up into the smiling green eyes of a woman who looked very much like Duchess Herewyn must have, when she was no more than a summer past the age of majority.

  Her cousin, Sighild Ol’Masarkor.

  Aefric had met Sighild on the day he was made duke. She had been attending on Countess Faenella Darkwalker at the time. He then got to know her a little as Faenella and Aefric had ridden back into Deepwater together.

  But Aefric hadn’t seen Sighild since he briefly visited Faenella’s county, Fyretti, toward the end of spring.

  “Sighild,” he said. “I didn’t know you’d be here. How lovely to see you.”

  She suddenly seemed very shy, but was saved from replying when a commanding voice boomed across the courtyard.

  “Your grace! Good of you to join us.”

  The crowd over by the pavilions parted, and King Colm Stronghand approached. The rich black of the king’s hair and mustache might have touches of gray, and his ruggedly handsome features might show a few lines when he smiled, as he did now, but his powerful frame still moved like a jungle cat as he crossed the courtyard.

  His majesty was dressed in a velvet doublet of rich, quilted purple, over a briskly white tunic, belted with a sash of cloth-of-gold, over dark leggings.

  Keeping pace with the king came Queen Eppida, also smiling. The pace kept her long, golden curls bouncing on her shoulders. Her silk gown matched the purple of the king’s doublet, and was embroidered in golden thread at the cuffs, along the bodice, and forming the Armyrian royal oak tree on the skirts.

  And, of course, she wore that golden torc at her neck. There was something familiar about the magic of that torc, but Aefric had never taken the time to investigate it.

  Queen Eppida was King Colm’s second wife, and much younger than the king. In fact, she was about the same age as the royal twins, Prince Killian and Princess Maev.

  King Colm had not yet lost all of his battlefield tan from the wars — which made Aefric wonder if the king made some effort to maintain it — but Queen Eppida was fashionably pale.

  In the wake of their majesties followed a variety of courtiers and knights, some of the latter of whom were rushing to get out ahead of their monarchs, for their protection.

  Three of those knights stood out. The breastplates of their full plate had been etched with the golden oak tree of Armyr, marking them as Knights of the Crown. A dozen knights, said to be the finest in all Armyr, who were tasked with protecting the king and queen.

  The Motte soldiers in front of Aefric looked irritated, but parted quickly for the oncoming royalty.

  Aefric’s knights parted smoothly, as though this were something they practiced.

  “Your majesties,” Aefric said, passing the Brightstaff to his left hand, taking a knee and offering his right to his liege.

  King Colm kissed Aefric’s hand. Rather than stand immediately, Aefric then offered his hand to the queen.

  She looked surprised by the offer, but pleased, and made a point of kissing Aefric’s hand before saying, “Please rise, my good duke.”

  “Good to see you getting some use out of my present,” King Colm said. “Do you travel by that carriage often then?”

  “I save it for special needs,” Aefric said. “We covered many miles by horse today, but to reach Forest’s Edge before full dark, I either needed to switch to the carriage, or risk killing a horse or two.”

  “A fine choice then,” Queen Eppida said. “Neither of us would see your grace kill horses on our account.”

  “Your majesty is most kind,” Aefric said with a small bow. “Our horses remain with the rest of my entourage, the soldiers of my personal guard, where they camp for the night before joining us tomorrow.”

  “So you did make a personal guard of those soldiers I gave you,” King Colm said, nodding approval. “You are pleased with their service?”

  “Most pleased,” Aefric said. “And the knight you sent to lead them, Ser Beornric Ol’Sandallas,” — Aefric paused so Ser Beornric could bow to their majesties — “has become one of my most trusted advisers.”

  “Wonderful,” Queen Eppida said. “While dear Beornric here prefers to be known for his skill at arms, he is of an old noble family. No doubt his guidance has been most useful.”

  “Most useful,” Aefric agreed, and while Ser Beornric tried to affect a straight face, Aefric could tell the knight was pleased.

  “And I must say, that was a wonderful spell you used to contact me, your grace,” King Colm said, smiling. “I would have sworn you were standing just to my left, speaking in a clear voice.”

  “Yes,” Queen Eppida said, arching an eyebrow. “Quite disconcerting, I can tell you, to have him facing me and speaking to your grace.”

  “Forgive me, your majesty,” Aefric said, “But that form of the spell did not allow for a response. I hadn’t expected that your majesty would be familiar enough with such magics to time his response correctly.”

  “I have no experience with such spells at all,” King Colm said, shaking his head. “I just assumed response was an option. So you didn’t hear me tell you that I’d see about this business of your camping outside?”

  “Forgive me, majesty,” Count Ferrin said, pushing past the courtiers to join the conversation.

  While Aefric considered Ler Ordnoth a fine example of a fop, the ler was still a student beside the master of foppery who was Count Ferrin.

  His long brown hair was streaked with dark blonde. His skin was even paler than the queen’s. The clothes adorning his slender form seemed to have more brocade and lace than base material, and their reds and yellows were … well, had Aefric been well-disposed toward Count Ferrin, he might have thought of them as eye-catching.

  As it was, he considered them garish. And that was without considering that Count Ferrin wore more gold and jewels than both the king and queen combined.

  The count, at least, was unarmed in the presence of the king and queen.

  “But as I said,” the count continued, “this is only my secondary castle. Hardly more than a hunting lodge. And with so many guests there’s simply nowhere to lodge his grace, let alone more knights.”

  “Nonsense,” King Colm said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Room could be found for his grace’s knights in our own pavilion. And as for his grace—”

  “I have a thought regarding his grace,” Queen Eppida cut in. Mischief danced in her eyes, which were the same sapphire color as her sisters’.

  “Yes, my dear?” King Colm asked, though from the smile in his smoke gray eyes, he already knew what she’d say.

  “I see a quite agreeable solution regarding his grace’s lodgings for the night,” she said with a small smile. “Assuming my little sister hasn’t stolen his grace’s heart so thoroughly that he has become immune to the charms of all other women?”

  The noble privilege with Queen Eppida herself? The idea had been suggested, back when Ser Grey first explained the practice to Aefric.

  But he never expected it to actually happen…

  “I can assure your majesty,” Ser Beornric said quietly, “that his grace enjoyed the noble privilege just last night, with Ler Idrina Ol’Teyruun of Felspark.”

  “Marvelous,” Queen Eppida said. “Then unless your grace has any objections to me, I believe the matter of his lodging tonight is settled.”

  “But, your majesty,” Count Ferrin objected. “I believe I mentioned that I intend to have both your majesties offered leaba tonight.”

  “And I look forward to it,” King Colm said. “It’s been ages since anyone offered me leaba. But I think it’s clear that my queen has other plans for the evening, assuming his grace is willing.”

  Aefric knew he was free to accept or refuse, but he still found himself feeling a little cornered…

  He shook that feeling away. The queen was undeniably beautiful, and that she wanted to spend the night with him was likely one of the highest compliments he might ever receive.

  “More than willing, your majesty,” Aefric said with a smile and a bow. “I can think of nothing I would enjoy more.”

  “Then it’s settled,” King Colm said, clapping his hands together, then rubbing them. “And now, I think our good count here said something about dinner?”

  Count Ferrin almost missed his cue. He was too busy trying to set Aefric on fire with his glare. But Aefric had been glared at by far better men and women than the count, and met that glare with nothing more than mild amusement.

  It took one of his courtiers clearing her throat to prompt Count Ferrin into saying, “Of course, your majesty. Dinner should be ready even now.”

  The great hall at Forest’s Edge was about the same size as the great hall in the castle at Tafarac, in Felspark, which Aefric found an odd coincidence.

  Tafarac’s castle was far older than this one, so likely the same builder didn’t design both. Was it simply that secondary castles were expected to have squared great halls that measured some sixty feet to a side?

  If so, Behal was an exception. Of course, Behal might’ve been the original ducal seat of Deepwater. At least, if there were any truth at all behind that song Aefric had heard about the dragon that had come out of Lake Deepwater, and the man named Behal who had placated the dragon with songs.

  The walls of Forest Edge’s great hall were covered in tapestries that featured battle scenes and hunts, no doubt highlighting famous deeds by past counts and countesses of Motte.

  Aefric had his troubles with Count Ferrin, certainly, but clearly the Ol’Nylla family had held these lands for a long time.

  The stone floors of the great hall were entirely covered in rugs of woven rushes, but there’d already been so much movement in the hall that when Aefric entered, they weren’t all lying flat anymore.

  The hall was packed with rectangular tables, with benches for seats. A dozen or so of the tables at the far end of the hall from its tall, arched double doors had … passable white linen tablecloths. But most of those tables lacked both tablecloths and placemats.

  And some of the uncovered tables at the back had visible gouges and scratches on their pale wood.

  The three wheel-shaped chandeliers that hung down from the ceiling didn’t cast enough light for all the tables, so tables closer to the edges also had candelabras.

  It was clear that Count Ferrin had put this “feast” together quickly. And that he’d saved his best of everything for the royal table.

  The royal table sat atop a dais at the far end of the hall. Also rectangular, but it had individual chairs with seating for six, all along one side, so that the diners would be facing the room.

  The table, and the chairs, were covered in cloth-of-gold. More gold for the candelabras, plates, goblets and utensils.

  No space was made for Ser Beornric at the royal table, but Aefric raised no objection. With only six seats available, Aefric was already bumping one diner off that table, and bumping a second, well, would have been difficult.

  Obviously their majesties, the count, and Aefric had to be there. Which left two remaining chairs. One of them going to Ser Beatritz, Captain of the Knights of the Crown, and the other to Karna Duisdottir, Count Ferrin’s fiancée.

  Unseating either of those two would have been petty.

  As it was, the queen herself rearranged the diners before they took their seats. The king and queen remained in the place of honor in the center of the table.

  Originally, the count would have sat between the king and … whoever Aefric replaced. Likely an important counselor of the count’s. Karna Duisdottir would have sat between the queen and Ser Beatritz.

  After the queen’s rearrangement, Aefric sat between the king and Ser Beatritz, and Count Ferrin sat between the queen and Karna Duisdottir.

  The count’s fiancée was taller than he was, though she was about as slender. She had the palest blonde hair Aefric had ever seen on a human, styled into ringlets. She wore a red, taffeta gown, that showed yellow silk beneath the slashes of its sleeves and skirts.

  She wore a necklace of amber, and a trio of golden bracelets on each delicate wrist.