Beka, who’d been standing with Anri and Danos, looked up in surprise, and in the brightening light Klia could see how weary and bloodstained she was. Wind-burned as she

was, her face was pale behind the freckles, and it was clear she hadn’t slept, either. Nonetheless, she came forward and saluted smartly.

Klia smiled. “I’m promoting you, Beka Cavish. These past five years you have served well, rendered untold service to the royal family, and exemplified valor on the field. From this day forward, you are a commander of the Queen’s Horse Guard.”

A murmur went through the assembly. Most knew that her father was a foreigner, and of low rank. They had no idea of his service to the Crown. Klia stilled it with a sharp look, then unhooked her silver and gold gorget and presented it to Beka.

After a stunned instant, Beka took it in both hands and went down on one knee. “Thank you, Highness, for this immense honor. I will not fail you.”

“I know you won’t. I call you all to bear witness. Rise, Commander Beka Cavish, and assume your place with your peers.”

When the last of the night’s work was finished at last, Klia made her way wearily back to Phoria’s pavilion to sit vigil, accompanied by the generals and commanders. As she neared it, she noticed Danos nearby. He saluted her with a wan smile. She returned it, wondering what the future held for him.

CHAPTER 43. Nightrunning

THAT same night Alec watched with Seregil, Micum, and Thero from the shadows as the last of Atre’s troupe set off in the direction of the theater.

Patch and the other horses were hobbled in the narrow alley behind them, and nickered softly. Among all his other worries, Alec hoped that no one stole Patch.

The house was dark, but a lone watchman with a lantern had been left to guard the place. Seregil had seen the cook and serving girl leave after the evening meal, and none of them had seen any other servants during the day.

All but Thero were armed with swords, and Alec had his Black Radly in case of a chase. He’d taken off the shatta and stuffed a woolen muffler Illia had knitted him inside the quiver to keep the arrows from rattling. And for luck, too, he admitted to himself.

It was a clear night, with a lopsided autumn moon casting bright bars of light between the buildings. There were no walls around the houses in this neighborhood, making it that much harder to approach without being seen, though it was probably just as well with Thero along. The wizard had wisely dressed in breeches and a dark tunic, but he probably wasn’t up to much climbing.

“I’ll do the honors,” whispered Micum, starting away.

Just then, however, a tiny orb of blue light winked into existence in front of Thero.

As the others exchanged puzzled looks, the wizard touched the message sphere gently. To Alec’s surprise, there was no

voice, at least not one that he could hear, as was usual with Thero’s message spells. But clearly Thero could hear something, for his face went very still as he replied softly, “I understand.” The little light sped away with its new message.

“What’s going on?” hissed Seregil.

The wizard gave the sign for Watcher business, then pulled a button from his coat and handed it to Seregil. “Keep this with you. I’ll find you.” With that, he mounted his horse and rode away down the side alley.

“Bilairy’s Balls!” Seregil muttered, staring after him in disbelief.

“What do we do?” asked Alec.

“What we’ve always done.” Seregil carefully tucked Thero’s button away in his belt pouch. “Our job.”

Thero rode in stunned silence as the import of Klia’s message sank in. The queen was dead, the war was won, and Klia would be back in the city, accompanying the fallen queen’s body and bearing the great sword to Elani, in perhaps a week’s time. He was to break the news to Prince Korathan. Immediately.

Sorrow, joy, and relief warred in his heart. He didn’t know how to feel.

At the Palace he drew a few questioning looks given the lateness of the hour and his uncommon clothing, but a page took him at once to the royal residence.

Thero found Korathan alone in the darkened garden. He wore no robes or coat, but sat in his shirtsleeves, with one elbow on the stone table and his head resting on his hand, pale hair loose around his face. A wine bottle and cup stood before him on the table.

Before Thero could even bow, he said softly, “Phoria is dead, isn’t she?”

“You’ve had word?”

But the prince shook his head. “We shared a womb, and a lifetime. I’m told it’s common with twins-to know.” He sat back in his chair and looked at Thero. “The war is lost?”

“No, Highness, it’s won. I’ve had word from Klia herself.

Queen Phoria drove the Plenimarans to their border, then fell on the brink of victory. Princess Klia finished the task.”

“Thank Sakor for that, at least! Is there any suggestion that Phoria’s death was connected to your cabals?”

“None that I know of yet, Highness.”

“Then let it rest. Reltheus and the others have been convicted of conspiracy against the realm and banished.” He sighed. “I suppose we should have a drink. Sit with me, please.”

Impatient as he was to return to Seregil and the others, Thero could not refuse, and not just because of their difference in rank. It was a bittersweet victory for Korathan.

The prince filled his own cup, then pushed the bottle across to Thero. “To Phoria. Astellus carry her softly.”

“To Queen Phoria.” Thero raised the bottle and took a small sip; he had work ahead of him tonight, hopefully.

Korathan raised his cup again. “The queen is dead. Long live the queen!”

“Queen Elani, the Four protect her.”

They drank again.

“And to victory,” Korathan rasped, and Thero could tell the prince had started drinking long before he’d arrived.

“To victory, thank the Flame.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Korathan cleared his throat and asked, “Phoria- She died well?”

“Yes, Highness, in the thick of battle. Klia said she’d tell you the rest when she returns. She sails tomorrow, bringing the queen’s body and the Sword of Gherilain back to the city.”

“A wise woman, my little sister. This should put an end to any further rumors.” He took another sip. “Between you and me, Thero, I know Elani will make a fine queen, but Klia would have made a great one.”

“She doesn’t want the crown. She’s said so a number of times. She loves soldiering.”

Korathan let out a mirthless laugh. “As do I. Here’s to choosing one’s own path. To Klia.”

“To Princess Klia.”

Silence fell again, and again it was Korathan who broke it.

“You and the others have served Skala well, even when ordered not to.”

“As loyal Skalans-” Thero began, but Korathan shook his head.

“I’m not a stupid man, Thero. The Watchers serve more than just queen and country.”

“But never are those in opposition, Highness.”

“Never?”

“I can only speak for myself, and for Nysander when I knew him, but no. Never.”

“I haven’t told Elani about you yet. What do you think I should do?”

Thero considered this seriously; for one fragile moment they were, if not peers, then two men who held the safety of the nation in their hands. At last he replied, “When the time is right you should tell her, in any way you like.”

Korathan raised an eyebrow. “When the time is right? When will that be?”

“When we are needed.”

“I see. Yes. Well, thank you for bringing word to me.” His face remained a calm mask as Thero rose to go, but the lightest of touches across the prince’s mind revealed a bottomless well of grief.

Thero felt strangely guilty at leaving the man alone, but he’d clearly been dismissed so that Korathan could grieve in private.

As soon as Thero was gone, Seregil gave the signal to Micum to move out. The man disappeared down the shadowy street, only to reappear at the front of the house in time to intercept the watchman and engage him in conversation. Seregil couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the other man appeared glad of a break in the night’s boredom.