“Pedigrees, my lord. During the Girdish rebellion in the north, one of the Finthan lords sent a list of all the noble families and their relationships back to the south in case local archives should be lost.”

“We have something of that in the list of those who came from Old Aare.”

“Yes, my lord. But this is some hundreds of years later, and it mentions, in the holdings of one family, ‘jewels of great power, once the pride of Aare, which have been sent for safekeeping to the east, as far from Gird’s raiders as feasible.’ This may be the regalia said to be found by Duke Verrakai and now in the king’s treasury of Tsaia.”

“What family?” Andressat asked.

“Here—” Hastan spread the papers out on another table; Andressat came over and looked where he pointed. “The Sier of Grahlin was the Finthan king’s close relative and actually in closer descent from Declan of Valdaire. My lord will recall that the realm was vacated before the Girdish rebellion. By this, Grahlin had possession of the regalia. He was killed at the Battle of Greenfields, along with the king; his widow sent the jewels eastward, believing that even if Tsaia fell to the Girdish, a noble in the east might hide them.”

“Why not send them south?”

“Ah.” Hastan smiled. “We have a good history of the Girdish wars in Fintha and Tsaia, my lord. Girdish forces dominated the south of both realms, blocking access to Valdaire. The jewels, as you know, cannot be hidden in a pocket. They were originally housed in a golden casket, and that is how they were transported. According to this, they were sent to the easternmost name she knew, Verrakai, to hold in trust until, it says here, ‘a king will rise again with both power and right.’ The jewels are listed, along with a scroll giving the same history and Grahlin’s pedigree. Except that we know of no scroll and the golden casket is missing, they are the same we know to be part of the regalia King Mikeli holds.”

“And the Duke of Immer now holds the necklace from that suite,” Andressat said. “And my son.” He closed his eyes a moment; he could not help it. Cortes Cilwan had fallen; the Duke of Immer’s army was poised on Andressat’s border. He was surprised they had not invaded yet, but perhaps subduing the lands they’d conquered so quickly would keep them busy through the winter. Even—though he had scant hope of that—the next spring. Though what his son must suffer in that span—if he was not already dead—broke his heart.