“Yes, your majesty,” the justiciar said, and even that was said completely without inflection.

  “Spying on the lands, people, and person of his grace, Aefric Brightstaff, Duke of Deepwater, without the order or permission of her proper liege lord, his grace, Wylyn Stormsent, Duke of Silverlake. Taking up arms and making war against his grace, Aefric Brightstaff, Duke of Deepwater, without the order or permission of her proper liege lord, his grace, Wylyn Stormsent, Duke of Silverlake.”

  “Can’t say Taesark isn’t thorough,” Queen Eppida muttered.

  “Usurping the authority of her proper liege lord, his grace, Wylyn Stormsent, Duke of Silverlake.”

  “How is that one?” King Colm asked.

  “Spying and making war are the province of her liege lord. By undertaking these actions without seeking his permission first, she usurped his authority.”

  “Hadn’t thought about it that way,” King Colm said softly.

  “Your majesty, may I continue?” the justiciar asked, although Aefric wasn’t sure it sounded like a question.

  King Colm nodded.

  “Conspiracy to use slave labor, in violation of the laws of Armyr in general and Silverlake and Deepwater in specific. Prevarication under the questioning of her overlord, his majesty, Colm Stronghand, King of Armyr. Unjust accusations made against his grace, Aefric Brightstaff, Duke of Deepwater. Intent to directly assault and harm his grace, Aefric Brightstaff, Duke of Deepwater.”

  “Directly harm?” Aefric asked. “When was this?”

  “During the questioning by his majesty,” the justiciar said, and the direct regard of the justiciar sent a chill through Aefric. “When her guilt became undeniable, she intended to loose a ball of fire at your grace, and would have done so if not stopped by the actions of his grace, Wylyn Stormsent, Duke of Silverlake.”

  Aefric nodded. He’d been mid-cast himself at the time, though only his majesty and Ser Beornric had known that Aefric had a wand in his hands…

  “Your majesty, that is the total list of the crimes of Sifwyn Rikassa, in regard to the gold in the Dragonscar. I should note that my investigation indicates that Baron Leofstan Ol’Laerallan of Mountain Home carries at least equal culpability. Perhaps an even greater share.”

  “And you’ll get to investigate him as well,” King Colm said.

  “Thank you, your majesty.”

  “What about Duke Wylyn?” Queen Eppida asked. “How much guilt does he carry in all this?”

  “None, your majesty,” the justiciar said. “All of the crimes committed by Sifwyn Rikassa in regard to the gold in the Dragonscar were committed without the knowledge or consent of his grace, Wylyn Stormsent, Duke of Silverlake.”

  “You’re certain?” she asked.

  The justiciar said nothing for a moment. Merely gazed back at the queen from the privacy of deep inside that brown, roughspun cowl.

  The justiciar turned to face King Colm. “Shall I inquire of Sifwyn Rikassa about any other crimes?”

  “Is she guilty of others?” King Colm asked.

  “Your majesty, her guilt suffuses the air about her.”

  “By all means then,” King Colm said. “Though I’ll need you to question one more later.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” the justiciar said. “The inbound assassin was mentioned by my guards.”

  “Very good then,” King Colm said, nodding. “Carry on.”

  The justiciar turned and went back into the cell. The guards of Taesark closed its door.

  "He didn’t answer my question,” Queen Eppida said.

  “The question, well, could have been taken as an insult,” King Colm said. “I know you don’t have as much experience with them as I do, but believe me. If a justiciar has any doubts, they’re expressed clearly. For a justiciar to make any kind of definitive statement means that all doubts have been eliminated.”

  “Surely even a justiciar can make mistakes,” Queen Eppida said.

  “I’m not sure they can,” King Colm said.

  “Your majesty, a justiciar can err,” one of the guards said. “But Taesark cannot. It’s why the justiciar holds up the triple-sword while speaking. If the sword is shining, Taesark blesses what the justiciar says. If it’s dull, something’s wrong.”

  “Thank you,” Queen Eppida said.

  “Shall we see about dinner?” King Colm asked, to general assent.

  As they left, Aefric turned back for one more glance at the guarded cell. Sifwyn was alone in there, under the scrutiny and emotionless questioning of the justiciar.

  Despite everything she’d done, Aefric found himself pitying her.

  The plan that night had been to have dinner with the full court. Give all the local nobles a chance to see their majesties. Perhaps even speak with them a bit, either before the meal began or after it ended.

  Maev changed all that.

  She arrived while Aefric, Ser Beornric, and their majesties and guards were just coming up from the wizard cell level.

  Two dozen soldiers in chainmail and tabards bearing the seal of Varondam: a triangle of ships, sailing to the dexter, on a background of pale green.

  Their majesties’ two Knights of the Crown moved to stand between the soldiers and their charges, much as Sers Beornric, Leppina and Arras did for Aefric.

  “Stand down!” Ser Beatritz’s voice, from behind the soldiers.

  To Aefric’s surprise, the Varondam soldiers took her order. They parted, to stand along the wall, their spears at rest.

  Behind those soldiers, Aefric now saw Maev.

  There were others around her. A bejeweled older woman in a gown of red and orange silks. Ser Beatritz in her full plate. A slight man with his arms and legs in chains, and a sack over his head. And, of course, Sylkanis. Maev’s reddish-brown, great spotted forest lynx, padding along at her side.

  But Aefric’s attention went to Maev, and his heart leapt to see her.

  She was wearing her buckskins, and they hugged her form and bared her forearms in ways the queen likely disapproved. Her boots were high, and made from soft doeskin. And Aefric knew that every fingerwidth of hide, every sinew used as lace and ties, they’d all been put together by Maev herself from her own kill.

  And yet, she kept her skin fashionably pale. How she managed that, while she clearly spent a good deal of time riding and hunting, Aefric didn’t know.

  She wore her shining mane of black hair down and free. Rapier at her hip. And the moment she saw Aefric, her wide, soft gray eyes smiled even before her lips could.

  That was a perfect moment. Their eyes meeting across the hall. So many others around them, busy, while the two of them focused only on each other.

  By all rights, such a moment should have been followed by Aefric and Maev talking and laughing together. Catching each other up on their lives. Perhaps boring everyone around them at dinner with the way they spoke only with one another.

  But that wasn’t what happened.

  What happened instead was a whirlwind of activity. People moving back and forth by royal order. Several minutes of so much chaos that Aefric could only puzzle it back together once the hallway was cleared again.

  Ser Beatritz had taken charge of the prisoner. Gotten him into a cell, where he was guarded by soldiers of Varondam and Deepwater, as well as two more Knights of the Crown.

  But the royal family — as well as that Varondam noblewoman — were gone.

  Aefric was about to ask where they’d gone when Ser Beatritz stepped up to Aefric and bowed.

  “Your grace,” she said, “their majesties will take their dinner in private with Princess Maev and Lady Zhila, Queen Mother to his majesty, Dalius Swiftblade III, King of Varondam.”

  Lady was a title in Varondam? Huh. But Ser Beatritz was still talking.

  “Your grace’s seneschal and cooks have already been advised of the changes. Their majesties extend their apologies for the sudden shift of plans.”

  “Thank you, Ser Beatritz,” Aefric said.

  Ser Beatritz bowed and left.

  The stone hallway was suddenly quiet. Only the soft chatter of the various guards at the assassin’s cell to be heard.

  Aefric shook his head and turned to Ser Beornric.

  “They’re not going to let me see Maev at all, are they?”

  “Not if her majesty can help it,” Ser Beornric said.

  A page came down the hall so fast that Sers Leppina and Arras both interposed themselves by reflex.

  The page, sweating and short of breath, bowed.

  “Your grace,” she said, but her next attempt at words came up short of air.

  “Take a moment,” Aefric said. “Get your wind back.”

  She nodded gratefully, gulping down air. Nodded again, more certainly.

  “Your grace,” she said. “I bear a message from Master Kentigern.”

  She handed a scroll to Aefric, and Aefric grimaced as he took it. He didn’t need to say anything, though. Ser Beornric beat him to it.

  “You didn’t need to talk to hand over a scroll, girl. You’d better hope the needless delay isn’t costly.”

  Aefric skimmed the scroll.

  “Time wasn’t of the essence,” he said, chuckling. “Kentigern anticipated that Maev’s arrival would send the royal family into seclusion for dinner.” He held up the scroll. “He’d already canceled the large dinner, and sent word to my nobles about the delay.”

  “Good thing he was right,” Ser Beornric said.

  “His family’s been doing this a long time,” Aefric said. “Wish he’d warned me though.”

  “What’s the plan then?”

  “Wylyn,” Aefric said. “We have good news for him, after all.”

  The early stars of evening saw Aefric taking his dinner on the greenwood furniture of his large, public balcony again.

  It seemed to be becoming a habit. No doubt Kentigern would encourage Aefric against this habit, in general, but certainly he couldn’t object that night. After all, Kentigern himself had canceled the large, public dinner.

  Still, it was a nice night so far. Warm, but not excessively so. A light breeze, but not too windy. Who knew how many more nights such as this one there would be, before the rains returned?

  Aefric was joined at the round greenwood table that night by Wylyn and his daughter Okelai, as well as Ser Beornric.

  Okelai made a strange contrast with Maev. Both led quite active lives, considering their stations. Both, when they could, dressed against the expectations of their ranks — right now Okelai wore a simple, black cotton tunic over leathers, rather than fancier materials, much less a gown.

  But while Maev was every inch a princess — and oh, how Aefric would like to complete an inspection and confirm that — Okelai had a roguish air to her. The way she moved, the way she held herself, she looked more like someone who’d help Aefric get past the traps of a long-forgotten tomb than someone looking to marry into another noble line and expand her family’s sphere of influence.

  But then, Wylyn still wore his black leathers, as though expecting to go adventuring again himself. So perhaps this was simply the way of the Stormsent family.

  No sooner were they all seated around the table than Aefric set down Wylyn’s vicious twin daggers with a decisive thump. With a gesture he slid them across to their proper owner.

  “Thank you, Aefric,” Wylyn said, immediately standing and replacing them in their familiar posts on his belt. “I felt naked without them. Much as I imagine you would without that.”

  He nodded to the Brightstaff, standing beside Aefric’s chair.

  “I don’t doubt it,” Aefric said. “And I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

  “No,” Okelai said frankly. “You shouldn’t.”

  “Now, now,” Wylyn said, cautioning his daughter. “What have I told you about grudges?”

  “When they’re righteous, clutch them to your last breath.”

  Wylyn smiled. “Exactly. When they’re righteous. In this case a grudge would be unfair. I might’ve drawn the same conclusion in Aefric’s place.”

  “The evidence didn’t look good,” Aefric said. “Though maybe I should’ve asked you a few more questions about Sifwyn. Maybe something would have clicked into place.”

  “Sometimes,” Wylyn said, “that click is a trap, dropping a ceiling on you.” He shook his head. “You were right to play it safe.”

  Okelai frowned, as though unsure she agreed, but nodded.

  A rail-thin older servant — Aefric knew this one, his name was Papenn and he had a terrific sense of humor — brought out the dry white palate wine then, one half-size goblet each. They were tossed down so quickly that Papenn was barely done handing out the goblets before he took them away again.

  “Papenn,” Aefric said, stopping him before he left the balcony, “a moment. What will we be dining on?”

  “Aged stag, beer-roasted, and spiced with sharp yanna root. It will be served with a dark rye bread, and a medley of roasted vegetables.”

  Aefric turned to his guests. “Would you prefer wine, beer or ale with this?”

  “You have to ask?” Wylyn said, smiling so wide he nearly doubled his wrinkles. “Ale! The darker the better. The stronger the better.”

  “You heard his grace,” Aefric said to Papenn, who bowed, and carried the news to the cooks.

  “Now,” Aefric said, turning back to his guests. “If I may return the courtesy you showed me, let’s forgo all ranks and courtesies for this dinner.”

  “Now you’re talking!” Wylyn said, hands moving as though he wanted to toast already with some the ale he did not yet have. Instead, he said, “What of that fierce general of yours? Will she be joining us? I was hoping to introduce her to Okelai.”

  “No,” Aefric said. “Ser Yrsa’s dealing with that business in the Dragonscar.”

  “Wait,” Wylyn said, seriously. “Sifwyn and Leofstan went beyond planning and warding?”

  Aefric slapped his forehead. “I’m sorry, Wylyn. In all the confusion over Sifwyn, I haven’t had a chance to tell you. Soldiers have gathered on the Silverlake side of the Dragonscar, as well as miners. Last I heard, their equipment was incoming.”

  “I will flay that man alive,” Wylyn said. “I will string him up by his toes and make him watch while I peel every inch of skin, starting with his thumbs—”

  “Father,” Okelai interrupted, and when Wylyn stopped she turned to Aefric, looking almost as serious and deadly as Wylyn himself. “What, exactly, have they done?”

  Aefric briefed them, including telling of what Ser Yrsa had been doing to counter.

  “Of all the nerve,” Wylyn said. “I actually gave serious consideration to naming Leofstan to my advisory council.”

  “Father,” Okelai said. “May I ride to the Dragonscar and deal with this myself?”

  Wylyn considered that. Ran fingers over the scars on his cheeks that split his short beard. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Someone there has to have command,” she said simply. “That person should awaken with my dagger at his throat, while I explain in simple, direct language the depth of his or her error.”

  “By order of the king,” Wylyn said, though his eyes were twinkling with pride in his daughter, “Leofstan is to be brought here for the question.”

  “I won’t kill anyone without your leave, Father,” Okelai said, and the fake innocence in her voice sounded disturbingly like an older Maev. “But by Elbar’s Blood I’ll take command and make sure that Leofstan has all the company he deserves on his trip to the gallows.”

  “You expect to hang him for this?” Aefric asked.

  “I expect to flay him for this,” Wylyn said simply. “But I doubt his majesty will let me do it. I’ll settle for hanging. If I must.”

  Aefric frowned, considering.

  “You think Sifwyn’s going to get anything less?” Wylyn asked. “At least three of the crimes you mentioned carry a death sentence.”

  “It just seems to me that there should be some way for her to repair the damage she’s done. Her death won’t bring back my fallen soldiers. But her life and her service might aid their families.”

  Wylyn laughed, loud and boisterous. He clapped Ser Beornric on the shoulder.

  “You’ve done it, man! You’ve gotten him thinking like a duke, not an adventurer.”

  “You’ve been a duke decades longer than I have,” Aefric said.

  “And the lesson never truly took with me,” Wylyn said. “No matter how many times my advisers begged me to change my ways, I never really did.” He chuckled. “Oh, I manage my duchy just fine, thank you. But at heart, well, I’m still the man I always was. And I have just as much tolerance for betrayal now as I ever did.”

  “I hate to say it,” Ser Beornric said, “but even if you want to find some alternative punishment, his majesty won’t let it happen.”

  “Why not?” Wylyn said. “If Colm has a fault, it’s that he can be too flexible about these things. What do you know here that I don’t?”

  Ser Beornric looked at Aefric. Aefric answered.

  “The justiciar said that Sifwyn’s guilt ‘suffused the air about her.’ That she was guilty of more than just her crimes related to the Dragonscar. His majesty gave the justiciar license to question her further. The permission looked pretty open-ended.”

  “That’s her then,” Wylyn said, shaking his head. “At least I’ll get a full accounting of her crimes, before they take her life.”

  Papenn returned with the ale then. And Aefric doubted that Wylyn could have asked for anything richer or darker.

  With the ale flowing, and dinner on its way, they moved onto more casual topics. Telling stories, singing songs. Even Beornric got caught up in it.

  Felt much more like dinner with friends in the old days, before Aefric had become duke, than any kind of formal meal with a peer.

  Good food, and good relaxing fun. Aefric was actually sorry to see it come to an end.

  When Aefric thought about it, he shouldn’t have been surprised that Wylyn and Okelai retired early that night. Wylyn had had a rough few days, and wasn’t as young as he used to be.

  Though he was certainly still fast enough with those daggers of his. He’d proved that admirably.