The Fyrst then indicated that we should all sit. As we did so, I noted that there were enough chairs for everyone—except the haunts—and while there were six of us seated around the fire, it didn’t feel crowded. Instead of feeling at ease, though, I felt my spine tighten.
“Wyln and Laurel have informed me, Rabbit Two Trees’son, that you are an adept student and your grasp of working the talent is increasing apace,” His Grace said lightly as the servant returned with a cart laden with tea and small delicacies.
“Yes, Your Grace,” I said.
“That’s good.” The Fyrst looked at the servant. “Thank you. We will serve ourselves.” He turned back to me. “So how is it to be back in the Border after, what? Five years?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” I said again. Feeling reckless, I expanded on that. “I do admit that I find Elanwryfindyll to be almost as different as Iversterre, as I’ve never been to any of the coastal city-states.”
“I see,” the Fyrst said. “I understand your family has a farm in Dragoness Moraina’s territory, right?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” I said once more, then paused as I heard the distant snick of the outer foyer doors closing.
The Fyrst gave a faint smile. “From the farm but not, I think, a provincial.”
“No,” Captain Javes said, “Rabbit is neither stupid or naive, Your Grace.” His yellow wolf eyes gleamed at the Fyrst. “Neither, I hope, am I. Why have you spirited us here? And why now?”
“I know the prince,” His Grace said, “and I know of the vice admiral. I can figure out the vicar, the chancellor and the lordling. But I have no idea how you fit into all this. Yet fit you do.” The Fyrst settled back, his hands steepled before him as he rested his elbows on the chair’s arms. “Who are you, Captain Javes?”
Javes hesitated, then dared a slight shrug. “There’s no mystery, Your Grace. I’m just a merchant’s son who’s been fortunate enough to make captain in His Majesty’s Royal Army.”
“A merchant’s son who’s privy to a king’s confidence,” the Fyrst observed, “and a lowly garrison captain who sits at councils and is sent on secret missions.” His Grace saw the look Javes cast at Laurel and gave another faint smile. “Blame Chancellor Berle for my information, Javes Merchant’son.” His brows rose. “Again I ask: Who are you?”
Javes stared back a moment. He then gave his own faint smile. “My father trades with the Qarant, Your Grace.”
“So do hundreds, perhaps thousands of others—” the Fyrst began.
“And my mother is Qarant. Of the Damas, a daughter of the line.”
This time the Fyrst stared at Javes. “I see,” he finally said. “A prominent Qarant family. Not nobility, then, but very powerful.” His brows rose again. “Still, your king accepts you into his inner circle? How egalitarian!”
“No, Your Grace,” Javes said, his voice as dry as the Fyrst’s. “Just practical. He is on very good terms with all the principal merchant families, and my papa is head of the merchant’s guild.” He now dared his silly ass smile. “His Majesty knows that a kingdom doesn’t run on jousting tourneys, quests, and songs of chivalry, what?”
“Practical?” the Fyrst threw back. “He sends a son of a powerful merchant with strong ties to an even more powerful trade consortium, a Turalian dragon prince and”—the Fyrst turned his head to look at me—”a mageling who’s both a son of the Border and his close cousin to argue his case. Your king is as twisty as a serpent’s tail.”
I lifted my head to stare at Laurel, knowing that the cat had told the Fyrst about my oath to Jusson, only to have my eyes collide with Wyln, who gave me his amused smile.
“Chancellor Berle—” Javes began.
“No,” the Fyrst said over the captain. “Chancellor Berle is a mere formality, a perfunctory gesture to his court—and you cannot tell me that Lord Esclaur wasn’t included in her retinue to make sure the honored chancellor does not exceed her king’s directives.” His faint smile crossed his face once more. “Playing chess with Jusson Iver’son would be very interesting.”
“He is elfin,” Wyln pointed out.
“Yes,” His Grace agreed. Finished with Captain Javes, he shifted in his chair to look at me. “The first of the Council members have arrived and they’ve already requested to see you, Rabbit Two Trees’son.” His sardonic look came over his face as he reached for the teapot. “It seems that Magus Kareste has been busy, but I’ve put them off for now.”
He poured a cup of tea and offered it to me. I hesitated, then carefully took it, waiting for everyone to be served (and take a sip) before drinking. The Fyrst’s smile widened as he poured his own cup. “In the meantime, you will join my wife and me for the Midsummer celebration.”
I forgot the tea as I goggled at the Fyrst. “Me? Uh, Your Grace?”
“You are Cyhn to our house, Two Trees’son.” He took a sip of tea, his eyes enigmatic over the cup’s rim. “It would be considered remarkable if you don’t join us.”
Javes frowned and the Fyrst held up his hand.
“Don’t worry, I’ll speak with Prince Suiden—” The Fyrst broke off and he, Wyln and Laurel all turned in their seats to face the door to the foyer. After a moment I could hear a commotion coming up the stairs and, looking at Captain Javes, pushed my feet under me, ready to rise if necessary. Javes did the same as the door opened and Harbormaster Lin and Uncle Havram walked in, followed by one of the harbor wardens. The Fyrst stood, while motioning the rest of us to remain seated. He said nothing as he watched the faerie walk towards him.
“I beg pardon for the interruption, Your Grace,” the harbormaster began, bowing as she reached the Fyrst. “But I must inform you—” There was more commotion and the leopard haunt that was usually Groskin’s companion came running into the room, making his way to my side to join Basel, Honor Ash and the unicorn. More haunts appeared at the door.
“Obruesk has escaped,” Uncle Havram said.
Chapter Sixty-two
“A careful watch has been kept on the human ships’ crews, honored Fyrst,” Harbormaster Lin said. “Their comings and goings monitored, so as to avoid any incidents. Last night a crew member left the Dauntless and entered the city. When he didn’t return we did a thorough search. He’s nowhere to be found, which makes us think that he doesn’t want to be found—especially since we did find sailor’s clothes ditched in a back alley.” She nodded and the harbor warden produced the jacket, shirt and breeks that the sailors in His Majesty’s Royal Navy commonly wore.
“Who is he, Vice Admiral?” the Fyrst asked after a cursory glance at the clothes.
“A renegade cleric, Your Grace,” Doyen Allwyn said before Havram could answer.
“Aye.” Uncle Havram agreed. “He must have convinced one of the crew to let him go. With the senior officers being occupied here, there wasn’t anyone there to check his foolishness.”
“But why?” I asked and caught looks at me. “Sirs, honored folk. Why jump ship? There’s nothing for him here—the exact opposite, in fact.”
“Probably for the same reason most people jump ship, lad,” Havram said. “He doesn’t want to return.”
“All his supporters, though, are back in Iversterre—”
The Fyrst held up his hand and I shut up.
“Why are you telling me this, harbormaster?” the Fyrst asked. “Why aren’t you telling Commander Pellan?”
“We can’t find Eorl Pellan, Your Grace,” Lin said. “Nor can we find his lieutenant or his sergeant. We tried to tell the City Watch commander or his second, but they’re missing too.” She frowned, her feathery brows pulling together. “I felt that we needed to tell someone as I am concerned that this vicar could pose a danger, especially with the High Council meeting here shortly.”