Dodging down a backstreet between two tenements, he spotted a convenient drainpipe and went up it like a squirrel, Alec close behind. Seregil gave him a hand up onto the snow-crusted roof tiles, then peered over the edge. The bluecoats, a bulky lot, shook their fists and cudgels at them, but gave up the chase.

“They’ve got to come down sometime,” one of them grumbled.

“That’s what they think,” Alec chuckled, breath puffing out like pipe smoke on the frigid night air.

Together they ran across the roof and leapt to the next building, and the next. Seregil was in midair when a tiny spark of blue light appeared just beyond the tip of his nose and he lost his footing as he came down on the next roof, which was rather steep. Alec, already there, caught him by the wrist and yanked him forward.

“Bilairy’s Balls!” Seregil gasped, flattening himself on the tiles. The message sphere was still there, like an annoying fly. He touched it and heard Thero say, “It’s time.”

They found a fast southbound ship on the west side of the Isthmus before dawn and arrived at the Palace in Rhíminee on the eve of Mourning Night. Most fires were extinguished in honor of the old Immortals’ symbolic death, and people were already running about the streets with lightstones.

Retrieving Alec’s Patch and Seregil’s old cob, Star, from the harbor stable, they rode to the Upper City and their comfortably anonymous rooms over the Stag and Otter. Once suitably scrubbed and attired, they rode through the throngs of early merrymakers to the Palace.

“You are expected, my lords,” the old doorkeeper said with a bow, handing each of them a lightstone on a gilded handle. “Please go through.”

They knew the way and strode through a maze of darkened corridors to the wing where the royal apartments lay. Thero answered their knock at Klia’s suite of rooms.

“It’s us,” said Seregil.

“Of course it is. You needn’t keep telling me,” Thero retorted, but it lacked its usual bite. He led them through the dark salon and down the corridor toward the sitting room overlooking the shadowed, ice-rimed gardens.

“How are they?” asked Alec.

“Perfect in every way,” Thero replied with a most uncharacteristic grin.

“Everyone else off to the ceremony?” asked Seregil, throwing an arm around Thero’s shoulders.

“Yes, and to be honest, it’s a bit of a relief to have them to myself at last. The Cavishes have been by. And Elani is very excited about her little cousin.”

Seregil chuckled. “The price you pay for marrying into the royal family. And I can finally call you cousin. What would Nysander make of that, eh?”

“He would be very pleased, I’m sure.” Thero reached for the sitting room door latch as naturally as if he could still see and ushered them inside.