Midwinter

The guard's frown intensified. "This way, milord."

Silverdun followed the guard across the empty courtyard to the North Tower, wind from the sea catching his braids and lashing his face with them. The night air had a frozen tang to it that Silverdun could taste. It was not a wholesome flavor.

"This is the last night I will spend at Crete Sulace," he suddenly said, and knew that he meant it, although he had no idea why. It was not uncommon, however, for his mouth to know things before his mind could consider them.

When they reached Jem Alan's rooms in the North Tower, Silverdun pushed ahead and flung the double doors open with a shove.

"By the Queen's tits, Jem Alan, do you never sleep?" he shouted. "One drink and one drink only." Silverdun drew up short when he realized it was Mauritane and not the Vice Warden, at the desk in Jem Alan's sitting room.

"Promoted from prisoner to Vice Warden all of an evening? I'd say you've been busy tonight, Mauritane. Tell me, is it really all about who you know?"

Mauritane waved the guard away. "Sit down," he said to Silverdun. "I'll be with you in a moment." Before him on the desk was a set of charts and maps and a compass, arranged neatly over the surface of the desk. In the center, Mauritane took notes with a long, black quill on a wide sheet of paper.

Silverdun dropped into a chair opposite Mauritane and took a cigarette from the carved wooden box on the table, lighting it with a bit of witchlight from his fingertips. He glanced around the room with a disconcerting sense of finality still lingering from his moment of lightheadedness in the courtyard.

Jem Alan's rooms were once those of the Prince himself, or at least a spellturned version of those rooms; it was impossible to tell. The fire burning in the enormous stone hearth seemed solid enough. The same moonlight that had quietly played in Silverdun's cell erupted here through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall, their arched tops casting looming, rounded shadows on the double doors through which Silverdun had entered. The only other light came from the lamps Mauritane had on the desk, serving the dual purpose of illumination and of weighing down the scrolling maps.

Mauritane circled a sum with his quill and looked up, catching Silverdun's eye for the first time.

"I need your help," said Mauritane.

Silverdun leaned in. "Any assistance I can render, sir." He saluted.

"You still find it amusing that I once outranked you."

"Only in the military sense, Captain."

"You heard that a party of riders came tonight, flying royal colors? They delivered this." Mauritane held out the letter.

Silverdun scanned the page quickly, its charmed ink already fading from exposure to light. "Fascinating," he said after a moment's reflection. "What instructions were you given?"

Mauritane recounted his conversation with Purane-Es and Silverdun listened intently. His ears perked at the name of the commander.

"Purane-Es. That bastard," said Silverdun.

"You know him?"

"I know of him. I flirted briefly with his sister when she was at court a dozen years ago. Pretentious brat, from what I gathered, deeply buried in the combined shadows of his father and elder brother."

"You know that his father now commands the Royal Guard, and that he is the likely replacement?"

"Yes. The Elder Purane and my father had business with each other on occasion. But what became of the elder brother? Surely he would be in direct succession for the captaincy?"

"No. He's dead."

"You're certain of this?"

"I killed him."

Silverdun nodded. "Well, then, I suppose you're certain. Hardly a trustworthy messenger, this Purane-Es, it seems."

"The Chamberlain's seal was genuine. And I recognize the handwriting."

Silverdun shrugged. "I don't doubt the veracity of the letter. But if what you've told me is true, and not even Purane-Es knows the full extent of the Queen's plan, you can be sure that you won't survive to tell the tale once this game is complete."

Mauritane leaned back in the leather chair and sighed, the creases in his forehead darkening. "It would appear so, though I have doubts of that. If the Crown simply needed a patsy, why travel so great a distance to find one? There are any number of able soldiers in the City Emerald who earn the Queen's disfavor on a given day. And the Chamberlain's word, even printed in invisible ink, still carries with it some honor."

"You're a dangerous optimist," said Silverdun.

"I have to be. I have no choice in the matter." Mauritane held up his hands.

Silverdun clucked his tongue. "Well," he said, looking around the room. "I wish you luck, then."

Mauritane's eyes narrowed. "Wish yourself luck. You're coming with me."

"I? I'm no soldier. And I value my life."

"I need you, Silverdun. You possess valuable Gifts. I know you have Glamour and Elements, and I suspect you have Insight as well. And…"

"Yes?" Silverdun leaned forward.

"You're the only person I trust."