“You felt that?”

“Oh, yes. No one may serve there who cannot sense the bones.” The Seneschal looked past Kieri to the trees. “I know, my lord, that you are trying to heal the breach between human and elf, and this is a fine thing to do, and something that must be done. But here, in the house of bones, this is a human thing. It is not what elves do; it is, they have said, beyond their understanding. We keep very old ways here, my lord, and they have agreed it is right for us to do so.”

“It is in my bones, too,” Kieri said. “I have no wish to interfere, even if all your assistants are of pure human heritage. And yet you lay out the half-elven, such as my sister.”

“It is hard to explain, my lord. You are right: only those of human blood—and old human at that—serve under me. The bones need those around them who understand, and elves do not.”

“Yet I am part-elf and they spoke to me.”

“They are your ancestors and relatives; it is a family thing with you. With others, not of the family, it is harder.”

“I will not interfere,” Kieri said again. “I do not fully understand, myself, and perhaps that is my elven heritage showing. I do understand that it is a good—no, a vital—task that you perform, and you have my goodwill in it.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the Seneschal said.

Kieri turned back to the palace, and went inside, flanked now by the King’s Squire. His stomach growled suddenly and he realized he had spent half the morning in the ossuary. Lunch should be ready …

The small dining room’s table was centered with flowers, and a nosegay of flowers and herbs lay beside every plate. Kieri looked at the steward, brows raised.

“The ceremony, my lord. Marks the end of the mourning period.”

Around the table, those he’d asked to come in for the afternoon’s work waited for him to begin, so he helped himself to cheese and bread and pickles. A jar of his favorite chutney sat beside his plate; none of his staff had yet acquired a taste for it, spiced as it was with southern peppers. When all had finished, the servants cleared the table.

“So now we have your coronation, my lord,” said Sier Halveric. “I brought the plans …” He handed over a sheet of parchment with the order of ceremony, the list of participants and invited guests, and another with the supplies, and finally the total cost.

Kieri read both carefully, while the others waited, chatting quietly among themselves. His mother’s mother, the elven Lady of the Ladysforest, from whom the humans of Lyonya held their rights to the land, and who ruled the elvenhome kingdom, would be a participant. Halveric had left spaces for the names of her attendants. The Captain-General of Falk, the members of the Council, all had roles in the ceremony. So did Paksenarrion, who had found and brought him. The main part of the ceremony would take place in the King’s Grove, not in the palace or its grounds—that did not surprise him, not after the time he’d spent here. Nor did the presentation of the new king to the bones below, including another visit to the previous king’s grave.