The journey from Vérella, the Verrakai attack, the victory, the welcome here, last night’s acclamation by the Lyonyan nobles and his elven relatives.

Outside, a cock crowed, persistently, and another answered. A dog barked, then quieted. He heard nothing from inside the palace; it might be near dawn, to the cock, but apparently a very early morning to the castle staff.

A cold current of air came from … from there, to his left as he lay in the bed. He stretched again, sniffing the scents that rode on that chill current: stone, the spice of evergreen trees from without, and in the room more subtle spices. From somewhere across the room came a vague sense of warmth, and the smell of woodsmoke, very faint.

He had seen a fireplace in the room the evening before, and a crackling wood fire … now it must be banked, but still giving warmth.

He slipped from under the covers and padded across a carpeted floor—he remembered it was patterned with flowers and vines—to the nearer window. Below all was dark, silent. Above, stars still glittered, but there—it must be sunwards—a dullness dimmed them. Dawn was coming.

When did the palace awake? They had had a sick king—perhaps they slept late here? His own stronghold woke earlier than this; kitchen fires would be burning; recruits would be roused, chivvied into the jacks and out, readying their barracks for inspection … even as he wondered, he smelled woodsmoke from outside as the wind eddied. Abruptly, from below, boot heels rang on stone paving, followed by the lighter patter of soft-shod feet.

No lights, though … did they need no light? A small light bloomed in the distance; he heard the rasp and snick of a latch, the creak of hinges, and then the whinny of horses and the stamping of hooves.

He moved to the fireplace, guided by memory and the gentle warmth, and felt around on the hearth. There—a pot or vase, filled with reeds. He poked at the fire; ashes fell away from a crimson coal, and in moments a flame trembled at the end of the reed. It hardly lit the room, but in its dim wavering light he could see a candlestick placed handily on the hearth, and lit the wax taper there.

From that, he could see the larger candles on the mantel, arranged in a holder, eight of them. He lit only one, then carried the single stick to the bedside, where he lit a bedside candlestick with it. A draft from the window blew the flickering flames sideways, glinting on the jewel in the hilt of his sword.

From outside the door of his own chamber, a soft murmur of voices. He saw no robe within reach, and slid under the covers.

The door opened. Silhouetted against the soft light in the corridor he saw a single figure.

“Sir King! You’re awake!” Lieth. It was Lieth, the youngest of the King’s Squires who had come to Tsaia and accompanied him here. “My pardon, I intended only to stir your fire and begin warming the bath …”