A hacking bark broke the air. We knew that sound well. Umeris was having an upheaval, his lungs filling with fluid that he had to cough up. We hurried around the table to where the elderly elf sat wide-eyed, his silver hair puddled in his lap, bloody spittle on his hands and chin. Aelir kneeled beside his grandfather, rubbing the old man’s bony shoulder, as Umeris struggled to breathe. Jaska handed the old man a cloth to cough into and reached into the small potions bag attached to the wheeled chair to remove a sleeping draught.

  “Here, Grand Advisor, sip this. It will ease the constriction in your chest,” Jaska gently said, holding a small blue bottle to the old man’s pale lips. Umeris swallowed loudly, his eyes watering, his fingers now gripping his grandson’s forearm. Aelir said not a word of protest, just took the edge of his grandfather’s soiled robe to dab at his chin. “That’s good. Things will ease soon.”

  “I’m so sorry, Aelir…” Umeris whispered and slowly nodded off, his fingers a band around his grandson’s arm. Jaska opened the skeletal fingers, allowing Aelir to stand. The king rubbed his arm and tucked a thin blanket that had been over his grandfather’s lap around the old elf’s rounded shoulders.

  “See him to his suite, then stay with him in case he wakes. I’ll be up before the evening meal to check on him. If something should happen…” Aelir paused and looked at the bowed silver head. “I’ll be with the children. I feel as if I need some time with them. Pasil, come with me, and Fylson, please.”

  “Always, Your Majesty.” I fell into step with the king, waiting at the doors until Jaska wheeled Umeris out into the hall. We followed them part of the way down the corridor. The winds from the ocean lifted thick tapestries from the white stone walls.

  Fylson walked along on the opposite side of Aelir, his handsome face drawn in worry. We entered the king’s private library.

  “Come in and close that door, please,” Aelir asked, and so I did, easing it closed gently and standing at ease beside it but always alert. The king removed his silver day crown, tossed it onto a low round table, and fell into his favorite reading chair in front of a low, banked fire. Fylson sat as well, facing the king. Aelir ran his fingers through his hair, a sort of self-calming that he did when his husband V’alor was not nearby. I suspected that the queen and king had a sibling sort of relationship, much like I felt for Beiro, as they rarely touched in a loving way. Their embraces were more friendly, caring, yes, but lacking that passion true lovers shared. Those were only my thoughts. There were whispers among the staff, but none said anything out loud. If the queen slept with Merrilyn and the king with V’alor, it was not for us to judge. They had obviously come together at least once to create the prince and princess. Duty done as far as the masses were concerned. Heirs had been made. Where the king and queen lay their heads at night was not important.

  “Would you care for something cold to drink, Your Majesty?” Fylson enquired and got a curt nod of a golden head. He glanced at me. I rang for refreshments using the bell pull in the corner and returned to my station. The windows facing the sea were wide open as Aelir preferred, and the sun shone warmly on walls filled with books. Brown bindings glowed yellow. The air was sweet with the salty scent of the Silvura splashing on rocks far below.

  “I’m saying this to you, Fylson, and you alone,” Aelir whispered, his gaze coming to me. “And you as well. I know that what I say here will go no further.” I nodded, touched that my king had such trust in me. I’d bent my knee and would give my life to protect his. I would do no less for V’alor or the kingdom. “My grandfather is dying.”

  Fylson and I exchanged a quick look. This was news to no one. “I think his time may be coming to an end as well, Aelir.” The king nodded. These two were close friends, the older elf taking the new monarch under his wing as if he were a son and not the man who stepped into the royal slippers worn by the man Fylson had loved and lost. “Would you like us to reach out to the Sandrayan royal house to request that the meeting with their envoy be postponed?”

  “No, no, that meeting should go on as planned. The failing health of an elderly elf should not set back the passing of many moons’ worth of negotiations.”

  Aelir sighed deeply, his sight moving to the window. “I wish V’alor were here. I could use his steadiness and insight right now.”

  Fylson and I said nothing. What could one say to a man mourning the oncoming loss of his only blood relative while pining for his consort? A soft rap on the door drew my attention from the king. Opening it, I motioned for the servants carrying several silver trays to enter, holding a finger over my lips to signal they should be silent. The young kitchen maids nodded in understanding, placed the trays on the various scattered tables, and then bowed deeply as they backed out of the room.

  Aelir, who was generally quite polite to the staff, sat staring out the window throughout, his brow furrowed, his fingers absently rubbing a strand of long blond hair.

  “Perhaps something to cool our throats and fill our stomachs will help,” Fylson suggested as he rose to cross the room. Domed lids came off serving platters filled with all manner of fruits and crackers. A tray with a shining brass pitcher and four mugs sat beside a dish with honey cakes stacked neatly into a pyramid. I could smell the honey from across the room.

  Aelir, always the one with the sweet tooth, availed himself of the honey cakes and a glass of chilled apple juice. Fylson motioned me to the platter with a wave of a large hand. I declined. I’d managed to sweet-talk Widow Poppy out of a basket of tarts and a crock of fresh butter earlier. That would hold me until the midday meal.

  “I’m sure your consorts and queen wish they were here for you during this difficult time,” Le’ral said as he retook his seat. “But the work they are doing to plot and plan the dock expansion at Knight’s Way is crucial for the upcoming negotiations with the Sandrayan delegates. The vahasi himself is quite happy to even be discussing this joint venture, so the queen’s presence, as well as the guard commander’s, meeting with the naval commission from Sandraya with the various dockmasters is vital.”

  “I know,” Aelir said between bites of honey cake. “As much as I butted heads with the cranky bastard over the years, my heart aches to see him leaving us little by little day after day.”

  The king took a moment and then placed an uneaten half of his crumbly yellow cake back on its plate. He turned to me, bright blue eyes finding me where he always found me. At his back. “Pasil, are the security details in place for Ambassador Nouradi and his entourage?”

  “They are, Your Majesty. We’ve brought in extra men from several outposts along the coast of Renedith and hired several dozen more new recruits. Those will obviously be on the walls or at the gates, with the more seasoned guards inside or with the envoy himself.”

  Aelir nodded. “Good. I’d like you to personally oversee Ambassador Nouradi during his stay.” I tried to school my surprise but must have failed as the king shook his head softly and gave me a tender smile. “I know you are my own guardsman, but I am reasonably sure that I will be safe in my own castle.” I glanced at Fylson and caught his slight wince. He, too, had thought the previous king and his love were safe within the walls of Avolire. He, and all of us in the guard, had been horribly mistaken. “Given the dislike of the Sandrayans here, I think it best that our guard captain provide the extra security the envoy may require. With the blessing of Ihdos, nothing will happen to upset this delicately balanced apple cart, but if an attempt is made on Nouradi, I know you would be best to handle it.” I opened my mouth to argue. “V’alor himself proposed you take the position.”

  My jaw closed. How could I argue with the commander of the guard, husband of the king, and my longtime friend? I could not.

  “As you wish, Your Majesty,” I replied, lowering my head as I placed my fist to my chest.

  “Good, I’m sure he will be suitably impressed by having the bronze warrior himself at his side as he moves through Celear,” Aelir said, rose, and dusted the crumbs from his lap. I did not care overly for that moniker, to be honest. I’d helped quell a few bandit uprisings two seasons ago. And a small uprising of irate yetis that had rumbled down the mountains to attack a village at the base of the Witherhorn just last season. Wild young yetis at that. None had been killed, but I did have to remove the arm of one that lunged at the sisters driving the cart from the lilac fields of Celinthe. The band of upstarts had been swiftly dealt with, their intimidation tactics ending abruptly. The leader of the yeti had proclaimed me a bronze warrior. He gave me a club with a magic stone, or so I believed the stone to be. I still had the club in my armoire and the silly name. I did not consider myself a warrior. A guard, yes, but a battle veteran? No. But the honorific stuck. “I’m off to see my children. Le’ral, we will meet later tonight to go over the provisions being offered for the berthing spaces for our newest ship the queen is having built.”

  “I am at your service, Your Majesty,” Fylson said, rising and bowing to Aelir as I opened the door for the king. Le’ral and I exchanged looks as I followed Aelir into the hall. The king said little as we made our way outside, where his children were being given a reading lesson by their nanny. The twins, each now four seasons old, saw their father as he entered the flowery space. Sister Vilde closed the tome, her wrinkled cheeks rounding into a soft smile as Alfina and her brother Al’fur darted to the king. Tezen sat on the bough of a shedding dark maple, her sight touching mine.

  “Papa! Papa! Nanny Vilde was reading us a story about a princess who kisses a fat cricket,” Alfina, who always did most of the talking for her and her brother, shouted as the king swept the two pudgy blond heirs into his arms to kiss them on their cheeks.

  “The cricket turned into a knight,” Al’fur informed his father, his arms locked around the king’s neck. “And they lived forever after happy.”

  I glanced up at Tezen. She stuck her tongue out at me. I knew that her head had been filled with romantic fluff.

  “Happy ever after,” Alfina corrected her sibling. Both were rather grimy. Their play clothes were covered in dust and flower petals and they each had bits of dead leaf stuck in their shoulder-length hair. The king didn’t mind the grime getting on his pristine white shirt, it seemed. I stood under the tree as the king lowered himself to the ground, waving off the elderly nanny’s attempt to rise and bow.

  The king spent an hour with his children that day. When a page arrived with a summons from the exalted cloisterer, Aelir sighed wearily, kissed his daughter and son, and slowly rose from the thick green grass.

  “Shall we go see what the head of the church wishes to complain about now?” Aelir asked, and I, of course, inclined my head. “There are days I wish I were ten again and spending my days out of doors with Kenton showing me beetles and badgers.”

  “There are days I wish the same, Your Majesty.”

  In truth, I suspected every elf in Melowynn wished that very thing at least once daily.

  TWO SUNS LATER, I STOOD on the newly refurbished docks of Celear, with Le’ral Fylson at my side and a dozen guards in white and blue armor at my back, watching the Sandrayan ship gliding up to the furthest point of the shore. The sun was warm—blisteringly hot if one was standing in full plate—but the wind that was billowing out the yellow and red sails of the Sandrayan vessel was cooler than normal. A small blessing from Ihdos. Civilians lined up along the docks, most just curious to see the newcomers arriving. Some shouted slurs at the dark-skinned elves from the large island chain to the west. Extra guards were keeping the crowds at bay, gently for now. They had orders to be kind, but if people started to push, they were to push back. It would not go over well if the envoy stepped onto the dock only to be run through by some radical’s sword.

  “It’s a fine vessel,” Fylson commented, his dark hair slicked back with a pomade, as his light green cape snapped in the ocean breeze. “Rumors are there are thirty rowers.”

  From this distance, I could not count the long oars skimming the water, but there seemed to be many. The ship was sleek. Built out of exotic red cedar that grew only on the Black Sand Isles, the bowsprit curved upward like a horn that was covered with hammered gold. Two smaller vessels moved in the larger boat’s wake, similar but lacking the ornamentation of the bigger ship. Transport vessels, I imagined, filled with gifts for King Aelir. Treasures and fruits, horses, rugs of deep blue and white, jewelry encrusted with fine gems, rich spices, rare animals, Sandrayan weapons and light armor. Perhaps there would be boxes of dark red Sandrayan tea, the most prized drink among the people of the isles. They drank it hot and cooled, with heavy amounts of honey and rich cream.

  “My cousin told me that they sailed down around the tip of Renedith to reach us in two passes of the moons. If that time is true, they would need that many rowers rowing steadily for the trip around the tip of our lands to the Black Sands cannot be made by our boats in less than seven suns.”

  “Our boats are heavier and not as wind pleasing. The Sandrayan vessels are made for speed. Look how narrow the hull is in comparison to our ships. They also scribe all the wood they use for ship making with glyphs to call up the arcanum of wind whisperers to lift the ship higher to increase speed.”

  I turned my head to gape at the royal advisor. “Truly?”

  “That is a tale I heard many moons ago. Do bear in mind that the Sandrayans did not turn their backs on magicks as we here in the cities did. They, much like the wood elves, embraced arcana and over the centuries have grown stronger in the use of spells and magicks. The vahasi is able to manipulate the winds and sands themselves. His wife and husband are strong mages as well, rumored to be able to spin themselves into dust devils that blind and suffocate their enemies.”

  “Ah, magicks. Yes, I have heard such tales but have not seen any signs of their powers. Granted, when one is attending a foreign land with a hand extended seeking peace, a mage would be unlikely to unleash a sandy dervish on his host.” I blinked as salty sweat ran into my eye. The sooner we got this man and his seconds into the castle and out of the glaring sun, the happier my men and I would be.

  “No, that would be a rather poor decision,” Le’ral chortled as he turned his tanned face to the sun. “I do enjoy the time spent on the sea. Mirolar disliked sailing. Of course, his skin was snowy white, not unlike our current king.”

  It was encouraging to hear him speaking of the dead king in a wistful way. For a long time, he had never spoken of his departed lover, so to hear him doing so now showed he was finally healed. I hoped that someday he would find another man to love.

  “V’alor teases Aelir often about his creamy complexion,” I passed along and got a short snort of amusement.

  “I suspect our guard commander enjoys the softness of his husband’s skin even if he does poke fun at how quickly the king turns pink when out of doors.”

  I did my best to hide my smirk. It was fairly obvious to anyone that V’alor adored Aelir. “As a reminder, the envoy is not the elderly representative that you met several seasons ago. That was the senior Nouradi. This is his son. Teryn has served on the court for many seasons and is reputed to be highly skilled in druidic magicks as well as desert warfare tactics while being a highly sought-after negotiator. I suspect he will arrive with his adult children, a son and a daughter, as his assistants. All are arcane scholars of the highest caliber.”

  “Yes, I recalled reading that in the missive I received when the initial reply from the Sandrayans arrived in the affirmative.” I looked out at the ship sailing smoothly toward us. Three people stood on the deck as the mainsail was efficiently brought down and secured to the mainmast with sail ties. The oars were not being manned, yet the ship glided into the dock as if pushed by the hand of a sea god. The crew leapt out, tying ropes to metal cleats secured to the dock. My sight touched on the three elves in elegant clothing. A younger male and female, close to the same age, with ebony hair to their waists, decorated with glittering beads that matched their soft white robes. Then I locked eyes with the envoy, and my breath caught for a moment.

  Teryn Nouradi was a striking man even from a distance. His goatee and shoulder-length hair were as black as a desert night. No adornments of any kind other than an appealing splash of silver on his chin. A long gold chain hung from the tip of one pointed ear. He seemed at home on the sea, for the rocking of the boat under him thudded into the berth, and his stance, legs parted, hands behind his back, did not change. He had an angular face, appealing, yes, with amber eyes that held my attention fully. Thick black lashes framed those honey eyes, and when he smiled at me, I felt a tingle of what surely had to be some sort of magick. His robes were silken, a soft marigold tone of muted yellow that played well off skin that was similar in color to my bronze armor. His feet were wrapped in tanned leather sandals.

  Glancing down at the cat seated regally at his side, I noticed the spots on the soft fur. How odd. I had always believed that spotted cats were wild creatures. This one certainly acted nothing like the prowling felines that we’d once had behind bars in the menageries.

  I stepped forward as a gangplank was placed between the ship and the quay, Le’ral taking the lead as he was the king’s advisor, a former royal secretary, and highly versed in diplomacy. He’d served at Mirolar’s side for hundreds of years. I was merely a guard who told other guards where to stand and not to stick their pricks through knotholes. Rubbing elbows with the elite was the grand advisor’s realm, not mine. Mine was in the barracks or listening to a bard in an alehouse while I eyed the pretty men and women serving ale and wine. Still, over the years, I’d grown accustomed to the powerful and wealthy visiting Avolire. I’d never seen a more handsome man than Teryn Nouradi, but he was not for me to admire in that way. He was here to open up negotiations, and it was my job to keep him safe. Wondering whether the hair on his chin was soft or not was immediately tossed into the sea.