Nepanthe returned the hug absently. “You’re looking well yourself, Mist.” Mist, who had been her brother’s wife, a sorceress he had lured forth from the east and converted to the western cause.

“Pooh! I’m an old hag.”

Aral Dantice chuckled. “The ladies I know should be so ugly.”

And Varthlokkur, with an arm around Trebilcock’s shoulder, snorted. “You’ve added false modesty to your sins, Princess?”

Mist stepped back. “Plain Chatelaine now, I’m afraid. The King sent me to Fortress Maisak. You see what I’m worth when there’s no fighting?”

“It is the most important castle in the kingdom.”

Nepanthe stared at this woman whom her brother had worshipped, who had borne his children, who had been ruler of the Dread Empire before Valther entered her life. She never seemed quite real. More a fairy tale princess than one of the age’s most savage and powerful wielders of magic.

Aral put Nepanthe’s thoughts into words by observing, “She hasn’t changed a bit. Still the most beautiful and dangerous woman alive.”

Mist blushed.

How did she manage that? Nepanthe wondered. Aral had said nothing but the truth. Mist knew that. And she was no simpering little courtesan. She was centuries old, honed sharp and tempered hard by the intrigue and struggle for survival round the pinnacles of Dread Empire power. Her blush had to be contrived.

“How are your children?” Nepanthe asked.

“Growing up too fast. Every time I see them they’re two inches taller. I’ll tell them you’re here. They’ll be excited. You were always their favorite.”

A gloomy, quiet man chewing the stem of an empty pipe shook Varthlokkur’s hand. He greeted Nepanthe with a nod and a mumbled, “Nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Cham. Business any better?”

Cham Mundwiller, commercial magnate, was a longtime supporter of the King. “Not really. There’s only so much I can do while the Gap is closed.” He wandered away, became engrossed in the coats of arms gracing the far wall.

Nepanthe turned to a younger man in military dress. “Gjerdrum. How are you? You look glum.”

Aral said, “He’s sore as a hornet’s sting. His knighthood and appointment as commander of the army have gone to his head.”

Sir Gjerdrum scowled. “That’s not true. It’s just that I’ve got other things to do. Colonel Abaca or General Liakopulos could have sat in on this for me.”

Nepanthe noted the Colonel and General among the two dozen or so people she knew only by sight.

Sir Gjerdrum kissed her hand while clicking his heels. They had developed an innocent flirtation when he was younger and less world-wise. He played their old game half-hearted court with a weak suggestion. “Let me treat you to dinner after the little one comes.”

Nepanthe raised an eyebrow. What had become of the indefatigably cheerful Gjerdrum of years gone by? Had he been crushed between the millstones of duty? Or was this just a mood?

She glanced around the room. Her friends had all aged, had all grown tired of their responsibilities. Nothing dulls the enthusiasm like the inability to make visible progress, she thought.