“Your grace is most kind,” Herewyn said carefully.

  “Imagine my surprise when her response told me that she was not in Goldenfall, but in Riverbreak. That she had had no recent news of her father’s health. And that, though she serves as Baroness Regent of Riverbreak, she received no invitation to the Feast of Dereth Sehk this year.”

  “I don’t understand,” Herewyn said, frowning.

  “I imagine that your lordship is a great deal smarter than that,” Aefric said.

  Herewyn’s green eyes rounded wide. She dropped to her knees on the rug of woven rushes.

  “Your grace,” she said, imploring, “I swear upon my title, upon my family name, and upon the oaths that bind us that this is the first I am hearing of any of this. I swear also that I gave no order to exclude Riverbreak from the Feast invitations this year, and was both surprised and disappointed to learn that Riverbreak would not attend.”

  Again, she seemed frustratingly sincere. But how much of that could Aefric trust?

  Perhaps a sideways question could tip the truth, one way or another?

  “Why disappointed?” he asked.

  “I was never overfond of her father, Karmody, when he was Riverbreak’s baron,” Herewyn said. “But I always thought that Vercy showed promise. I looked forward to seeing how she was flourishing without the … suppressive influence of her father.”

  “So you gave no direct orders to exclude her or Byrhta.”

  “Your grace,” Herewyn said, still kneeling before him, “I gave no direct or indirect orders for any such thing.”

  She shook her head hard enough to make her hair fly.

  “Your grace,” she said, “I swear I am playing no word games to hide guilt. I am as I have been, your faithful vassal. What I told your grace about the reasons for the absence of Byrhta Ol’Caran are exactly those I was told myself.”

  “So you’re saying someone did this for you.”

  Understanding seemed to begin with the unfurrowing of Herewyn’s brow, and spread to her eyes, the set of her jaw, even her posture as she knelt before her duke.

  She sighed. “I do not believe this was done for me, your grace.”

  “Meaning?” Aefric said, but he gestured for her to rise. “And please, be seated as you explain.”

  “My thanks, your grace,” she said, her voice still careful as she rose smoothly and returned to sit on her chair with perfect posture.

  “Your grace,” she said through another sigh, “my cousin Sighild has been a welcome guest in Norra since my mother ruled these lands. Many of the servants in my castles knew her as a bright and beautiful child. Kind, eager, and smiling at everyone.”

  Aefric had no trouble believing Sighild was that kind of child. Which meant…

  “She is much beloved here,” Herewyn said. “And I believe word has spread that she has recently become … a close friend to your grace.”

  “I see,” Aefric said. “So if she asked them to lose that invitation, it would never be sent, and they would be happy to present a cover story for her.”

  “Your grace,” Herewyn said, raising her hands haltingly. “I do not mean to imply that Sighild is behind this. I suspect that … certain others may have taken actions on her behalf. Actions I don’t believe she would approve of.”

  “What makes you say so?” Aefric said. “She wouldn’t be the first to take such actions out of fear of Byrhta’s beauty.”

  Aefric almost went on to tell how Zoleen Fyrenn had applied pressure to lers in Riverbreak to take steps that kept Byrhta there, rather than visiting Aefric at Water’s End while their majesties visited. And, of course, while Zoleen was there, trying to win Aefric’s love.

  But that was a matter between himself and Zoleen.

  Herewyn’s reaction to the idea, though, was the last thing Aefric expected.

  She laughed in what seemed like open, honest surprise.

  “Oh, your grace,” Herewyn said, smiling for the first time in a while now. “To see Byrhta Ol’Caran is to look upon legendary beauty made flesh. None would deny it. But to say that Sighild would shy away from competition of any sort. Well. The first day of the Feast of Dereth Sehk is devoted to games. Watch my cousin tomorrow, and then tell me your grace believes Sighild would refuse to face any challenger head-on.”

  Something in the way Herewyn said that managed to reach through Aefric’s anger. Although, to be fair, he’d come closer and closer to believing Herewyn, the more she spoke.

  Still…

  “Competition in games is not the same as competition in love,” Aefric said.

  “In my family, they are one and the same, your grace,” Herewyn said, more serious now. “My dear Garriston, may the gods hold him close, dueled no fewer than ten men while courting me. And not all of those duels involved combat.”

  There were a number of points in there for Aefric to absorb. He’d heard that Herewyn had been widowed, but he’d never known anything about her husband. More important right then, though, was this.

  “To marry into your family, suitors duel each other?”

  “It’s not so simple as that, your grace,” Herewyn said with a smile. “In the early stages of courting, though, suitors may indeed contest with one another to establish … an order to things.”

  Aefric chuckled. “So, you could have been looking at five men, all hoping to become Norra’s new baronet, and rather than giving them all equal opportunity, you would have let them fight for a place in line?”

  “Thus has it been done in Norra since before the formation of Armyr. And mine is not the only family that follows this tradition.”

  “So when you say that Sighild wouldn’t shy away from competition…”

  “Oh, yes,” Herewyn said, smiling wider now. “She would have waited for Byrhta to arrive, then asked your permission to duel her for priority.”

  “Really?”

  “She would have allowed Byrhta to choose weapons, of course,” Herewyn said. “The contest must be fair, to be meaningful.” Her smile faded as she met Aefric’s eyes again. “Which is why I know she had no knowledge of this, and gave no consent to it. Doubtless she was looking forward to impressing you, by overcoming Byrhta in a contest of Byrhta’s own choosing.”

  “I find myself inclined to believe you,” Aefric admitted.

  “Your grace’s faith is of paramount importance to me,” Herewyn said. “As such, allow me to offer this freely. I am given to understand that your grace can command a flying chariot, yes?”

  In fact, Aefric had a magic crystal that would allow him to summon a magari, a flying, fiery chariot, pulled by a pair of phantasmal horses known as magaunts.

  He nodded.

  “Then your grace should know that his majesty’s justiciar is currently in residence at Towerkeep. A good two-day ride by horse, but likely only hours by flying chariot.”

  Herewyn looked deeply into Aefric’s eyes.

  “I swear here and now that, if your grace desires, I shall not move from this spot until he returns with the justiciar. Further, that I shall willingly submit myself to questioning on this topic under the three-edged sword of Taesark.

  Taesark, the god of justice. It was said that his holy justiciars could ferret out truth even from one who has heard only lies.

  For any noble to make such an offer was extreme.

  “That will not be necessary,” Aefric said.

  Herewyn must’ve been holding her breath, because she exhaled pure relief.

  Aefric couldn’t blame her. He’d given testimony to a justiciar before, and even though he hadn’t been the one under suspicion, the sensations were still not ones he would seek again.

  “I trust, however,” he said, “that I can count on your finding those responsible?”

  “I swear it, your grace,” Herewyn said. “I shall see to it that those responsible are found and punished appropriately.”

  “Thank you,” Aefric said.

  “Nothing more than my duty, your grace, and unworthy of thanks.”

  Aefric caught her then, glancing down from his eyes to where his robe had gaped open a bit, over his chest, showing the edges of two of his scars.

  Caught looking, she held her gaze where it was and said, “It occurs to me that your grace has been caused a great deal of agitation by those in my service.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Aefric said. One of Keifer’s old phrases, coming out by reflex, but it must’ve amused Herewyn, because she gave him a small smile.

  “I would be a poor hostess, to send your grace to his bed, in such a state of agitation.”

  Aefric was still deciding what to say in response when she stood. Even her bare feet were smooth, and well-shaped.

  “Alas, Octave isn’t here to offer your grace leaba, as she is so fond of doing,” Herewyn said, holding her robe closed as she slowly stepped forward, still talking. “I suppose I could rouse my serving girls. I’m sure many would be most eager to take Octave’s place.”

  Aefric found himself more and more aware of just how beautiful and graceful Herewyn was. She was like the woman Sighild would grow into in ten years. And Sighild was already impressive…

  “But why should I rouse them? When I would be more than happy to attend your grace’s needs tonight myself. And I’ve already drunk my nysta tea.”

  She threw off her robe.

  In the candlelight, her white linen dressing gown was so sheer it both displayed her curves in detail, and yet concealed them in maddening shadows.

  “If such a notion pleases your grace,” she said, fire in both her eyes and voice.

  “It pleases me a great deal,” Aefric said with a growl.

  Aefric was tempted to just rip that thin linen right off of Herewyn’s body. To pick her up over one shoulder and carry her to bed and find out, firsthand, just how different from Sighild she really was.

  But before he could even stand up from the armchair, Herewyn held out one hand in invitation. In the heat in her green eyes, he could see a plan, and found he was quite curious about what that plan was.

  He took her hand but, as she had done earlier, stood without aid.

  Herewyn led him into the bedroom.

  The bed was not nearly so large as what he was used to at Water’s End. But then, at Water’s End, the bed Aefric inherited would have been big enough to share with several companions without it feeling crowded.

  Still. This bed, here in the tower at Asarchai, was certainly big enough, and comfortable enough, to meet his needs for the next few days.

  Candles were lit in sconces around the room, giving the chamber both a soft, warm glow, and a faint smell of beeswax.

  At the foot of the bed, Herewyn reclaimed her hand. Took hold of the ties of his robe, instead.

  “May I, your grace?” she asked.

  “You may,” Aefric said. “But I think we can forgo courtesies tonight.”

  “With permission, your grace, I’d rather not,” she said. “Not tonight, at least.”

  “Are you certain?” Aefric asked. “I wouldn’t want to think you were treating this as some sort of obligation to your liege lord.”

  “Oh, no, your grace,” she said quickly, making sure to look Aefric in the eye as she said it. “Nothing like that. In fact, when I thought your grace was summoning me here for the noble privilege, I was pleased beyond words. To share the bliss moment with your grace...”

  She sighed as she looked him over. “A pleasure most enticing.”

  “Then why?”

  “It is … difficult to explain,” she said. “In my youth, Deepwater was ruled by Duchess Arinda. And my nearest neighbor not of Deepwater has always been Duchess Ashling, of Merrek.”

  She tilted her head to one side, smiling a little quizzically.

  “I have known only duchesses, until Deepwater was given to your grace. I find … serving under a duke…” — she toyed with the ties of Aefric’s robe, while looking at what she could see of the flesh beneath — “pleasing, in unexpected ways.”

  “Do you mind if I continue to call you Herewyn?”

  “Oh, your grace, I prefer hearing my name to my title, when it comes from your lips.”

  “Very well, then. I believe, Herewyn, I just gave you permission to untie my robe and remove it.”

  “Yes, your grace,” she said, and untied the belt with unhurried movements. She drew a long, deep breath and, eyes riveted on his body, slowly opened his robe.

  “I have only … known wizards … to be soft. Skinny or fat,” she said, slowly shaking her head as she looked Aefric from ankle to collarbone and back. “Never have I dreamed a wizard could possess such lean, strong muscles.”

  Aefric chuckled softly. How often had he heard words like those?

  Of course, technically, he was a dweomerblood, not a wizard, but there was little point in correcting her. As Aefric was the first, few even knew what a dweomerblood was.

  “Only wizards living in towers and keeps can afford to grow soft,” he said. “Wizards who go adventuring have their bodies hardened by the lifestyle.”

  “So I see,” she said, running her fingers along a hard, white scar left low on his right side by a sword, years ago.

  He chuckled. “And I suppose it doesn’t hurt that I trained as a dweomerblade.”

  “I wondered,” she said, stepping around behind Aefric and pulling the robe down off his shoulders, “why your grace wore a sword when first I saw him.”

  “Habit,” Aefric said, suddenly finding himself naked, with the robe pooling at his feet. “Though I continue to train regularly with the sword, and other weapons. I have no intention of letting castle life make me soft.”

  Herewyn made a small sound of approval, and began running her spread hands slowly down his back.

  “I don’t wear a sword in public these days,” he continued, “because my knights prefer that I leave the sword work to them.”

  “Your grace is kind to indulge them,” she said, her voice a little huskier now, as her hands ran over his backside and down his thighs.

  “I do hope,” he said archly, “that I won’t be the only one naked tonight.”

  He suddenly felt the heat of her whole body close behind his. The soft touch of thin fabric between them.

  “Oh, no, your grace,” she whispered in his ear. “But first I must see about the tension I and mine have caused.”

  “Relieving such tension is rarely done from behind.”

  Herewyn chuckled, soft and warm and tickling at his ear.

  “Oh, I’ll get to that tension soon enough, your grace,” she said. “And I look forward to doing so. But first, there is the matter of the other tensions caused tonight.”

  With pressing hands, she encouraged Aefric to lie down on the bed, face first.

  Aefric did so, but as he settled in, he said, “This is not the most comfortable position in my current state.”

  “More comfortable, I suspect, than tight leather riding pants,” Herewyn said, moving onto the bed beside him. “And yet, I did not hear your grace complain about the teasing my cousin gave him on today’s lunch break.”

  Aefric smiled at the memory. They’d been stopped under a copse of larches, and Aefric hadn’t thought anyone had seen the private moment he’d shared with Sighild before they’d mounted up to ride again.

  “Some discomforts are more pleasant than others,” he said.

  “Then let this discomfort become pleasant in your grace’s thoughts,” she said, “for I shall see to it that discomfort now leads to bliss later.”

  “Very well,” Aefric said with a sigh.

  “Marvelous. Thank you, your grace,” she said, and then she swung one knee over Aefric to sit on his butt, pressing him down further into the mattress there.

  Now, ordinarily, Aefric very much enjoyed having a woman sit on him this way. Of course, ordinarily he’d’ve been flipped over, and facing her.

  But right now? With that part of him pressing into the feather mattress so?

  “Herewyn, what are you—”

  The question died as she answered without words.

  She began to knead the muscles low on his back with hands that were stronger than he expected.

  He let out a long, slow groan of relief. He hadn’t even realized how tense those muscles were.

  “Better, your grace?”

  “In some ways, very much so,” he said.

  She leaned down, licked his earlobe, and whispered. “I’m glad only in some ways, your grace. I wish to ease the tensions in your grace’s muscles before we seek deeper pleasures, not waste an early fulfillment into nothing more interesting than my mattress.”

  Without waiting for a response, she sat up again and began to massage Aefric in earnest. And oh, she knew a thing or two about massage. She knew all the right muscle groups to work, and she knew how to work them well. With her fingers, palms, wrists, even her elbows.

  By the time she stopped, Aefric felt far better than even he’d expected. Between Count Ferrin’s arrival and attitude, that Kefthal business, and then learning that Byrhta had again been kept away from him by manipulation, he’d grown even more tense than he’d realized.

  But Herewyn did an excellent job of working all of that tension out of his muscles.

  Once she’d finished, she knelt beside him and trailed her fingernails lightly across his skin.

  “Your grace feels more relaxed, I hope?” she asked in a teasing tone.

  “Much more relaxed,” he said. “In fact, I think there’s only one area of tension that still requires your attention…”

  “Oh?” Herewyn said, and Aefric could hear the smile in her voice. “Then your grace should roll over and let me see to this tension.”

  Aefric rolled over, to see her hair loose and a little wild, much like the eager smile in her eyes.

  And yet, she was still wearing that nearly sheer dressing gown.

  Aefric reached for her. She caught his wrists.

  “If I might beg an indulgence from your grace,” she said.

  “Speak it,” Aefric said.

  “I would next relieve the … urgency from your grace’s needs, that he might take as much time in exploring me as I got to spend exploring him.”