Jeremias turned an even deeper shade of pink. “I beg your pardon, Majesty.”

“Yes, it truly has been a long day,” Simon said, wondering why Jeremias would not take the hint. “Everyone is tired.”

“I just wanted to thank you. For including me in the Inner Council.”

Simon waved his hand. “You have always been a good friend, Jeremias, and you saved my life on the Frostmarch Road. I intend to give you more honor—and responsiblities, too, never fear. But I notice you didn’t say much.”

The Lord Chamberlain shrugged and would not look up at him. At times, he seemed little more than the awkward youth of Simon’s own childhood, somehow transported into the thickening body of a middle-aged man. “What would I have to say? I keep track of food and linens. I don’t know anything about making war.”

“Please, Jeremias,” said Miriamele, her voice a little impatient. “Nobody is going to make war, at least we hope not. We simply have to be prepared for what may happen. Just like you with your linens and food.”

Jeremias was looking at the floor, but squared his shoulders. “Still, you have been good to me, Simon. You both have.”

Simon could tell he wanted to say something else, but the king had been listening to people all day long and he was dizzy with talk. “You’re my friend and always will be, Jem. Now, would you please accompany the queen’s ladies to the outer room? We’d like to go to bed.”

Jeremias looked stricken. “Of course! I’m sorry, it’s late. I wasn’t thinking.”

“The servants can go too,” Simon said. “Miri and I would like a little time to talk alone.”

“Of course, Majesties.” He straightened, whatever was troubling him put aside by the reminder of his duties. Simon hated treating Jeremias like just another underling, but he had reached the point where he was about ready to pick the lord chamberlain up by the scruff and drag him, along with the ladies-in-waiting, the servants, and the squires, straight out of the bedchamber.

When the little caravan had at last departed, Simon pulled off his clothes and climbed under the coverlet. Miriamele put her jewelry back into the box and sat down to brush her hair.

“What do you think all that was about?” he asked.

“What? Jeremias?”

“I was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to leave. I thought he was going to insist on putting my slippers on.” He scowled. “I hate it when he acts like that, like a faithful hound. He’s known me since we were both grasshoppers.”

“You’ve treated him well, Simon. A chandler’s apprentice who became Lord Chamberlain of the High Throne—he doesn’t have much to complain about.”

Simon knew her tone. “In other words, stop worrying so much.”

She caught his eye in the mirror and showed him a weary smile. “Precisely.”

Simon sat higher against the headboard so he could watch her more easily. “I suppose you’re right. It’s not like we don’t have enough to deal with. You heard what Tiamak said about the Sitha woman.”

“He and Thelía and that nice Brother Etan have done all that could be done, Simon. Don’t take every trouble on yourself.”

“But why did they send someone after all this time? And what are we going to do?”

“What can we do?” Miriamele asked. “She is dying. We must try to find out who shot her, I suppose, although it was probably poachers.”

“With poisoned arrows?” Simon shook his head. “Beside, that’s not what I mean. What are we going to do about her? She’ll die if we don’t get her back to her people.”

Miriamele rose from her mirror and came and sat at the end of the bed. “Even if we knew how to find Jiriki and the rest, we don’t know that they could do anything for her. She’s dying, Simon. Any mortal would have been dead before we returned. When the Sithi don’t hear from her, they will send another envoy, or a message.”

“But we can’t just wait!” Simon would have been shocked at her callousness, but long experience had taught him that a tired Miriamele was a rather heartless Miriamele. He took a breath and started again. “We can’t afford to wait, Miri. Do you think it’s just chance that the Sithi were sending her to us now, after years of nothing, at the very moment when the Norns are stirring again—when they’re crossing our borders and that silver-faced bitch, their queen, is hunting for something called the Witchwood Crown?”

“We may be putting too much trust in that bizarre message.”

“But why go to the trouble of sending us any message at all?”

“Perhaps this Jarnalf thought he would be captured.”

“Jarnulf, wasn’t it?” Simon put his hands behind his head and watched his wife looking at herself in the glass. “No, that doesn’t make sense, either. And don’t you see, Miri, even if the Sithi hadn’t sent this messenger or whatever she is, it would still be time to try to reach out to them. Jiriki may know what’s happening with the Norns, but if he doesn’t, he should be told all that we’ve heard.” He sighed. “And I want to see him again so badly.”

“His sister, you mean.”

“Aditu? Yes, her, too.”

“Yes, her, too.” His wife was suddenly distant. “It must be nice to live forever like the Sithi,” she said, staring into the mirror. “To stay young and lovely while everyone else is getting old.”

Simon laughed. “Would you really like that? To stay the young girl I first met while I grew old, old, old beside you? While everyone else around us grew old too? I like your wrinkles and your gray hairs, wife. They remind me of the life we’ve had together.”

She put her hairbrush down with exaggerated care, as if what she truly wanted to do was throw it at him. “So you are telling me that if Aditu were here now, slinking around with her flimsy garb and her charming, mysterious ways, you wouldn’t be following her like a dog smelling raw meat?”

“What is this? Are you jealous? Of Aditu? Dearest, I haven’t seen her for years and years! Not to mention that there was never anything between us. Oh, and that she’s at least a couple of centuries older than either of us.” He tried to be amused, but it was more difficult than he expected. “I thought you cared for Jiriki and Aditu as I did, Miri.”

“You lived with them. I didn’t.” Miriamele sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. I do care about them. I was as excited as you when I thought things would change between their people and ours. But they’ve always been secretive. They prefer to stay hidden, to stay out of our affairs.”

“The Sithi prefer to remain hidden because our people kept trying to kill them, my dear. I hoped—we both hoped—we could change that. But even more important, they know the Norns far better than we do. Now, come to bed. I want to talk to you about something else.”

“I’m very tired, Simon.”

“Not that. But here—climb in beside me. You’ll catch cold, sitting out like that in your nightdress.” He held the coverlet up for her and she slid close, so that he could feel the cool of her skin through the thin cloth she wore.

“I’m here. What did you want to talk about?”

Simon took a breath. “I think we should take the Sitha woman back to her people in Aldheorte Forest. And I think I should go with her. It’s time for us to talk to Jiriki and the rest of the Sithi—to find out why they have been silent so long.”

Miriamele stiffened against his side. “Absolutely not.”

“But why? Miri, you saw those creatures we fought—that giant! What if we must go to war against the Norns again? I would not think of doing it without advice from the Sithi. And I don’t think we can stand by and simply let their envoy die, either. Not when her own people may be able to heal her.”

The queen spoke quietly but she was not happy. “Some of that makes sense, and I need to think about it. But whatever happens, you are not going, Simon. Between that trip to Meremund and then traveling to Elvritshalla for poor Isgrimnur, our people here have scarcely seen you in the last half-year. You tell me there could be a war, but then the first thing you propose is to go charging off across the countryside again like you did when you were young, on some noble, jolly quest to find the Sithi?”