“You look quite handsome this morning, Your Grace,” I said.

Without deigning an answer, he sat down next to me, his back straight and stiff. He seemed a great deal older than ten.

“Have you spoken with your mother or Lady Verally this morning?” I asked. He shook his head. “Then perhaps you’ll want to know… I understand that all is well with your mother as of yet.” I didn’t expect him to dance with joy, but was astounded when he shot me a look of such unmitigated hatred that my skin burned with it.

I had no time to consider the cause of his current displeasure, for the first rays of the sun angled through the windows. The clatter and scrape of a hundred nailed boots echoed at the far end of the hall as a long line of sturdy, plainly dressed men surged toward us through the door. I rose from my chair and motioned to Gerick to do the same.

Giorge leaned forward from behind me and whispered, “This man is-”

“Goodman Castor,” I said, nodding to the squat, toothless man who stood proudly at the front of the line.

I had asked Giorge to prompt me discreetly if I hesitated on a name, as there was no way to learn all the new faces in a short few months or to be sure that I could remember the old. But this man had worked the Comigor land since my father was a boy.

I gestured toward the chair. “In the name of His Grace, the young duke, I welcome you to Comigor. Please rest yourself.”

“An honor, ma’am,” the roughly dressed man said loudly, his eyes narrowed as he touched his forehead and settled himself carefully into the wooden chair.

“Would you have a glass?” I asked.

“Thank’ee, ma’am, but not this morning. I’ve work as must be done.”

“Tell me, Goodman, how is it with your Kate? And Bon and Ceille must be quite grown up since I was here last. Do they still switch dresses to fool everyone into thinking one is the other?”

The man’s face lost its wary sobriety. “It is you, then!” He swallowed hard, and blinked. “No… no, ma’am. Ceille has done gone and got herself with child four times, but Bon’s not chosen a man, so they turn out quite different now. And my Kate fares well. Still has all her teeth.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“How is it with the young duke and his family?” The man dipped his head to Gerick, who nodded silently. A gracious and proper response.

“We are quite robust,” I said, “and give thanks to all who honor us with their service.”

We talked briefly of crops and the weather, and I had Giorge write a note that Goodman Castor could use an extra half-bag of seed, for he was farming the portion of his son-in-law who was gone to the war in Iskeran. The young soldier had no one else to work his plot, for his own father was dead and his eldest son only six years old. When all was duly noted, I stood up to conclude the interview. “We wish you a healthy winter and a good season, Goodman Castor.”

The man rose and touched his forehead again. “And for the lord and his family, my lady.” Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a grimy handkerchief, and carefully unwrapped it to reveal eight small silver coins. Reverently, he placed them in my hand.

“Thank you, Goodman Castor,” said Gerick, with a polite bow of respect for the senior tenant, surprising me almost as much as he surprised the farmer. Then the man was gone, and another stood in his place, eyeing me anxiously.

Many of the tenants I knew, heads of the families that had worked the Comigor land for generations, whose children had grown up alongside me, though our paths had never been allowed to cross. Others were new to the estate. A few refused to open their mouths even in response to my questions. Their reluctance might just have been unfamiliarity, but more than one made the flick of the fingers that was supposed to call the Holy Twins’ attention to a bit of the evil from which they were supposed to be guarding us. One after the other the tenants came. All morning, only a few moments apiece, and it was necessary to greet each one as if he were the first.

“Goodman Phinaldo, I welcome you…”

“… an honor, my lady…”

“… no wine this morning…”

“… a healthy winter, and a prosperous year…”

Two hours into the long day, a footman brought me a note written in Nellia’s threadlike scrawl.

The duchess is full into her labors and does not fare well. The lady aunt has been removed and the midwife brought in as you directed.

“Goodman Helyard, I welcome you…”

“… a new scythe, as the old one has been sharpened until naught but a nubbin…”

“… quite robust, thank you…”

There was nothing to do. We couldn’t stop. In between tenants, I passed the note to the boy, for he had the right to know. His grave expression remained unchanged after he read it, and he nodded graciously to the next man. I felt inordinately proud of him.

“… and for the lord and his family…”

“With seven children, you surely have a goat. No? Giorge, please make a note. Goodman Arthur must have a goat.”

“… quite robust…”

At midday, the footman returned.

The duchess has been delivered of a daughter. The child is frail. The duchess sleeps and seems well.

I passed the message to Gerick, and he reacted exactly as before.

“… many thanks for your good service…”

“… my son is ready to take a wife…”

“… a note, Giorge. Goodman Ferdan’s son, Gerald, should be next on the list for a plot. If we reopen the western fields as we plan…”

We did not stop for a midday meal. I had nagged at my mother unmercifully about how unfair it was that the tenants got to go home after their duty was done, but we had to sit all day with neither a drink nor a bite. She never dignified my complaining with anything but a single comment. “Someday you will understand, Seri, that asking a man to hold his year’s work so that you may fill your stomach is unworthy of one in the position you have been given in life.” Gerick did much better than I had done at ten, looking each man in the eye as he thanked him for his payment. Tomas had taught him well. I smiled as I welcomed the next man.

“… loathly ashamed, my lady. ‘Tis the drink what done it… makes me a madman it does… and the thieves took advantage…”

“… but this is the third year with no rent, and we have five young men waiting for land. It is time you yielded your place to those who will work honestly.”

“But where will I go? My wife… my kindern…”

“You should have thought of your family when you drank away your responsibilities. They will not reap the bitter harvest you have sown, but you will work your own portion no longer. You will serve Goodman Castor who works two plots while his son-in-law is away. He is to give you only a common laborer’s sustenance. Pay him heed, and he’ll teach you honor and duty.”

So passed Covenant Day until the last brushed and scrubbed man departed the great hall hours after the last shreds of daylight had faded. The glowing Giorge directed his assistant to pack up his ledgers and the plain steel box that now held the wherewithal to repair the forge and the west wing roof, to pay royal tax levees, the servants, the soldiers, and the wine merchant, and to ensure the security of the young duke and his family for another year. When he had sent the pale clerks on their way, the steward bowed deeply.

“A good day, my lady, young master. Properly done.” High praise indeed from the taciturn steward.

The carafe of wine sparkled deep red in the light of the candles that had been set out to illuminate the steward’s business. On a whim, I poured a little into each of the two glasses that had sat so neglected all through the day, and offered one to Gerick who slumped tiredly in his chair. He sat up straight, took the glass, and put it to his lips.

“Your father would have been proud of you today,” I said, smiling.

But my words seemed to remind him of whatever it was that had worsened the state of affairs between us. With a snarl, he threw the wineglass at my feet, shattering the glass on the floor and splattering my skirts with the ruby liquid. Then, he ran out of the hall. I was beyond astonishment.

The two notes from Nellia lay crumpled in Gerick’s chair, reminding me that I had not yet finished the business of the day. I thanked the wide-eyed servants, who came to clean up the mess and put the hall to rights, and started up the stairs to see Philomena.

Before I reached the first landing, a harried servant accosted me with a message from the chamberlain. A visitor was waiting in the small reception room, asking to see the duchess on urgent business. Perhaps Lady Seriana could see the man. I decided to get rid of the visitor first, leaving me uninterrupted time for Philomena and Gerick. I couldn’t imagine what might bring someone to Comigor so late of an evening, so with curiosity as well as impatience, I hurried into the plain anteroom that was used to receive messengers and low-ranking visitors.

“Good evening, sir,” I said to the cloaked figure that stood by the fire with his back to me. “Please tell me what is your urgent business with the duchess.”

“Only if you happen to be the duchess,” said the man in a supercilious tone that one did not usually hear from those consigned to the small reception room. He turned toward me as he spoke, and my retort died on my tongue. A handsome man of middle years, narrow face, dark, close-trimmed hair, conservatively dressed in garb suitable for a soldier of middle rank with connections at court. He had let his beard grow longer since I had seen him last, but I could not fail to recognize him. “Darzid!”

“You!” He gathered his self-control quickly, but I had seen astonishment, displeasure, and yes, an undeniable streak of dismay before he donned his usual mask of detached amusement. It gave me an unseemly jolt of pleasure to see him discomfited-even if only for a moment. “Lady Seriana. Never in all the vagaries of time would I have expected to find you settled in your brother’s house. Has her ladyship gone mad?”

Wariness kept my loathing on a tight rein. Only hours since Karon and Dassine had walked in a Comigor garden, and now here was the man I believed the most dangerous in the Four Realms. “Her Grace is not receiving visitors this evening, Captain. State your business, and I’ll do what I can for you.”