The swordmaster nodded and ordered the men into neat rows, before taking his place just behind the duke, his stout legs planted squarely on the grass and his arms folded over his broad chest.

Marston arrived a few moments later, accompanied by two guards from the city gate who announced him to the duke. He looked older than Aindreas remembered, which wasn’t surprising; it had been several years since last they met. But he appeared taller as well, and broader in the chest and shoulders. The duke had expected to see an unimpressive boy; instead he found himself facing a man who, despite his youth, looked very much like a thane, or even a duke. He resembled his father, just as his brother did, if Aindreas remembered correctly. All the Shanstead men seemed to share the same unremarkable but vaguely pleasant looks-straight brown hair, pale grey eyes, a straight nose and square chin.

Marston had come with eight of his men and his Qirsi minister, a young-looking man with close-cropped white hair and the same strange yellow eyes that all the sorcerers had. The thane introduced the man, but Aindreas missed his name, and didn’t care enough to ask Marston to repeat it.

When they finished with the formalities, the duke had Villyd arrange for the housing of Shanstead’s men and invited the thane, and with some reluctance his Qirsi as well, to join him for the midday meal. They kept their conversation light. Aindreas did not wish to discuss anything of substance in the company of the white-hair, nor did he wish to seem too anxious to speak of weightier matters. He had hoped that Ioanna might join them, but midway through the meal Ennis came to say that his mother was resting and would do her best to attend the evening meal.

“How fares the duchess?” Marston asked once Ennis was gone. “I’ve heard that she suffered greatly for the loss of your daughter.”

“We all did, Lord Shanstead,” Aindreas said pointedly. “My wife is doing as well as one might expect. As one parent to another, I can tell you that I wouldn’t wish the loss of a child on my most hated enemy.”

He regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, for the fact was he had done just that, fighting for the execution of Javan’s boy. If Marston noticed the duke’s error, he had the good sense not to comment on it.

“Of course not, my lord. You and your entire family have our deepest sympathies.”

They lapsed into a difficult silence, which the Qirsi finally ended.

“This is my first journey to Kentigern, my Lord Duke. I wonder if we might walk the battlements when our meal is done. I’ve heard tales of them all my life.”

Aindreas made himself smile. “It would be my pleasure, Minister.”

A short while later they finished eating and ascended the steps of the nearest tower to the castle walls. The duke had walked the battlements with his guests so often that with barely a thought he could tell the history of Kentigern’s various towers and the sieges they had survived. Still, the Qirsi seemed quite interested, as did Marston, who last visited the tor nearly eight years before, as a boy only a year or two past his Determining.

By the time they had come full circle back to Aindreas’s private hall, it was nearly dusk. The thane and his minister left the duke to find their quarters and wash the road from their faces and clothes.

“If we’re to meet the duchess,” Marston said, “we ought not to smell like our mounts.”

After making certain that his guests were escorted to their chambers, Aindreas returned to the castle’s great hall to check on the preparations for the night’s feast. Before Brienne’s death, this had been Ioanna’s task, but for the past several turns Aindreas had considered himself fortunate if she even attended a feast, much less planned one. He had become both duke and duchess, just as he had been forced to care for Affery and Ennis as both father and mother. At times like these, thinking of all that Tavis of Curgh had taken from him, the duke could barely contain his rage. The boy deserved to die, as did his father, the king, and everyone else who had aided his escape from Kentigern’s dungeon.

To his surprise, his wife actually did come to the hall to join their meal, arriving just a few moments after Marston and the Qirsi. She wore a red velvet gown, one that Aindreas had always loved on her. But seeing her dressed so, jewels about her neck, and her hair combed and scented, the duke could only grieve. She had always been slight, but rather than looking elegant, she now appeared frail, as if the darkness that had consumed her mind had ravaged her body as well. Her once beautiful face had grown sallow and pinched; her large brown eyes seemed sunken and when she smiled, upon her arrival in the hall, she looked more like a wraith than a living woman.

Aindreas stood, offering her the chair beside him, and Marston and his minister bowed deeply to her, drawing another ghostly smile to her lips. Though pleased that she had come to the hall, the duke could not help worrying that she might embarrass herself. Her behavior since Brienne’s death had been erratic almost to the point of madness. Aindreas didn’t want it spread through the kingdom that the duchess of Kentigern had lost her mind, nor did he want his efforts to forge an alliance with Thorald and the other houses to be hindered by rumors that perhaps he was mad as well. Fortunately, Ioanna made it through the meal without any lapses. Indeed, the food and conversation seemed to do her good, leaving her more animated than she had been when the evening began. She lingered over the dried fruits, cheeses, and honey cakes served at the end of the meal, sipping her wine and speaking with Shanstead’s minister about Sussyn, where, as it happened, both of them had spent their early childhood. Despite Ioanna’s sickly appearance, Aindreas could not help but be pleased. In some small way, he felt that his wife had come back to him this night.

At last, the duchess announced that she had grown tired and wished to return to her chambers. Aindreas helped her to her feet and kissed her cheek.

“I’m glad you joined us,” he said quietly, their eyes meeting for a moment.

“As am I.” She turned to Marston. “Good night, Lord Shanstead. I’ve enjoyed your company.”

“And I yours, my lady.”

One of her ladies took her arm and led her out of the hall, leaving Aindreas alone with Marston and his minister.

“Shall we open another flask of wine?” the duke asked, smiling at the thane. “We have a good deal to discuss.”

“Of course, my Lord Duke.”

Aindreas motioned to one of the servants to bring more wine. He glanced for an instant at the Qirsi, before facing Marston again. “If you don’t mind, I’d like for us to speak in private.”

The thane looked for a moment as if he might object, but instead he offered a strained smile. “I don’t mind at all.” He turned to his minister. “It’s all right, Xiv. We’ll speak later.”

The Qirsi nodded and stood. “Yes, my lord.” He eyed the duke, his expression revealing nothing. “Good night, my Lord Duke. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Aindreas nodded and made himself smile, but offered no reply.

“I hope you don’t think me rude,” Aindreas said once the man was gone. “Where some matters are concerned, I feel more comfortable addressing myself just to a noble.”

“I don’t think you rude, my lord. I think I understand your concerns.”

“Good.” Aindreas poured out the wine and raised his goblet. “To friendships, old and new.”

“To friendships,” the thane said, sipping his wine.

“I should have asked you earlier, Lord Shanstead, but how is your father?”

“He’s well, my lord.”

Aindreas raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad, though somewhat surprised. I had heard he was ill.”

“It’s a minor discomfort, my lord, nothing more.”

“I see,” Aindreas said, not entirely certain that he believed the thane. “Well, I hope you’ll convey to him my wishes for a quick recovery.”