Aefric knew that spell well enough that he didn’t need words. But then a wicked idea occurred to him.

  He got out of bed and came around to stand behind her. Placed his hands on her head, threading his fingers into her soft, golden curls. She made a small, interrogative sound, but he said, “Shhh.”

  She accepted that, and stilled.

  Instead of using the spell to clean her all at once, as he would normally have done, he ran his hands all over her body, cleaning in his wake.

  When he finished, he was standing in front of her. Her lips were parted, her breaths heavy, and her eyes got that wild, hungry look again.

  “Was that … how you always cast that spell?”

  “No,” Aefric said playfully. “Just the most fun way to do it. I could have cast it without getting out of bed.”

  “Mean,” she said, shaking a finger at him. “Very mean. Starting something you don’t have time to finish.”

  “Perhaps I could—”

  The knock came again.

  Eppida blew out a breath and shook herself.

  “Another time, Aefric.” She looked as though she considered coming in for one last kiss, then changed her mind. Shook her head. “In fact, make that ‘another time, your grace.’ The hour has come for you to be on your way, and us to resume our proper roles.”

  “Of course, your majesty. At once.”

  Aefric cleaned himself with the same spell — albeit much faster — then realized he’d brought his backpack, but nothing else of his luggage.

  He had no clean clothes to change into. For that matter, her majesty had torn the seams of his tunic and leathers in her haste the prior evening.

  So Aefric grimaced, cleaned and repaired his clothes with magic, and re-donned his midnight blue silk tunic and riding leathers from the day before.

  “I had a delightful time, your majesty,” Aefric said.

  “The pleasure was mine, your grace,” she said, giving him a smile. “But if your grace does not get moving, we shall both irritate his majesty with our tardiness.”

  Aefric accepted that as a formal dismissal, took up his pack and the Brightstaff, and slipped out the door.

  The same two knights stood guard. The one gave him back the wand Garram in its sheath. Aefric replaced it on his belt.

  “I believe a page awaits your grace at the end of the hall,” her partner said, pointing. “She wanted to wait closer, but we don’t allow anyone to linger outside the rooms of their majesties.”

  “Good policy,” Aefric said with a nod, then allowed the page to lead him to breakfast. Which turned out not to be downstairs at all.

  Breakfast was served atop the second floor of the castle. Apparently Count Ferrin used it as a giant balcony sometimes.

  At the door, the page took Aefric’s pack, with the promise to deliver it downstairs to his knights.

  Old habits almost made Aefric refuse. But every one of his advisers had made clear over and over again — he had to let the servants do their jobs.

  Really, he shouldn’t have even used magic to clean and repair his clothes. And he wouldn’t. Had he had anything else available.

  So Aefric released his pack to the page, and stepped out into the yet-cool early morning sunlight.

  He immediately spotted the breakfast table. A round table surrounded by six chairs. Again the cloth-of-gold tablecloth and chair coverings, as well as gold for the plates and the rest.

  The table was empty of food as yet — though three servants in Motte livery stood by, waiting — and the four of the other diners stood some ten paces away across the grayish stone.

  King Colm and Ser Beatritz were in conversation with Count Ferrin and his fiancée, Karna Duisdottir, out near the western ledge, where they could overlook the tents and pavilions in the courtyard below.

  King Colm wore riding leathers of forest green, trimmed with gold, a pale brown quilted tunic embroidered with gold thread, and a green cloak that featured the Armyr oak tree, also embroidered in gold thread.

  Ser Beatritz wore a dark brown tunic over her riding leathers, but on top of it she wore the Armyr tabard.

  Count Ferrin wore so much lace and brocade, Aefric wasn’t sure he could spot any tunic underneath it all. Either way, the color was sky blue, over black hose. While Karna Duisdottir wore a complex taffeta gown of sky blue, replete with ruffles and frills. Her so-pale blonde hair was bound up in a knot atop her head. She wore that amber necklace again, but only one gold bracelet on each arm that morning.

  At the sound of Aefric’s boots on the stone of the roof, Ser Beatritz turned, then said something to his majesty, who nodded and turned to look at Aefric.

  “Your grace,” King Colm said with a smile. “Walk with me.”

  Aefric joined the king in walking away from the others, towards the southern edge, which would give a good view of Kerrik Forest, instead of the marshes north of the keep.

  Ser Beatritz shifted to discourage either of Count Ferrin or Karna Duisdottir from trying to follow.

  “Leaba is a wonderful practice,” King Colm said with another smile, as Aefric fell into step beside him. “I’m glad to see it coming back. I understand you’ve been instrumental in that.”

  “Well, to be fair,” Aefric said, “I first encountered it when her lordship, Baroness Herewyn, allowed one of her serving girls to offer me leaba in Norra. Though I have continued the practice since then.”

  “Norra never stopped offering leaba, even though others let the practice fade,” King Colm said. “It’s your use of it that has brought it back into fashion.”

  He pointed at Kerrik Forest with one hand, while with the other he slipped Aefric a small jar.

  “An excellent remedy for scratches,” King Colm said quietly. “I suggest you use it before we leave this morning. You don’t want to ride without treating what I suspect Eppida has left on your back and haunches.”

  Aefric accepted the jar and slipped it inside his tunic. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything, but King Colm winked at him.

  “You were right,” King Colm said then. “That Karna is the sister of a Ser Tohr Duisson. I believe that’s the knight you mentioned last night?”

  Aefric nodded. “Does she know we asked?”

  King Colm snorted. “Don’t ask that around Ser Beatritz or she might take it as a slight worthy of a challenge.”

  Aefric chuckled.

  “Your grace!” Eppida’s voice, from behind them. He turned to see that she too wore riding leathers of forest green and brown, with a riding cloak that matched the king’s. And, of course, that golden torc resting on her collarbone. “I must insist you return my husband at once. I’m famished, and we can’t eat without him.”

  With the third, half-story of the keep between the breakfast table and the rising sun, by all rights, breakfast should have been pleasant.

  The air yet carried a ghost of its evening chill, just brisk enough to encourage waking up, and the slight breeze came from the south, across the forest. A good, woodsy smell, to accompany the traditional Armyrian breakfast of sliced fruits and meats, served with honeyed oat bread and spring water.

  The problem, of course, was the count.

  During breakfast, Count Ferrin took every conversational opportunity to find some way to ask their majesties to stay in Motte a little longer.

  King Colm asked something about Kerrik Forest? Count Ferrin bragged about the hunting and offered to take them.

  Queen Eppida asked about rebuilding efforts? Count Ferrin offered to give their majesties a tour of the towns he’d been rebuilding, despite a “distinct lack of support from his liege.”

  At that line, Aefric finally felt compelled to say something.

  “And yet,” he said, “I’m the one who reduced your military costs by increasing my own patrols through Kerrik Forest. And I’ve kept your miners employed in the Threepeaks.”

  Count Ferrin turned on Aefric then, eyes blazing. Opened his mouth, probably to complain about those mines. Likely something ill-advised, given that Motte had never had any right to claim them in the first place, and that Aefric had only reasserted proper ducal claim.

  Before Count Ferrin could speak though, Aefric calmly finished his thought.

  “No, your excellency’s problems come not from me, but from seeking outside support against me, before I was even created duke.”

  Karna Duisdottir’s sculpted eyebrows rose at that, as though honestly surprised.

  Count Ferrin, however, had a rejoinder ready.

  “I—”

  “Count Ferrin,” Queen Eppida said, with impressive steel in her voice. “His majesty and I have heard more than enough of your complaints about his grace. We are well aware of all the facts in these matters. And we feel that his grace has acted appropriately.”

  She leaned a little closer to him. “The topic is closed. Do not open it again.”

  Karna Duisdottir watched that exchange impassively. Aefric wondered how much of Count Ferrin’s anger was his own, and how much had been stoked by Malimfar, whispering in his ear.

  Through the rest of breakfast, Count Ferrin found another excuse or two to try to inveigle their majesties into staying longer, but King Colm made quite clear that the whole of his party was leaving that morning.

  When breakfast finally finished, Aefric asked Count Ferrin to linger with him on the roof, while the others went inside.

  As the others left, Count Ferrin glanced at the Brightstaff in Aefric’s hand. “Will I require a guard?”

  “Your excellency,” Aefric said with a sigh, “if I wanted you dead, you couldn’t stop me, and neither could your guards.”

  Count Ferrin gave a twisted frown. Narrowed his eyes. “If an ‘accident’ befell me, my brother would avenge me.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother,” Aefric said, trying for a softer tone. “Tell me about him.”

  Count Ferrin still looked and sounded suspicious as he said, “His name is Godric. He’s only just come of age, but already he excels with all the knightly weapons. And his puissance with bow, pike, and lance must be seen to be believed.”

  “Has he been knighted yet?”

  “Not yet,” Count Ferrin said, walking closer and keeping one hand near the hilt of his rapier. “I offered, but he wants to be knighted for a deed, not his bloodline.”

  “I can respect that choice.”

  “Meaning your grace thinks I insulted him.”

  “Not at all,” Aefric said. “Were he my brother, I would have offered too.”

  Count Ferrin nodded, slowly, then frowned. “There was no need for your grace to rush here. Their majesties were in no danger in my lands, much less my keep.”

  “It isn’t you or yours I questioned,” Aefric said, then smirked. “Not this time, at least.”

  “But your grace won’t tell me what occasioned his haste,” Count Ferrin said, plainly insulted. “Any more than his majesty or even Ser Beatritz will.”

  “Pressing information for his majesty’s ears. And if his majesty says it goes no further, far be it for me to disagree.”

  Count Ferrin grimaced and shook his head.

  “I have duties to tend to before their majesties depart. What is it your grace wishes of me?”

  There were a number of things Aefric would have liked to say. He would have liked to ask why the count moved against him before even meeting him. He would have liked to have made some kind of overture. Perhaps invited the count to Water’s End for a visit.

  Something to begin building better relations between them.

  But given what Aefric had to say, there might not be much point in any of those other things. Not here and now, anyway.

  Aefric drew in a deep breath.

  “The troubles between us, this past spring.”

  Count Ferrin nodded, his eyes narrowed again.

  “I know you were led to believe that Merrek supported you in … your actions. But I forget. Do you know the truth about that?”

  “What truth?” Count Ferrin said, exasperated. “That Merrek would have let me dangle? Yes, your grace. I figured that out once Duchess Ashling started sucking your … I mean, once Duchess Ashling started making overtures of friendship towards Deepwater.”

  He didn’t know. He had a Malimfari fiancée, and he didn’t know that Malimfar, not Merrek, had been behind his supposed support.

  And Aefric couldn’t tell him. Not now. Either Count Ferrin wouldn’t believe him, or he’d do something stupid, trying to prove his fiancée’s innocence.

  Either way, Karna Duisdottir would find out.

  But wait.

  Aefric had laid all these things bare to Princess Astrid. So Malimfar knew Aefric knew. Hells, they might’ve figured it out a season ago, when Armyr’s armies showed up ready to defend their southern border.

  But Aefric had just come riding to Forest’s Edge, at speed.

  If Aefric then warned Count Ferrin about Malimfar, and if Karna Duisdottir was involved in the plot against the king…

  No. Aefric couldn’t risk saying anything. Not now. Not until all this was finished.

  But he had to say something. Count Ferrin was losing his patience.

  “You do know then,” Aefric said, hating himself for playing into the deception. He sighed. “Good.”

  “I’m not a fool, your grace.”

  “Please let me finish,” Aefric said, and the “please” so surprised the count that he nodded without thinking.

  “I want you to know that I understand,” Aefric said. “You’re of an old noble family. The Fyrenns are an old noble family, and powerful. And here I come, just some jumped-up adventurer.”

  Count Ferrin nodded slowly, possibly trying to agree without insulting Aefric in the process.

  “Given that,” Aefric continued, “I can understand why you’d worry about how I’d handle running the duchy. Maybe even seek outside allies, to ensure your own safety, and that of your people.”

  Count Ferrin said nothing, but he looked pensive.

  “But let us be clear,” Aefric said, hardening his voice a little. “I do not in any way approve of what you did, and I believe the punishments I meted out were appropriate. Arguably even gentle.”

  Count Ferrin’s mouth hardened into a line.

  “But I want you to know that I understand,” Aefric said. “And I am willing to work towards our getting past … the events of this spring. For better or worse, I am your liege, and you are my vassal.”

  “What does your grace propose?” Count Ferrin asked. “What would be my part in this?”

  Aefric cocked an eyebrow. “Can your excellency truly think of nothing he might’ve done differently over the last day or so, if he wanted to prove himself a good and true vassal?”

  Count Ferrin quirked a grin. Chuckled a little. “I suppose I could think of a few things.”

  “Start there, then,” Aefric said. “Perhaps I’ll come for a visit in the fall, and we can put a few of those ideas to the test.”

  “Of course, your grace,” Count Ferrin said with a slight bow that Aefric didn’t believe was sincere.

  Aefric cleared his throat.

  Count Ferrin’s narrow nostrils flared in a sigh. He took his hand from the pommel of his rapier and offered it to Aefric.

  Aefric kissed that hand, then nodded.

  “Better,” Aefric said.

  “I’m not ready to press my forehead to your grace’s knuckles.”

  “One thing at a time,” Aefric said. “And now, I should go prepare to leave.”

  He stepped over to the edge of the roof, above the courtyard below.

  The tents and pavilions had already been struck, and packing was well underway. By Aefric’s estimate, they’d be leaving within the hour.

  Aefric stepped off the roof, and with a small, simple spell, floated down to the pavilion grounds below as gently as a leaf descending on an autumn breeze.

  As Aefric realized the sheer size of the royal entourage, he found himself feeling a little pity for Count Ferrin. Between knights, lers and other petty nobles, servants and retainers, there had to be a hundred people traveling with their majesties.

  Of course Count Ferrin couldn’t have accommodated them all within a smallish keep like Forest’s Edge.

  Then again, his doing so had never been part of the plan. The count had inserted himself into the royal itinerary. So Aefric found his pity had little weight to it.

  Aefric and his knights were ready to go quickly enough, and Count Ferrin even volunteered to provide Aefric’s party with horses, to get them back to their own steeds.

  Aefric chose to hope that was a good sign.

  Of course, if it was a sign of goodwill, that goodwill might be dashed when Aefric told the count the truth about Merrek and Malimfar and how he’d been deceived.

  Couldn’t be helped. Telling the count was not worth risking the lives of their majesties.

  One problem with having an entourage this big, though — it traveled slowly. Aefric’s estimate that they’d be ready to leave within an hour of breakfast had been woefully ambitious.

  That hour had passed, and Aefric still found himself in the dusty courtyard of Forest’s Edge, waiting with his knights for the call to mount up and ride.

  All around them people were still packing and preparing. Noisily enough that conversation was only possible just this side of a shout.

  As such, Aefric avoided sensitive topics while catching Ser Beornric up on the discussions from the royal dinner table — not to mention taking a small amount of teasing from his knights about sharing the noble privilege with the queen — when a familiar face approached.

  “Sighild,” Aefric said, delighted.

  Sighild wore riding leathers under a cream-colored tunic that had been tailored in a most becoming fashion, with a short sword at her belt, and high boots of pale doeskin. She wore her long, shimmering red hair bound with ribbons down her back.

  She smiled as though the sight of Aefric was the apex of happiness itself.

  “Your grace,” she said with a bow, and offered her hand for Aefric to kiss, which he did.