King Rendorvik stepped forward, bowing low to his old mentor, Ludvig. His wife, Daeri, an attractive brunette with deep-set blue eyes, took her welcome further, hugging and kissing the cheeks of the women in the group, including Likh, in friendly fashion. “It’s been quite some time since you’ve honored us with a visit, Ludvig. You’ve been sorely missed.”

Councilor Ludvig snorted. “I’m surprised Scalzieg and the others haven’t burned the place down without me around, Rendor,” he said.

I started, the words calling to mind my horrific vision of Ankyo in flames from only a few hours ago.

Ludvig continued, “The lack of visible wreckage tells me they might be more competent than I first thought when they started their training under me.”

The Isteran king laughed. “We stand in winter all year, my old friend. You know better than any of us how fires fear our kind of cold.” He turned curious eyes toward the azi. At my silent command, it had lowered its three snouts to prostrate itself on the ground, a sign of its submission. “I am afraid I do not have a large enough stable to house your daeva friend here.”

“We would much rather not keep him inside the city, Your Majesty,” I said. “The azi prefers the open air.”

“You must be the Lady Tea. We’ve heard much about you, far away as we are from most.” The king reached out his hand, and I shook it. “Call me Rendor. We share the same teacher, and I would like to think that makes us kinsmen almost.”

Councilor Ludvig snorted again but looked faintly approving.

King Rendorvik was a courteous man, greeting the rest of the group with an informality that was not characteristic of royalty. Kalen and Khalad, he recognized with pleasure. “It’s been a while since you’ve visited Farsun, Your Grace.” He sobered. “And how is your cousin Kance?”

At the mention of Kance, I felt my heartsglass color blue, and Kalen couldn’t hide his wince. “As good as anyone can expect, your Majesty, considering the circumstances.”

“I am so very sorry to hear of your uncle’s malady. I hope His Majesty recovers with all speed.”

It was my turn to try not to flinch. The cause of the Odalian king’s sickness was a mystery to most, and I wasn’t sure how the friendly royal would react if he knew that the reason for Telemaine’s insanity was standing before him, accepting his hospitality.

Khalad was more forthcoming. “Whatever malaise he suffers is his own doing,” he said with no trace of rancor. Khalad had more reason to hate his father than any of us. “Kance would make a more fitting king in his stead.”