“My lady—lord—Duke,” Andressat said. “I—I took no offense; I have no right—”

He seemed older, much older, than he had when last she saw him, and it had been only those few years.

“I am but now arrived,” Dorrin said, “and I have called for refreshment before changing for dinner.” A timely knock came on the door; a kitchen maid entered with a tray. “You will join me?” Dorrin asked.

“Er … yes … thank you.”

The girl poured sib into wide cups of delicate southern ware and set them on the table. Dorrin settled herself gingerly in the chair across from the one he’d been in. The last two days on the way, the weather had turned cold and wet; she was longing for a soft chair and a warm fire.

Andressat did not sit until she gestured to him, and then perched on the edge of his chair, obviously nervous. She had never seen him anything but confident, even arrogant; she could not believe that her own rank impressed him, having heard before his opinion of northern titles. Curiosity overcame her fatigue as the room’s warmth and a few swallows of sib eased her bone-deep chill.

She waited until he, too, had drunk half his cup of sib and nibbled a pastry while she ate two. “My lord Count,” she said then, “I am happy to have you here as my guest, but I do wonder that you have come so far, in this season. Surely it is some matter of importance that brings you here.”

“Yes, my lady—lord—” He blinked, flushed, looked down. “I’m sorry; I’m not used to your form of address.”

“No matter,” Dorrin said. “Everyone stumbled over it at first. Tsaia has not had a woman duke for generations.”

He took another gulp of sib, nearly choked, then put the cup down. “My lord Duke, what I have to say—what I wanted to say to the king—is a grave matter—a dangerous matter—but I must explain—”

“Go ahead,” Dorrin said.

“It began when that man Alured—who now calls himself Visla Vaskronin—claimed the duchy of Immer,” Andressat said.

Dorrin listened with growing interest—and alarm—as Andressat told her about Alured/Vaskronin’s demands: that he be recognized as the legitimate heir of Immer from ancestry in Old Aare, that Andressat send his archives to Cortes Immer for Alured’s scribes to examine.

“And that I would not,” Andressat said, with some of the spirit she remembered. “My forefathers gathered all they could of old records—it is the greatest library in Aarenis. I would not lose it to that—person.”

“How did he take your refusal?” Dorrin asked, though she was sure she knew.

“He threatened me,” Andressat said. “Threatened me, and sent an envoy, with soldiers, to demand that I let his scribes examine every document in my archives. He was sure I had proof of his royal ancestry and was denying him out of my own ambition.” Andressat met Dorrin’s gaze. “I swear to you, Duke Verrakai, that I have no ambition of ruling Aarenis. It is enough for me to rule my own land well, even if …” He paused. Dorrin waited, but he seemed unlikely to continue, his gaze now fixed on his sib.