“Where does your Lordship want these?” his secretary asked. “On the floor? In your lap?” Wibert was not a young man, but age had made him thinner rather than heavier. He had something like a sense of humor, but that was all it was—something like it. In fact, the most interesting thing about Wibert was his complete disinterest in anything other than himself. Pasevalles found him extremely useful, but nobody in the castle thought of him as a charming companion.

“On the floor, I suppose.” Pasevalles noticed something that did not look like the other documents. “What’s that on the top?”

“A letter from Princess Idela,” said Wibert with a mirthless grin. “Scented. She wants a favor, I’m betting.” He set down the tipping pile of documents, gave them a cursory straightening, then plucked the folded sheet off the top and handed it to Pasevalles. “The good Lord grant us all patience. Why He thought of women is more than I can understand.”

I don’t doubt that’s true, Pasevalles thought. People in the Hayholt sometimes suggested Wibert had been born a priest. Pasevalles knew it was nearly true: Wibert had arrived from St. Sutrin’s orphanage when he was still a young boy, to work as an acolyte in the cathedral. Pasevalles doubted the monk had ever had a moment in his life free of Mother Church looking over his shoulder.

“Are you going to open it?”

Pasevalles felt an unpleasant remark rise to his but did not indulge himself. Wibert had all the social grace of a plowhorse let loose in the royal chapel, but he was a useful man, hard-working, incurious, and, best of all, absolutely predictable.

“I will look at it later, thank you. Just set it there on the table.”

Father Wibert hung about for a few moments, clearly hoping that the Lord Chancellor would change his mind and open the princess dowager’s letter—like so many of the clergy, Pasevalles had found, Wibert lived for gossip—but eventually he gave up and went out. Pasevalles thought that with his bony elbows and knees, his secretary looked more like a string-puppet than a man of God.

And that is my curse, he thought to himself. To see what truly is instead of what others would prefer me to see. It was a curse, beyond doubt, but he sometimes thought it was also a glory, to be less blind than others, who hid themselves from that which they did not want to know.

He picked up the letter from the princess with a certain caution, as if the folded paper itself might have a blade-sharp edge. That was what he thought of sometimes when he saw the princess—a knife, something that could lie unused and unnoticed for a long time, and then suddenly emerge to change everything in a dreadful moment. He wondered if it were actually true of Prince John Josua’s widow or if, for once, he was fooling himself. In any case, he feared the complications she could bring, but he was also not blind to the advantages her friendship could gain him. He sniffed the letter. Scented, as Wibert had noted—rosewater and balsam, the profane and the sacred mixed, earth and spirit. A message? Or just her ordinary scent? Pasevalles studied the seal, and when he was certain it was unbroken, he opened and unfolded the letter.

My dearest Lord,

I know that the absence of our beloved king and queen kept you most busy in recent months. In truth, we all are in debt to you for your hard, selfless work. I am certain that some day your value to this kingdom will be noticed and you will be rewarded as you deserve.

Subtle as a slaughterer’s hammer, he thought. Come now, my lady, you can do better.

Still, I must chide you just a little, dear Pasevalles. It was most kind of you to send that sweet Brother Etan to examine poor John Josua’s books, but I must be honest and say that I had hoped you would do the job yourself, not simply because I trust your eye and your discretion, but because I had selfishly hoped to spend some time in your company.

“Dear Pasevalles,” too. The princess was not bothering to work up to her point slowly. He wondered why she was so determined to make him an ally. Had something happened on the royal trip north, something that Pasevalles himself had not heard, that caused her to worry about her position at court? It was hard to imagine anything that could change her situation. She was the widow of the prince and mother of the heir-apparent. Surely nothing could undo either of those two facts.

To that end, perhaps you and I could put aside an evening after supper when you might lay aside the heavy cares of your high station and come join me for a glass of Comis wine. My ladies will be present, so you need not fear for your reputation or mine.

He could not help smiling at that. She was a sly woman, the princess. Quite different from her bluff, practical father.

There is much I would like to discuss with you, most certainly including the library that will bear my husband’s name and the books of his still in my possession. Perhaps we could meet after the church service St. Dinan’s day. Say you will come.

Of course, a mere Lord Chancellor could not refuse such a request, and Pasevalles had no idea of doing so. He had avoided the princess as long as he could while he dealt with more pressing matters, because he was certain that one way or another what she wanted most from him was his time and attention. Still, he was beginning to be intrigued by the steadfastness of her pursuit. What could she be seeking? Surely it could be nothing so obvious as a widowed woman seeking attention from an unmarried man? He had always supposed Princess Idela more subtle than that.

Pasevalles wrote a suitably fulsome reply, then blotted and folded it before affixing his seal—his own seal, not the Seal of the High Throne he was permitted to use as Lord Chancellor when he wrote in the king’s and queen’s names. If Idela wanted something from him, he was going to work very carefully to keep it separate from his hard-won position as long as possible. Because unlike those who had been born into their high station in life, or married into it, Pasevalles had fought his way into a position of importance purely by hard work and clever choices. But that also meant that without family or titled spouse, he had little to protect what he had gained. Fortune was a wheel, as Pasevalles knew better than most, and the Wheel of Fortune could spin again without warning, raising some and throwing others into the dust.

The bees, who had been driven away by the young monk’s work among the rosemary plants, now began to settle back into contented browsing, but Brother Etan was less happy. He looked, Tiamak thought, as though he had awakened one morning to find the sky below him and the earth above him. “You are so pale,” he said. “Are you well, Brother? You seem unwell. Is this not good news that I bring?”

“Good news?” Etan stared as though he could not understand what the other man was saying. “I pray forgiveness, Lord—but how could it be good news? I am to give up my home and my work here and go out into the world—into foreign lands and among barbarians! And my task is to look for children who have been missing twenty years and more. Surely this is a fruitless engagement.”

Tiamak pursed his lips, unhappy with himself. “Oh, dear. I see. He Who Always Steps On Sand forgive me, I have not followed a careful path.” He reached out and put his slender hand on Etan’s sleeve. “Come, sit with me here and let me explain.”

Etan allowed himself to be led out of the cathedral’s herb garden to a bench on the path beside it. The monk absentmindedly wiped his hands against his cassock, but instead of the rosemary oils on his hands being wiped away, the fluff from his garment simply stuck to his palms and fingers instead.

“I was born in the swamp, you know,” Tiamak told him. “As a child in the Wran, I could hardly grasp that there were other places, let alone how different they were. I did not know anyone who had ever worn shoes! But that was all I knew. When I left the first time and went up the water to Kwanitupul, I was astonished that such a place could exist. So many people! And nobody ever touched land, or so it seemed. Kwanitupul is almost entirely built on platforms, you see.”