“This should do,” he said. “They won’t give you a title at this time, but they should confirm you as grant-holder until you come back after the campaign season. Once I’m crowned, I can insist on a title, though not a dukedom at first—it wasn’t for Phelan, either.”

“I remember, my lord prince.”

“Well, then. The Council meeting, and the oath—you do know you must swear fealty? Good—and then you can go about your business. I know you did not anticipate all this, but before you return for the Autumn Court, we’ll need to know your mark, your colors, and you’ll need court costume.”

“The same colors and mark, if that’s permissible,” Arcolin said. “I am not Phelan’s heir of the body, it is true, but—”

“You will need his permission,” the prince said. “If you like, you can send him word by royal courier.”

Arcolin nodded. It still felt unreal, but coping with details, moment to moment, he had no time to ponder how unlikely it was that he, like Kieri, might rise to noble rank and own land … his own land, his own people.

His appearance before the Council took less than a glass: he laid out the papers, the charters, his intent to guard the North and East as Kieri had, his need to campaign in the South to support the land until it could support itself. He recognized most of the faces from previous visits.

The Councilors agreed that Jandelir Arcolin should become liege lord of the vacated domain. That he could raise a military force sufficient to guard the North and also campaign in Aarenis, that he could transport said force across Tsaia and through Vérella on the same roads Phelan had used twice each year.

He bent his knee to the prince and swore fealty; he signed the documents that made him a lord-vassal of the Crown and defined his responsibilities. The prince waived the usual security until autumn—Arcolin hoped Kieri’s bankers somewhere had that much gold—and by the noon ringing of the Bells, Jandelir Arcolin, Captain, had become Lord Arcolin of the North Marches.

He spent the afternoon first with Kieri’s banker and judicar, and then with Kolya and the merchants Kieri dealt with in Vérella, buying the supplies Cracolnya and Valichi wanted. That evening he wrote letters to the North, again aided by the castle clerks who made copies so he need not write duplicates to each village and each commander, and a letter to Kieri in Lyonya, asking permission to retain the fox-head mark and the same colors.

Although he had carried out similar tasks for Kieri, it felt strange to be doing it for himself—to sign the letters and orders as Lord Arcolin and not Arcolin, Capt, for Duke Phelan. He supposed he would get used to it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Chaya

Kieri Phelan woke, aware moment by moment that he was in a bed he had never slept in before, in a room he did not know … textures, smells, sounds, all unfamiliar. He blinked, in the almost-dark: yesterday and the days before fell into his memory like tiny paintings, bright and clear.