Arcolin opened the sack. A letter from Kieri, in his own hand, and a wedding invitation in multicolored inks, clearly the work of a palace scribe. He read the letter first, brow a little contracted. Kieri was marrying one of his Squires but no youngster—she was his age, half-elven like Kieri but on her father’s side, not her mother’s. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, a Knight of Falk … Arcolin nodded slowly. He understood: a king must wed and get heirs. So should he himself. A king must consider a queen differently than a light-of-love. And yet … Arcolin’s gaze blurred as he thought of Kieri’s first marriage. That had been love, combined with character. Would his second be only character?

He looked at the next passage in the letter.

Do not fear, old friend, that this marriage is mere statecraft. For beyond my hopes, Arian has true affection for me, and I for her. I have not been so happy for a very long time.

Well. If it was not too late for Kieri … perhaps it was not too late for him. Though where he’d find a wife, what with spending near-half his time in Aarenis or on the road and the rest up here in a fort, he did not know.

The wedding, he saw as he worked his way through the fancy scrolls in scarlet, gold, green, blue, and silver, was to be on the Spring Evener. Arcolin shook his head. He wanted to go, but Kieri knew the schedule he must keep to get his troops to Aarenis on time. Four hands of days to and from Chaya he simply could not afford.

The other messages were routine. Marshals of the two granges on his domain, reporting on the membership and training schedule of each. Captain Valichi, reminding him that he intended to retire as soon as the troops left for Aarenis, reporting that the neighboring Count Halar had agreed to let Fox Company recruit in his domain and shared more gossip about Dorrin Verrakai. Mayors of Duke’s East and Duke’s West, their usual reports, including—from Duke’s West—a request for one more Count’s Court to hear a case that had arisen while he’d been in Vérella. Best to get that over before he took the troops south.

Before the afternoon was over, the gnome estvin arrived seeking audience.

“It is that the stone is welcome,” he said.

“It is large enough?” Arcolin asked.

“It is,” the estvin said. “And the lord’s king? It is that the king agreed?”

“Yes,” Arcolin said. “By Gird’s Code, as I said.” He paused, wondering whether he should mention the dragon’s appearance at court. But why not tell the estvin something that concerned the gnomes? “Before I came,” he said, “the dragon visited the king.”

The estvin paled. “Dragon said to king?”

“That the land the dragon claimed must be released. The king agreed—”