“Let us continue,” Graelalea said. “We shall speak to your king soon.”

So mesmerized by the journey had Laren become, that she had forgotten its purpose. She shook herself as if to awaken from a long sleep.

“What is it you wish to speak to him about?”

“Kanmorhan Vane,” Graelalea replied.

Blackveil. This time the shudder was involuntary.

AN INVITATION

Once Laren entered the city gates with the Eletians, she sent a guard up the Winding Way to inform the king of their arrival. When they reached the castle, they were ushered into a meeting chamber, which was warmed by blazing hearths at either end; the table was set with an array of refreshments.

Zachary sat at the head of the table in a smaller version of his throne, Lady Estora to his right. Since autumn, he’d included her in his meetings and audiences, and she took to her role as queen-intended naturally, remaining serene and dignified, but unafraid to speak up when she felt it necessary. Laren thought she’d probably learned well from her mother, the lady of Coutre Province.

Zachary maintained an air of respect toward her. It was difficult for Laren to ascertain how well they were getting along on a personal level, for he would not confide in her on this matter, but she hoped it was quite well for the sake of their mutual happiness. In a state marriage, however, personal compatibility certainly was not a requirement.

Absent from the chamber, Laren was pleased to note, was Lord Richmont Spane, Estora’s cousin and self-appointed counselor. Laren tired of him constantly whispering into Estora’s ear like a spider perched on her shoulder. And there was that smug smile of his, as if he were on a level with the king himself.

With Estora to be queen, Clan Coutre was in ascendance, and Spane was in a greater position of influence than ever. While his maneuvering for power irritated Laren, it was not unexpected; for what other reason did the aristocracy exist if not to seek greater authority and position over others?

To Zachary’s left sat the Eletians, with Graelalea sitting between her two companions. Laren remembered Telagioth from the Eletians’ previous visit—how could she forget his clear, cerulean blue eyes? The other Eletian was introduced as Lhean, his hair pale gold like the cool winter sun. The Eletians outshone everyone else in the room, including Estora, who was considered the great beauty of the land. Laren had to drag her gaze from them.

The king’s other two primary advisors—Colin Dovekey and Castellan Sperren—also joined them. Footmen moved unobtrusively from person to person with ewers of wine and filed seamlessly out of the chamber when they finished. Only one of the king’s Weapons stayed with them, silent and statuelike, his black uniform allowing him to fade into the shadows of the corner he stood in.

The Eletians remained stoic while Laren spoke of their encounter in the woods and the demise of the band of groundmites.

When she finished, Zachary put his hand to his temple and bowed to the Eletians. “I owe you a debt of gratitude,” he said, “for I’d be lost without the captain.” There was a tremor in his voice and Laren warmed with affection for him.

“We are pleased to have been of aid,” Graelalea said. “Our meeting, however, was not entirely chance. We were on our way here to speak to you, at the behest of my brother, Ari-matiel Jametari.”

“I see,” Zachary said, “and what did he—”

At that moment, the chamber door opened and Lord Spane burst in. “Many pardons for being late,” he said, giving Zachary a perfunctory bow. “I just heard we have guests.”

Laren bridled her annoyance at the intrusion.

“I am Lord Richmont Spane,” he announced to the Eletians. “Counselor to Lady Estora. I look after the interests of Coutre Province.”

Graelalea nodded in return.

An awkward few moments passed as an extra chair was brought in and Spane insinuated himself at Estora’s right hand, forcing Colin to move over. If Spane was the least bit impressed by the Eletians, he did not show it, and if Zachary was at all perturbed by the interruption, he hid it well.

When everyone was settled, Zachary started again. “What did your brother wish for you to speak to me about?”

“My brother,” Graelalea replied, “wishes to inform you of his intention to go ahead with sending an expedition into Kanmorhan Vane.”

Already Spane was leaning toward Estora to whisper something to her.

“I thought it likely he would,” Zachary said softly. “He seemed determined to proceed when we spoke in the fall.”

Graelalea did not respond. Laren remembered how she protested to her brother when he mentioned the idea to Zachary. It would be, she said, a fatal mission into a land that was a sad corpse of what it once was. The expedition would be led, Jametari said, by his sister. When Laren looked upon Graelalea now, she saw no fear in her. Only calm.

“When will you go?” Zachary asked.

“When day balances with night,” Graelalea said, “and no sooner. The equinox. We dare not enter the forest while night still dominates.”

“I don’t understand,” Spane said, his voice abrasive against the somber mood. “Why would anyone go into that evil place?”

Laren supposed it was a fair question, since he was not present to hear Jametari’s reasoning, and Zachary had not discussed it with anyone beyond his immediate advisors.

“Blackveil was once Argenthyne,” Graelalea said, “and it is our prince’s desire that we see what may remain of it that is good.”