The lift of his chin signaled his displeasure. “Reserve your flattery for those who desire it. I am not one of them. Read them to me, in order.”

“Your Highness?”

He made a business of rubbing his brows with a pained expression. “I have a headache. If the task is not appropriate for you, Captain, then my interlocutor shall do it.”

“A theurgist, Your Highness?” She looked even more baffled.

“She has a melodious voice, as interlocutors must do. Luviara, start from the first, and read them straight through.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Luviara rose from her chair and fetched the basket. She was either pleased to be singled out or perhaps eager to scry warden secrets. After pushing her plate aside, she set out the messages in a row. The haunt leaned forward as Luviara examined the dates written on the outside of the scrolls, lined them up in order, and unrolled the earliest dated message.

As she scanned the calligraphy, she raised her eyebrows with a delighted expression. “I do not recognize this script! It is true you wardens use your own cipher.”

Cweles gave the haunt a long look, brow furrowed, as if she hadn’t yet puzzled out an answer and wasn’t happy with the need to do so. “Your Highness?”

He blinked. Elen could almost see his thoughts scrambling as he decided what to do.

He rubbed his forehead again, grimacing with a pained frown. “As I have already stated, Captain, I have a headache. Waste no further time!”

Cweles covered her face with her hands, bobbed once, and lowered her hands. “The fault is mine.”

“Yes, yes. Now, go on. I wish to go to my rest early, so there will be no delay at dawn for our departure.”

Cweles gestured to the chief menial. “Clear the room.”

The haunt nodded at Luviara and Fulmo. They obediently went out—although Luviara’s expression was clouded by frustration—and the menials followed them, leaving only Captain Cweles, the haunt, and his wardens. Elen stood as still as she could, pretending she was the wall. The chief menial, last to go, halted in the doorway and gestured for her to come.

Without looking over, the haunt said, “The deputy courier stays.”

“Your Highness,” objected Cweles. “As warden captain, I beg leave to remind you this is sensitive warden business! Not courier business.”

He turned a hard gaze on her. “Yet the deputy courier stays. Need I repeat myself?”

“Your Highness,” murmured Cweles in a low voice. “The fault is mine.”

The chief menial’s eyebrows raised, but he said nothing, just closed the door behind him, leaving Elen in the room.

54 NO ANSWER

Her mouth pinched in disapproval, Vigil Captain Cweles cast a glance toward Elen. Even the wardens who knew Elen looked puzzled, even skeptical. But none could countermand a prince.

“Go on, Captain,” said the haunt, well aware of these roiling undercurrents.