“Nonsense!” She can be wooed if you will but try—”

“Let her rule Mandria after you,” Dain interrupted firmly. “Train her well for the task.”

“That soft girl? Nay! She hasn’t the spirit.”

Dain raised her brows. “No spirit? And who stabbed Queen Neaglis with a needle?

By Thod, your grace, there’s more to her than you think.” Verence barked out a laugh, which seemed to surprise him. “I’ll give her nothing, unless she proves her mettle to me. It takes more than a woman’s needle to rule a kingdom.”

“Aye, that’s true enough.”

“Well, Dain,” Verence said with a shrug. “I can’t fault her for not wanting this blighted mess you’ve won. Heed me and execute that pair in your dungeons.” Dain frowned, thinking of Neaglis and her sickly child Jonan whose fate he still had to decide.

“Exile them,” Verence said, “and civil war will drag on endlessly. You must show strength now if you’re to keep your throne.”

“Rebuilding this kingdom will not be easy,” Dain admitted.  “ ‘Twill keep you busy. As for Thirst, I’ll have to find a new chevard to—” “You will not,” Dain said fiercely. “It’s mine, by inheritance and charter. The men are sworn to me, and I’ll keep my hand on it. And them.” Stiffening, Verence sent Dain a sharp look indeed. “You would not dare . . . you cannot! I refuse to have such a Netheran inroad to my lands. No!” Dain glared back. “ Tis done, and by your own signature.”

“I’ll not have it!”

“You can’t stop it. The law supports me.”

“That charter will be taken apart, analyzed word by word.”

“Do it,” Dain said boldly. “And let your diplomats meet with mine.”

“Done, by Thod! You’re a rascal and a devil, Dain. Indeed you are.” But Verence was grinning as he spoke, and they parted on good terms. Dain saw the Mandrians off, glad to see him and his entourage depart at last.  Entertaining someone like Verence, who’d been frankly appalled by the condition of both the palace and the city, was a considerable strain when the treasury was depleted and the larder less than well-stocked. Someday, Dain promised himself, Grov would again rival Savroix for its beauty and culture.  “I hear, your majesty,” Lord Omas remarked, “that a delegation of the eld-folk is on its way here.”

“Aye,” Dain said absently.

“They should have fought with us, and not hidden like cowards,” Lord Omas went on. “Still, if your majesty can make a treaty with them, that will be quite a change for the kingdom.”

“There are many changes to be made in this kingdom,” Dain said with determination. Snapping his fingers, he summoned a page. “Bring the Princess Alexeika to me in the Gallery of Glass.”

When she came, he was standing at one of the tall windows overlooking what had been his mother’s private garden. Overgrown into a thicket, its paths could barely be determined, yet from this height he could see traces of the original design. Sea hollies and old roses, their canes bare and encased in ice from last night’s sleet, could still be spied among the weeds and brambles. He would restore the garden, he vowed. He would restore all he could.  “Lady Alexeika!” announced a page. Dain had heard them coming. Lord Omas, stationed at the door, boomed a few words to her in what he believed was a murmur. Her reply was brief and quiet.

When she entered, her footsteps echoed quick and light on the floor. The few sticks of tawdry furniture had been removed, leaving the room empty of all furnishings. The broken globes and mirrors had been taken away. The burned outline of Gavril’s corpse on the floor had been sanded down and obliterated.  Cobwebs and years of grime had all been cleaned away, and similar work had started slowly on other inhabitable parts of the palace. Below ground, in the sacred vault of the original shrine and the First Circle, the Chalice glowed its pure light over the altar. The paneatha, with its icons of the gods—slightly mismatched at present—had been restored to its rightful place.  There was much to do, an overwhelming amount to do, but right now Dain’s attention was centered on the lady advancing toward him. She was no Alexeika he recognized.

She halted before him and curtsied low, while he stared at her. She was completely transformed. Attired in a gown of long, dark gray velvet trimmed with fur at sleeves and hem, she displayed a shapely figure indeed. She wore her dark chestnut hair loose and full, allowing it to spill down her back in a wealth of shining curls. Little jewels hung from her ears, winking and glittering in the sunshine.

Her beauty stunned him, and Dain did not know what to think of this new Alexeika.

As the silence between them lengthened, defiance filled her blue-gray eyes.

Lifting her chin, she started to speak, but he was quicker.  “You’re wearing a gown,” he said, then instantly realized how inane his remark sounded.

Her nostrils flared. “Aye, sire, I am. Since I’m female, I have the right.” “No, no!” He held out his hand, laughing a little. “Forgive my clumsiness. I meant to compliment you on how well it suits you, but did so poorly. You look charming.”

“Thank you, sire.”

“I just didn’t expect to see you dressed this way.”

“And how would your majesty prefer me to dress at court? In leggings?” Her voice was as sharp and satirical as ever. Suddenly he felt on solid ground again. Beneath all this beauty and femininity could still be found his Alexeika, the sharp-tongued, swearing, tough little knight and comrade he’d grown to like so much. She wasn’t wearing her daggers, he noted, and wondered if she’d sold them to buy this finery.

“What does your majesty wish to discuss with me?”

His brows rose at her impatience. She was as prickly today as a hedge thorn, but he answered her question with good humor. “I summoned you to discuss the matter of your court duties.”

She stiffened. “I deserve no such favor.”