“Well-bred, certainly,” Foretson went on. “But a king?”

Arcolin said nothing. The mayor’s wife came to the door, looked in, shrugged, and went back to the kitchen.

“This is going to cause … problems.”

“I think so,” Arcolin said. “But I have no answers. I do have a one-cohort contract with Vonja, and as the Duke requested, I’m moving Cracolnya’s cohort and the recruits to the east and south.”

“Think the Crown will accept that?”

“I’ll find out,” Arcolin said, trying to sound cheerful. “I don’t know who the Crown will transfer the domain to—”

“Oh, gods! I didn’t think of that one. We could end up belonging to Verrakai or someone like that—” He gave Arcolin a searching glance. “They should give it to you.”

“They won’t,” Arcolin said. “I’m not a native; I have no family behind me—”

Foretson cocked his head. “Do you want it?”

Did he? Arcolin thought for a long moment; the mayor said nothing. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I never considered it … I never thought beyond …”

“Well, you’d best think now. There’s lords enough will want it, want it enough to squabble over it. Verrakai and Marrakai both, I shouldn’t wonder, and woe to us if Verrakai gets it. Marrakai wouldn’t be so bad, except his own land’s so far west. No overlap. We’d do better with you, Captain, though without an heir—”

“Aye. And no one’s offered it yet, and I have a cohort to take south. And I must eat and go, I’m afraid.”

“Is this to be kept secret? And if so, until when?”

“It can’t be,” Arcolin said. “People must know; they deserve to know. But they need to know even more: what’s coming next, and that I can’t tell them. I should learn more in Vérella, and when I do I’ll send word.”

“I hope he’s safe in Lyonya,” Foretson said. Then, shaking his head: “Royal-bred and half-elf, and I never saw it … what a fool I must be.”

“If you, then all of us,” Arcolin said. “Including himself, for that matter. He had more chance to figure it out than any of us.”

Foretson laughed. “I suppose … but I’m not calling the Fox a fool, even with him this far away and not coming back.”

Not coming back. Arcolin shivered, but supper was hot and tasty, and he mounted again determined to do his best for Phelan’s land and people, whatever that might turn out to be.

He refused the mayor’s offer of an escort back to the stronghold, and rode away in an icy drizzle that stung his face. It would be sleet or snow by morning; he hoped it would blow over before they marched away in it.

Halfway back to the stronghold, he met a squad with torches; Cracolnya had sent them. Soon enough he was safely inside, cold and wet but in a seat by the fire, upstairs in the Duke’s study. Valichi was there, with his personal pack; he had even brought his armor. Stammel, waiting for Arcolin by the inner gate, had followed him in and up the stairs. Arcolin waved him to a seat as well.