Micum arrived the evening before, in time to go with them.

“So, Elani finally got her way, did she?” said Micum, grinning at them as they sat by the fire in the library upstairs. His thick, silver-streaked red hair and drooping moustache were neatly trimmed, his clothing that of a country lord come to town. He’d brought his bow and long sword, but the old battered scabbard had been replaced with a very fine one of Aurënfaie workmanship.

Alec chuckled. “You look every inch the gentleman come to court.”

“Bit of a change from the usual, isn’t it?” said Micum, taking out his pipe and tobacco pouch. “Nyal made this scabbard for me for my name day, last time he and Beka were home.” He touched the leather fondly; he was well pleased with his eldest daughter’s choice of husband. “I’m glad to finally have cause to wear it. Kari and Illia had every clothes chest we own turned out to properly outfit me, and fretted considerably that I’m not up to the latest fashion, whatever that is these days.”

“You know Elani won’t care,” said Seregil. “How much do you know about this commission of ours?”

Micum used the tongs from the mantelpiece to light his pipe with an ember from the fire. “Only that the governor of Kouros was murdered and Klia’s been made acting governor and sent to investigate the deaths. I assume that’s why she’s taking us along.”

“There may be ghosts,” Alec told him.

Micum raised a shaggy eyebrow at that. “That’s a detail Thero’s message left out.”

“He probably thought Kari would make a fuss if she knew,” said Seregil.

“She might have, at that.” The love between Micum and his wife ran deep—deep enough for her to accept his wandering ways all these years—but as they grew older, Kari worried more than she used to. “If it is a ghost, is there anything we can do about it?”

“Just offer proof, I suppose, and perhaps warn other people off,” said Alec. “Seregil’s already decided there isn’t one, though.”

“I have not! I’m just keeping an open mind.”

“I hope there isn’t one,” Alec admitted. “Give me a nice, live enemy any day.”

“But if there is?” Micum puffed thoughtfully at his pipe. “Does Thero have any magic of that sort?”

“He claims to,” Seregil said with a shrug. “Are you coming to our investiture tomorrow?”

Micum grinned around his pipe stem. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

THE following morning they dressed with care. Alec stood in front of the long glass as he tied up the front of his embroidered linen shirt and slipped into his new coat. The rich wool fabric was nearly the same dark blue as his eyes, and the buttons, which Seregil had insisted on at the tailor’s, were stylized golden flowers set with polished sapphires. The bands at the collar, cuffs, and down the front edges of the coat were stiff with gold embroidery in an elaborate pattern of leaves.