Drunk as he was, Alec’s gut tightened at those words. “Are we being arrested?”

“If past experience is anything to go by, he wouldn’t send us a warning first.” Seregil chuckled. “Please, good sir herald, give my regards to his Highness, and assure him that we are honored by this invitation, and will do our best to be there.” The herald arched a brow at the flippant reply. “Go on, tell him. He won’t mind.”

“As you wish, my lord. From your lips to the Vicegerent’s ear.”

“You’re drunker than I thought,” Alec muttered, helping Seregil up to their room. “What were you thinking, sending a message like that?”

Seregil let out an inelegant snort and leaned on the wall while Alec fumbled with the bedroom latch. “Kor? He won’t care. And serves ’im right, calling us out at such a wretched hour, after a festival night. Mark my words; it’s her doing.”

He staggered inside and collapsed facedown on the bed. Before Alec could draw him out further on the matter, Seregil was snoring.

“Fine then. Sleep in your clothes,” Alec muttered, letting his own fall where they would as he followed.

If he’d been more sober himself, he’d probably have been more worried.

CHAPTER 4 Those Who Serve at the Queen’s Displeasure

BY THE TIME they rode to the Palace the next morning, Alec was sober enough to be worried and wine sick in equal measure. Even the weak early light made his head throb. Seregil, as usual, was feeling fine and didn’t seem particularly perturbed about the summons. They’d left Micum pacing the courtyard, clearly worried whether or not he would see them again.

“Bilairy’s Balls, Seregil, why did you let me drink so much?” Alec grumbled.

Seregil snickered. “Let you? I seem to recall being told to ‘hand over the bottle or piss off’ at several points during the evening.”

“So you’re as immune to drink as you are to magic?”

“Hardly. I’ve just had better luck with drink. You’ve seen what magic does to me.” He raised a hand unconsciously to the faded scar hidden beneath his fine surcoat. “I’ll take a bad wine head any day.”

Alec’s horse missed a step on the worn cobbles and lurched. Alec’s belly did the same. “Easy for you to say.” He kept his real worries to himself as the dark bulk of the Palace loomed before them.

Built of black and grey stone and buttressed by the western wall that surrounded the city, with square towers overlooking the harbor below, it was as much fortress as castle, and one that had never been successfully taken. Alec had read the histories of how Queen Tamír the Great had built Rhíminee, guided by visions and the best builders in the land, after Plenimar had destroyed the original capital at Ero. The Orëska House had been built at the same time, but where it was airy and open, the Palace had a closed, oppressive feel.

At least we came in through the front door this time, thought Alec as a liveried servant led them through the large receiving hall and down a twisting series of corridors to a smaller, but no less imposing chamber.

This one was long and rather narrow, with a row of stained-glass slit windows set high up under the vaulted ceiling. These left the room in semidarkness at this hour, and it was cold. At the far end, several rows of long oak benches faced a large throne on a raised dais. The queen’s banner hung behind it, glimmering in the lamplight.

“Please have a seat, my lords,” the servant said, directing them to the front bench. “Her Majesty left orders for you to attend her here.”

Seregil sat down on one of the front benches and stretched his legs out, still looking more bored than worried. Alec tried to do the same but was soon up and pacing the polished stone floor. His footsteps echoed hollowly in the cavernous room, drawing attention to the fact that they were the only people here.

“There are better ways to pass the time, you know.” Seregil took a bag of gaming stones from his purse, and a lump of chalk.

Alec caught his arm as he bent to mark a bakshi board on the floor. “Stop that! How is that going to look, when she comes in?”

Seregil rolled his eyes, but sat back and put the chalk away. “How will it look, with you wearing a trench in the floor?”

The sun clocked nearly an hour down the wall before the great doors at the far end of the room opened and Phoria swept in with Prince Korathan and Thero.

Alec elbowed Seregil, then tried to catch the young wizard’s eye, but Thero gave him only a slight nod as he came to stand with them. This didn’t seem a sign of good things to come.

He looked well, otherwise. He’d put on a formal robe for the occasion, and his belt and purse were finely worked with Aurënfaie patterns. He was clean-shaven these days, and a smooth dark blue gem set in silver dangled, ’faie style, from his left ear. His black curly hair was much longer, and tied back with a black ribbon.

Phoria took the throne and waited as Seregil and Alec came forward and bowed.

“Welcome home, Majesty,” Seregil said, suddenly very formal and respectful.

Phoria acknowledged the greeting but did not smile. Alec stole a glance at her brother; how could womb mates be of such different dispositions?

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you here?” the queen asked.

Seregil made her another small bow. “We are at your service, Majesty.”

“You three are Watchers, are you not?”

“Yes, Majesty,” Thero answered for them all. “Under the guidance of my master, and Lord Arkoniel before him, the Watchers have served the Crown since the city was founded.”

“So you say. Yet I believe you Watchers have also served your own interests, under this guise of self-appointed protectors. And always in secret.”

Thero looked genuinely taken aback. “The interests of the Watchers have always been Skala’s, Majesty.”

Phoria turned to Seregil. “And are your interests those of Skala, Lord Seregil?”

Seregil drew himself up a little taller; Alec sensed his friend’s sudden flash of anger and prayed Phoria wouldn’t notice. “Yes, Majesty.”

Phoria waited for him to elaborate but he let his answer hang in the air between them.

“But you are not Skalan, and neither is your companion.” Phoria spared Alec a glance. “Your loyalty to Nysander is not in question, only your loyalty to me. You served him, not my mother.”

“Through him we served her, and Skala,” Seregil replied evenly. “I was accused of treason once, and my name was cleared. Your mother didn’t doubt me.”

“Careful,” Korathan murmured.

“And you, Lord Alec,” Phoria turned the full force of that pale-eyed gaze on him. “Whom do you serve?”

“I would never betray Skala, your Majesty!”

The queen looked less than impressed by his answer, but Alec thought he caught the hint of an encouraging smile from Korathan.

“My brother the prince tells me that you have lost your name in your own land, Seregil,” Phoria continued. “That instead of exile, you have been completely cut off from your own people.”

“That’s correct-and I trust he explained that it was because Alec and I chose Skala and the kinship I have with your family over our duty to Aurënfaie law.”

A moment of ominous silence followed, as Seregil and Phoria stared each other down. Alec held his breath, certain now of a quick journey to a Red Tower cell.

“Is it Skala you are loyal to, Seregil, or my sister?” Phoria asked at last.

“Majesty, if you please, I’ve known Seregil most of my life,” Thero interjected quickly. “I vouch for his loyalty with my own oath. He’s risked his life for Skala’s sake more times than you can imagine, and Alec with him. You have nothing to fear from them, or me. We all serve at your pleasure.”

Phoria chuckled darkly. “Be assured I fear none of you. Does he speak for you, Lord Seregil?”