“There is more, my lord,” Hastan said, shuffling the scrolls to put another on top. “This … we thought of Prince Mikeli’s as being the most complete listing of those who came out of Aare, but here is another. Declan of Valdaire’s pedigree claims him to be a descendant of Mikeli’s elder brother—thus a prince of Old Aare—by a child brought to Aarenis as a suckling by his mother. And here, my lord, your own line connects. With all respect, my lord, your right to that necklace is as clear as Grahlin’s.”

For only a moment, Andressat’s heart leapt at the thought that he might, after all, have royal blood, but he put that aside and shook his head. “I am no magelord, Hastan. I have no magery, nor did my family before me that the record shows. If those jewels had power, I would have no idea what to do with them. Immer has magery—”

“Evil magery, my lord!” Hastan said. “Only evil, like Siniava.”

“Probably. But I know from Duke Verrakai and Tsaia’s king that blood magery controlled the other regalia. If, as we both think, Immer is a blood mage, then he could control the necklace.”

“Verrakai, you told me, did nothing with the regalia but hide it with blood magery,” Hastan said. “They did not use it. Perhaps the necklace cannot be used that way.”

“Perhaps. We shall hope so. Come spring, we must get this information to those in the north. Somehow.” Past Immer’s spies and agents … how? He must find a way, just as he must defend Andressat no matter the cost to his son and himself. “I wish Count Arcolin were still in the south.”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Chaya, Lyonya

Kieri woke to a room full of elf-light as silvery as the Lady’s had been. At once, he realized it was both his and another elf’s. Facing him, across the foot of his bed, was a tall figure, clearly elven, wearing a crown of silvery metal set with pale stones that glowed. His arms were folded, his expression stern.

Even as his heart stuttered and then raced, Kieri realized there must be another unblocked pattern in the palace. He felt no pressure from the other’s glamour—was it his own elvenhome protecting him?

“You might have come at a better time,” he said, glad to find his voice steady. Arian, he could tell, was still asleep.

“I would not have come here at all if someone had not blocked the patterns in the public rooms,” the elf said. He sounded annoyed. “That was foolish. And discourteous. I am lord of the western elvenhome.”

Kieri scowled. “And I am king of Lyonya. We had good reason to block those patterns.” And again he wondered why this one, every bit as hazardous, had not been blocked. A question for Amrothlin, when he had dealt with the elf.