“Why should we believe this person—” Kareste began.
“As Rabbit stood in the Witness Circle in the king’s palace to swear the truth of his allegiance to King Jusson—” Esclaur paused, took a deep breath and continued. “So I will do here, to swear to the truth of my words, if Your Grace so wishes it.”
The Fyrst folded his hands together, his forefingers against his lips as he stared down at Esclaur. “Your king senses the talent,” he said, ignoring me lordling’s offer, “in a land that says the talent does not exist. Or, if it does, it is evil. And your king acknowledges that he can.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Esclaur said. “He’s been to Veldecke and has felt it there, so he knew what it was when he touched the bird.”
“He can also thought-scry, honored Fyrst,” Laurel murmured, “and has admitted that too in front of witnesses. An elfin king, Your Grace, as dark and gold as Lieutenant Falkin here is fair and northern.”
The Fyrst turned his head to stare at the first lieutenant.
“And kin to Rabbit—whom he openly called cousin, even as Rabbit evidenced his power,” Laurel said.
“The bird was just enhanced, Your Grace,” the Magus said in the silence. “I did not work its death—”
The Fyrst made a gesture and the Magus shut up. He then picked up the sack of jewels, hefting it a couple of times before handing it back to the eorl. “Give this to Magus Kareste, Commander Pellan. Compensation for the indentures of his apprentice, the human male named Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees. Let it be noted in the Acta that all bindings therein are declared dissolved by my order. Fiat.”
The Magus’ face was like an ice storm, all sharp angles and frozen needles. “Your Grace—”
“Silence, mage!” For the first time the Fyrst showed emotion. “You tread perilously close to being banished for sorcery, for in your arrogance you killed using your talent.”
“Your Grace, if the bird did die, it was unintentional—”
“I don’t know if that isn’t worse! That you didn’t care as long as it got you what you wanted.” The Fyrst settled back into his throne, glaring at the Magus. “For the bird’s death, you will lose what you turned the world upside down to gain.”
The Magus’ face congealed even more. “I then appeal this decision, Your Grace, to the High Council.” Gasps and whispers shot around the hall. “As is my right.”
“As is your right, mage,” the Fyrst acknowledged. He tapped once more on the throne arm and the whispering died down. “Until then, I think it’ll be best if you retire until you are over your understandable disappointment of my ruling going against you.” Magus Kareste opened his mouth, but the Fyrst spoke over him. “Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees, will remain with me until the Council’s decision. Let that be written into the Acta. Fiat.”
There was nothing Magus Kareste could do, except bow and agree—especially since the Fyrst’s guards were standing at his elbows ready to escort him and his companions out of the hall. The Fyrst waited until the door shut behind them before gazing at me, his face once more emotionless. “It seems that you’ve acquired some powerful friends, young human.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” I murmured.
“You’ll need them, as you’ve also acquired a powerful enemy.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“But thunderclaps in the sky, is it?” The Fyrst propped his chin on his fist, ignoring Berle’s smothered exclamation at his sudden likeness to King Jusson. “Perhaps you’re strong enough on your own not to need hedges to hide behind.”
I said nothing.
“He stopped a djinn storm, honored Fyrst,” Laurel said, stepping into the breech, “that came upon us with no warning.”
“A djinn storm?” the Fyrst repeated, his dark eyes not moving from mine. “Then it’s no wonder the Magus is so anxious to get his apprentice back.” He gave a little sigh as he settled back into his chair. “I suppose I’ll have to see to his disposition, as I cannot have him wandering about, blundering into things with his talent.”
“As I have begun his training, Your Grace, I ask that he be given to me.”
The Fyrst’s brow rose. “To you?” A sardonic look passed over the elf’s face and was gone. “I do not think you’re his favorite person right now, Laurel Faena. What if he takes it into his mind to leave you too?”
“There is a covenant, Your Grace,” Laurel said. “He will honor it.”
“So there is.” The Fyrst shrugged. “Well, if you want him—Let it be written into the Acta that the human Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees, is given into the charge of Laurel Faena of the Black Hills Weald until the High Council’s decision. Fiat.” He dismissed me and looked back at Laurel. “Now, honored Faena, tell me about this djinn storm—”
“The Lady preserve us!”
Other cries and sounds of alarm rang out and I turned around to see what was happening.
“Groskin must have gotten the first load off the ship,” Javes said, groping for his quiz glass. He then shot the Fyrst a look and stopped.
The unicorn and leopard were pacing through the court, leading a stream of haunts—all headed for me.
“This goes back to the main reason I was sent to Iversterre, Your Grace,” Laurel said to the Fyrst, who had risen from his throne and now stood staring at the ghosts filling his hall. “We found their bodies in Iversly and have brought them home, but the moon season is here and every single one of them has chosen the human Rabbit.”
Chapter Fifty-nine
The Fyrst sat quiet during Laurel’s recital about his discoveries in Iversterre and their resolutions, not even blinking as the Faena told of the far-flung smuggling ring. He then received both the written and the verbal apologies of King Jusson delivered through Chancellor Berle, listening to her measured speech on the desire for peace and understanding between the Border and Iversterre, his eyes wandering between Berle and the haunts surrounding me. But when Berle segued into establishing an embassy, the Fyrst stopped her. “This too should go before the High Council.” He looked down at the chancellor, his face cold and still. “As it touches the entire Border, not just Elanwryfindyll.”
Chancellor Berle bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Fortunately, it is our turn to host the Council and they will meet here in two weeks. Until then”—the Fyrst looked at all of us—”I extend to you the Hospitality of my keep and city. Be welcomed.” He raised his hand and a fellow who looked an awful lot like one of the majordomo twins, but with elfin ears, started to step forward.
“What about my men who are still on the ship, Your Grace?” Captain Suiden asked from beside me. “May they be brought ashore?”
The Fyrst’s brows came together again as he stared down at the captain. But Suiden met him stare for stare, his green eyes glinting back up at the Fyrst, and His Grace’s face shifted, changing from distant affront to puzzlement. “I know you—” He looked over at Laurel.
“He is the Amir of Tural’s eldest sister’s first son, Your Grace,” Laurel said. “Prince Suiden.”
“I met the prince before he left Tural,” the Fyrst said, still frowning, “but I don’t remember his eyes being green.”
“Many things have changed since I left Tural, Your Grace,” Suiden said with a slight bow. “But right now I am more concerned about my men who’ve been at sea for weeks. May I bring them ashore?” He indicated Chancellor Berle. “They’re a part of the proposed embassy staff.”