Weapon of Pain: Weapon of Flesh Series, #5

Prelude

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I am in so much trouble...

Dee watched Mya slip from his bed, his hands already lonelier for the loss of her touch. His gaze lingered on the runic tattoos that danced on her sweat-slicked skin as she bent to pick up her robe.

Would you like to touch them? she had asked an hour earlier.

How could any sane man have said no?

I need to be touched, she had said. I need someone to make me feel...human.

Why did I ever say yes?

After years as her assistant, owing her his life, how could he deny her? Truth be told, he had often entertained fantasies of he and Mya together, but never dreamed that it could happen.

I’m not in love with you, Dee.

Her words had been as cold and sharp as a sword’s edge. No blade could have cut him deeper, but he had smiled through the pain, lost in the dream. Then he was touching her, tasting her, pouring himself into her like wine into a glass. And when he had no more to give, Mya had coaxed him into giving more. Dee had lost himself in her...and that was the problem.

Gods, I’m in trouble.

Mya donned her robe, leaving only the unmarked flesh of her face, hands, and feet visible. Wadding up the enchanted wrappings that she wore to conceal her tattoos, she turned to face him. Thank you, Dee.

Dee’s stomach clenched at the casual dismissal, the same tone she used when he drafted letters for her. What does she see when she looks at me? A friend, a lover...or just an underling to be thanked for a job well done?

A smile flicked across her lips, the only part of her he hadn’t tasted. When he had tried, she’d turned away. Mya accepted his passion, but nothing as personal as a kiss.

Mya, you don’t have to—

I do. She jerked tight the robe tie. I just...want you to know that this meant something to me. I needed it. Thank you.

His heart ached at the thought that their intimacy had meant so much more to him than it had to her. Dee smiled through the pain, and his mouth moved without thought. It was my pleasure. Stupid...

Her smile widened to a full-on grin. "I thought you were enjoying yourself. Well...I better grab a bath and sleep."

Do you want me to watch over you? He forced his languid muscles into action, reaching for his trousers as he swung his legs out of the bed and stood. You shouldn’t go alone.

You’re right, but... She shook her head. Forget it. I’ll bathe in the morning.

All right. He dropped back onto the bed, his knees quivering, his loins aching in testimony to his efforts to fulfill her every desire. I’ll help you with your gown for the coronation.

Good. Mya reached for the door, but looked back again. Thank you, Dee. I mean it. You’ve made me feel...human again.

Dee wanted to scream, "Stop thanking me! You’re more than just human, Mya. You’re beautiful and strong and brilliant and sensual, and I could fall in love with you in a heartbeat!" Of course, he couldn’t say that, couldn’t tell her how he really felt. This was Mya, after all—his boss, the Grandmaster of the Assassins Guild.

Any time. Dee cursed himself as the words fell from his lips. Like a man strapped to a rack taunting his inquisitor...

I may just take you up on that. Mya smiled again before opening the door and stepping through, quiet as a ghost. The latch closed with a click.

Dee collapsed back on the bed, closing his eyes to relive the last hour. Her scent redolent on his sheets and her taste sharp on his tongue, he imagined Mya still with him, his fingers still dancing across her smooth, tattooed skin.

You’re an idiot, Dee.

Dee knew he should sleep. Tomorrow was the coronation, and he had to help Mya with her gown and send her off. Off to fight an archmage, maybe even to die... And it had been his suggestion. It would have been easier to watch her walk into that peril tomorrow if she hadn’t come to his room tonight, but what was done was done. Who knows, maybe I just saved her life. She needed to sleep and she certainly would now.

Why did you do it, Dee? He considered the question honestly, and the answer was simple. She’d needed him, truly needed him. Dee had been able to give her what no one else could—not Paxal, not her urchins, not even Lad. She was still in love with Lad, of that he had no doubt, but Dee owed Mya his life and loyalty. If all she needed from him was sex, that was fine. He could provide it unwaveringly.

She need never know what he truly felt for her.

Chapter I

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Mya woke reluctantly, clinging to a dream of music, laughter, and dancing.

She smiled. Not a dream, but a memory. I saved a crown prince’s life yesterday and danced with a newly crowned emperor. Before she could dwell on her triumph, the recollection of her subsequent failure crushed her spirit like a bug under a boot heel. The image of Lady T’s blank, soulless eyes rose to mind, shadowed by a dark mist dissipating in the breeze.

Hoseph—gods damn him to the pits of the lowest hell!

The murdering priest had killed Lady T only moments after she’d acknowledged Mya as the Grandmaster of the Assassins Guild. The Tsing guildmaster had been the lynchpin she needed to secure control over the guild throughout the empire. Where Tsing led, all the outlying guilds would follow. Mya had worked for weeks to win Lady T’s recognition at the cost of time, money, and innocent lives. She sobered as she pictured Tiny’s shroud-covered body.

This is all Hoseph’s fault! There was no doubt in Mya’s mind that he was trying to turn the rest of the guild against her, even as she lay there in bed.

Over my dead body.

She had to take control of the Tsing guild, and she had to do it quickly.

So get to it!

As Mya flung off the sheet, a knock sounded at her door and Paxal’s voice grated, Breakfast, Miss Mya.

His usual preternatural timing... How often had the old innkeeper known what Mya wanted before she even asked for it?

Down in a minute. Mya swung her feet to the floor and flashed a smile to her night watch.

Twigs sat cross legged against the wall beside the bed. Stretching out one foot, he prodded Gimp, who lay asleep. The little girl’s eyes popped open and she struggled to sit up, her crooked leg sticking out at an awkward angle.

Morning, Miss Mya. They grinned at her as they rose, hefting crossbows nearly as big as they were.

Did you two get any sleep?

We took turns, Twigs declared proudly.

And no whispering, Gimp promised. Though the urchins had been watching over her every night since she had enlisted their help, they sometimes talked too much and slept too little. Since Hoseph’s first deadly attack, they had buckled down on their vigilance. You?

Yes, thanks to you two. That wasn’t exactly true, but her insomnia wasn’t their fault.

Mya stretched and considered what to wear. Though she would have preferred to slip into trousers, a blouse, and a pair of soft boots, the constables had told her that someone would be by this morning to question her further about Lady T’s murder.

As if they didn’t ask enough questions last night. She sighed as she pushed aside one outfit after another. Avoiding the finery she had donned as Mrs. Addington when she and Lad had first arrived in Tsing, and the matronly clothes she had worn as Madame Bouchard the orphanage director, she settled on a simple dress, something that Moirin the bodyguard might wear. Finally ready, she motioned to the door. Come on. I can smell the bacon from up here!

"Don’t have to tell us twice!" Twigs chirped with another grin.

They ventured out, Mya twisting and bending through the maze of taut catgut that webbed the hallway. The precaution had proven effective against Hoseph’s ability to materialize out of thin air. The hallway still smelled of smoke from the priest’s last ill-fated visit, the floor stained with fire and the blood of his mercenaries.

Another door opened, and Knock stepped out. The burly little crossbreed girl smiled, her single tusk jutting up from her crooked teeth. She smacked a hefty axe handle against the palm of her hand. Knock!

Nestor followed, gripping his crossbow tight in his small hands and bobbing his head at Mya. Then Dee...

Mya smiled as she met her assistant’s eyes, shivering as she remembered their time together the night before the coronation. With his help, she’d slept like the dead and woken refreshed. Maybe I should have waylaid him last night, too. Though it had been nearly midnight when the constables finally left, she had lain awake half the night worrying.

Morning, Dee.

Miss Mya. He matched her smile and followed her down the stairs. More constables today?

Yes, and I’m trying to keep all my lies straight. I’ve used four pseudonyms in the past month, and it’s getting hard to remember which name to answer to. Talk about a tangled web! She plucked one of the taut strings and set a bell to chiming. To avoid setting off a panic in response to the tinkling alarm, she called out, No worries, it’s just me!

No doubt. Dee stepped over the last tripwire and followed her down the hall toward the back door and the kitchen. The question is: what happens now?

Mya opened her mouth to answer as she turned into the kitchen, but Paxal cut her off.

"No, the question is: will you two shut your yaps long enough to eat? He hefted a huge skillet mounded with fried potatoes, onion, pepper, garlic, and thick bacon—enough to feed a small army—from the stove to the table, placing it next to the stack of plates and pile of forks. The smell was euphoric. Now eat, or I’ll hire the cook back and you’ll be eating that slop of a porridge she makes for breakfast!" He started loading plates and handing them out.

And I thought you couldn’t cook. Mya accepted a plate and a thick slab of warm bread and sat down at the table, as did Dee, while the urchins took their plates and happily sat on the floor. The former inn also had a large dining room with plenty of seating, but it wasn’t as informal—or as easy to defend—as the cozy kitchen. She poured blackbrew into a cup and lightened it with milk.

This ain’t proper cookin’, but it’ll do. Paxal scraped the last of the breakfast onto his own plate, then sat at the table and slathered butter onto a steaming slice of bread.

It’s proper enough for me, Dee mumbled around a mouthful. Swallowing, he took a gulp of blackbrew, then looked at Mya and repeated his question. "So, what happens now? With the masters, I mean. You know Hoseph probably got to them all before your messengers did."

Yes, I know. She’d thought about that long and hard last night and come to a simple conclusion. We wait for their answers. I’ve got to deal with the constables this morning.

Dee’s brow furrowed. And if they answer with an all-out attack instead of a polite note?

Then they’re dumber than I think they are. Mya wiggled her finger in the air, the ebony and gold Grandmaster’s ring glinting in the light. They can’t touch me.

Hoseph can.

Yes, but he’s got to assume we’re expecting him. He should know better than to attack again with us wary. He’s tried twice and both times nearly got himself killed. Although... Mya cocked her head as she thought. "The attacks didn’t seem particularly well planned. A well-trained assassin would at least have had a contingency plan."

Hoseph’s not a well-trained assassin... Dee looked thoughtful. "In fact, he’s not an assassin at all, at least, not a guild assassin. He was just the Grandmaster’s messenger."

The Right Hand of Death. Mya considered Hoseph’s self-proclaimed title. The man certainly had an ego; she just had to figure out how to use it against him.

"Well, he should be wary, but never underestimate someone’s capacity for stupidity." Though Dee’s sarcasm was obvious, there was something to that old adage.

Hoseph’s not stupid, but he’s certainly desperate, and I’ve earned his enmity. She shot Dee a sly grin. "As have you. I’m not the one who shot him in the ass."

Dee’s mouth twisted wryly. A little higher with that shot, and we wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore.

You did well to get a shot off at all. That magic of his... Mya shuddered as she recalled the priest’s magic dredging up every horrible event of her life as if they were all happening again at once.

Knock! Knock grinned up at Dee from beneath her heavy brow. Ever since his lucky shot had saved her life, the girl had been his most ardent admirer.

So, we’re back to the question: which of the masters will go with Hoseph and which will accept you as Grandmaster? We could end up with a guild war.

Mopping up the juices on her plate with a piece of bread, Mya popped it into her mouth, relishing the last smoky, greasy bite as her tension eased a trifle. If anyone knew how to conduct a guild war, it was Mya. She’d fought one against the masters of the Twailin Assassins Guild only months ago. And they’re all dead. Pushing aside her empty plate, she refilled her blackbrew cup and leaned back in her chair, feeling ready to slay any dragon foolish enough to test her mettle.

About the masters... I think I can depend on Clemson being on my side. Her Enforcers heard Lady T acknowledge me as Grandmaster, and she’ll believe her own people. The others... Mya shrugged. ...I don’t know. As eager as they were to deny me until Lady T gave her approval, I don’t see them accepting me on the word of another master’s underlings.

None of them have done anything directly against you yet, Dee pointed out.

Because they can’t. She waved her finger again. But nothing prevents them from hiring more mercenaries. And Hoseph took Lady T’s ring. Dangling that prize in front of them will certainly serve as incentive to be creative.

Well, you know you can depend on Sereth and the Twailin guild.

Mya hoped Dee was right. Sereth had sent her money and promised more, and she had always gotten along well with the Blade, now Twailin’s guildmaster. But Twailin was a thousand miles and weeks travel away. She had to rely on what she had here and now.

What about the caps? They’ll be here soon and we can’t have them pokin’ around here like cats after a rat. Paxal jerked a thumb toward the upper floors. This is supposed to be an orphanage, but that spider web of cat gut will raise some eyebrows, and maybe some questions you don’t want to answer.

Good point. Mya sighed, wishing once again that the constables had completed their questioning last night; she had more important things to do today. I don’t want to dismantle all our defenses, so no caps go upstairs. If anyone sees them headed that way, just sing out so I can hear you and I’ll deal with it. If they insist, I’ll pull my I-just-saved-the-emperor’s-life card. What’s the use in being a hero if you can’t throw your weight around a little?

Heroine, Dee corrected with a wry smile. And you’re not that heavy.

Right. Now, another problem is that they might want to question you two. She nodded to Dee and Paxal. So, here’s the gist of the story I gave them. I’m a bodyguard, relatively new in town, hired to see after Lady T’s safety. She only needed my services when she was out and about, so I wasn’t staying in her home. Pax, you’re an old acquaintance giving me room and board in this orphanage you recently started up.

And I’m helpin’ you out of the goodness of my heart? With all these kids to support? Pax scowled as he took their plates to the wash basin. Two of the urchins hurried to help. They’re not gonna buy that.

Mya smiled. Pax sometimes seemed to know her better than she knew herself. He should, considering he nearly raised me. In Twailin, she had paid him well to let her use the Golden Cockerel as headquarters for her faction of Hunters, but she knew that, truly, he did it for her, not for the money. Why else would he have accompanied Dee all the way to Tsing to find her?

Good point. I’m paying you.

Who am I? Dee asked. Do I work for Pax or you?

Me. Mya wasn’t about to let Dee out of her sight...for many reasons. The memory of his skillful touch sent a shiver up her spine. You’re my assistant.

Why does a bodyguard need an assistant?

Mya smirked. I’m a highly trained bodyguard to nobility! I need someone to handle my contracts, keep track of the money, do my correspondence...basically, what you’ve always done for me. In fact, I’ll probably need you to—

A knock at the front door interrupted her.

If that’s caps, they’re early risers. Paxal scowled and nodded to the eldest urchin. Digger, go check, but don’t open the door.

Yes, Master Pax. Digger ran off.

Mya rose from her seat, downing the last of her blackbrew. Whoever it is, I’ll have to deal with it.

Dee got up just as Digger returned.

Caps, all right. He looked down at his fingers, counting. Six of ’em.

All right. Mya nodded to Dee. Let them in, Dee. I’ll be right behind you.

Yes, Miss Mya.

Right! Paxal picked out two urchins. Twigs and Digger, stand watch on the stairs. The rest of you look busy, and no weapons on the first floor! Go.

The urchins scattered.

Mya followed Dee to the door, girding her nerves as he opened it to admit the constables. Her stomach clenched. She had expected maybe one or two, but uniforms crowded the doorway. As Dee greeted them pleasantly and waved them in, she stepped forward, extending a hand automatically.

Good morning, Constables. I see that you’re... She hesitated as she recognized the two in the fore. Damn! Of all the rotten luck! They were the very two who had taken an interest in her as she crossed back and forth from the Dreggars Quarters to Midtown in the days after the emperor’s assassination. ...up early this morning.

Good morning, Miss... The sergeant’s eyes narrowed as he shook her hand, then widened. I know you! From the Fivestone Bridge—

Ah, yes. I remember that we met on the bridge a few times. Mya smiled disarmingly and gestured them all into the common room. Welcome, Sergeant... She dredged up his name from her trained memory. ...Benj. And this is Corporal Jorren, isn’t it?

"It’s Sergeant Benjamin, Miss, and Corporal Jorren Arryx." His eyes narrowed again.

Mya cursed silently. In trying to be amiable, she’d pricked his suspicion by using the names she had overheard at a distance too far for normal ears to eavesdrop. Waving a dismissive hand, she declared, I’m always getting names wrong. And these are...

Privates Alli, Wanless, Tovi, and Kert.

Please come in and have a seat. Can I offer you blackbrew or tea? Mya perched on an upholstered chair, hopeful that the sergeant would overlook her gaffe and just get this questioning over with.

"Blackbrew’d be welcome, Miss Moirin. The sergeant eased into the chair opposite Mya. Corporal Arryx remained standing at his superior’s shoulder, a small notebook in hand. The four privates also stood, looking around as if bored by such mundane duty. Benj looked at her, his shrewd, calculating eyes belying his disheveled appearance and ingenuous manner. Pardon me, but I don’t remember you giving the name Moirin when you crossed the bridge. Are we both mistakin’ names today?"

Mya had enough lies to remember, so she decided to go with the truth about this, at least. No, Sergeant, you remember correctly. I was using the name Ingrid Johens. You’ll also find that I have, at times, assumed the name Bouchard, posing as head mistress of this orphanage. I apologize for the confusion, but I occasionally take on pseudonyms to maintain the anonymity of my clients. She shrugged as if unconcerned. You understand the need for propriety when serving the upper classes, I’m sure. Lady T contracted for the services of a professional bodyguard with the utmost discretion. Oh, and I also posed as the Lady’s niece in order to accompany her to the coronation.

The corporal raised his eyebrows, but scratched notes without saying a word.

Benj nodded slowly. Well, what I need are the facts. Is your real name Moirin?

Yes, she lied with a straight face.

And where are you from?

Twailin. At least that’s the truth.

And you came to Tsing to work for Baroness Monjhi?

No. Mya cringed at the mention of Lady T’s new title. She’d been a baroness for less than six hours before she was murdered. I came here to work, period. It’s only good business to go where the money is, and no other city in the empire can hold a candle to Tsing when it comes to well-heeled folks who need protection. She paused as Paxal brought in a blackbrew service and poured for everyone. Why had she ever offered refreshment? It would only encourage them to take their time. She had more important things to do.

The caps jostled for cups, smiling and nodding gratefully, all save the corporal, who shook his head and kept scratching notes.

Benj sipped his blackbrew and rubbed his jaw, his callused hand rasping against the stubble like sandpaper. So, you arrived before or after the emperor was assassinated?

Sergeant Benjamin, I answered all these questions for your colleague last night. I don’t see why—

Yeah, well, we find that sometimes a night’s sleep can refresh the memory, bring back details you didn’t even realize you noticed. So please, Miss Moirin, bear with me. Did you arrive in the city before or after the emperor was assassinated?

With a sigh, Mya capitulated. "Before. Dumb luck on my part, I suppose. With the unrest following the assassination, I had more offers for work than I could take. I settled on the then Lady T, and...well...that didn’t work out very well."

Not for Baroness Monjhi, but it sure turned out well for our new emperor, from what I hear.

Mya shrugged. That was just being in the right place at the right time. I attended the coronation to protect Lady T. She ordered me to intervene in the assassination attempt, so I did.

And saved the crown prince’s life. Benj looked thoughtful, obviously not the dullard she had hoped him to be.

Yes. Mya sighed, trying for a forlorn look. And then failed my contract.

Pardon me, Miss, but... The tall corporal fixed her eyes, his pencil finally still. "...how exactly did you manage to save the crown prince’s life, if you don’t mind my asking? There are rumors, and they’ve no doubt grown in the telling, but they all agree that you...um...showed some remarkable abilities."

"I actually do mind you asking, Corporal. Mya gave him a tight smile. My...abilities have no bearing on your investigation of Baroness Monjhi’s murder. My livelihood depends on people underestimating me."

He looked surprised, his pencil scratching another note. Well, everyone’s glad you did, anyway. Save the prince, I mean.

"Not everyone, obviously, she countered. My mistress is dead."

Yeah, well, about that. The sergeant glanced at his corporal, then looked to Mya. Do you know why this priest, Hoseph, would want to kill the baroness?

No, Sergeant. I was only told what to look for and what he was capable of. Mya frowned. Neither of us knew he could pop right into a moving carriage.

I see... The sergeant rubbed his jaw, the corporal’s pencil scratched, and the questions continued.

Arbuckle had given orders that the first full day of his reign, Emperor Tynean Tsing III would be allowed to sleep late. After the tumultuous events of the day before, he figured deserved it.

Surprisingly, he slept deeply and soundly until the morning light dappled his silk-encased pillow. Stretching and blinking, he took stock. Alive—Surviving one’s own coronation shouldn’t be such a trial!—and hale, but sorrowful that the woman who had risked her own safety to save his, the valiant Baroness Tara Monjhi, had been murdered for that selfless act.

Justice... I’ll bring that loathsome Hoseph to justice.

Climbing out of bed, he rang the bell on his night table. Baris was through the bedroom door before the bell’s tone died, a brilliant smile on his face and fresh clothes over his arm.

"Good morning, Your Majesty!"

Your Majesty...I almost expect to turn around and find my father behind me. The new emperor chuckled. It’ll take some time to adjust to being Tynean Tsing III. I still feel like Arbuckle. No matter. Good morning to you, too, Baris. How are things about the palace? Arbuckle stripped off his nightshirt, handed it to his valet, and accepted clean linens and breeks. Has everyone settled down from the excitement?

Not hardly, Majesty. Baris grinned. Half the guests have sent messages that they don’t intend to leave their suites today, and the other half are already packing to leave.

That sounds about right. Arbuckle allowed his valet to fuss over his appearance with his usual deft efficiency, finding it hard to stand still with the enticing scent of blackbrew in the air. Is Tennison about?

Did Your Majesty expect anything less? He’s been pacing since sun-up, ready to commence with the business of your new reign. I wouldn’t let him disturb your rest.

Thank you for that, Baris. Arbuckle found his secretary an indispensable, but harsh, taskmaster. Well, I’ve tarried long enough. Finally dressed to his valet’s exacting standards, he braced his shoulders. Into the breach then, I suppose.

"We suppose, Majesty."

We... Right. Referring to himself with the royal ‘We’ would also take some getting used to. Bother... "We suppose."

Yes, Your Majesty. Baris opened the bedchamber door.

As Arbuckle strode into the sitting room, Tennison immediately ceased pacing and bowed, his face alight with relief. The rest of the company in the crowded room—a full squad of Imperial Guards, Captain Ithross, a knight, two footmen, Master Keyfur, and the imperial scribe, Verul—also bowed low and voiced their good mornings.

"Good morning, everyone. Please pardon Our late rise. We found yesterday’s events rather taxing." Arbuckle seated himself and nodded to the footman who held the blackbrew pot to fill his cup. With a blissful sigh, he sipped the hot, strong beverage; he didn’t feel quite human until his first cup of blackbrew. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Tennison fidgeting. Studiously, he turned to his breakfast, swallowing the guilt that pressed him to hurry with the first bite of a delicious omelet. Tennison had taught Arbuckle to never allow another to interrupt the emperor’s daily schedule except in dire emergency. There was no emergency today. He would enjoy his breakfast, then attend to business.

Finally, after popping the last bite of sweet pastry into his mouth, Arbuckle relented and waved his secretary forward. All right, Tennison, what’s got your feathers all ruffled?

The documents we drafted prior to your coronation are ready to be ratified into law, Majesty. The man fairly leapt forward. I thought that you would want to sign them first thing.

Excellent! Finally, I can pass whatever laws I like without having to kowtow to anyone.

Arbuckle still didn’t understand why so many of his nobles were dead set against equal justice for commoners. If they had read any history at all, they’d understand that Tynean Tsing II’s unjust laws would ultimately—and grievously—fail. A populace could only be oppressed for so long before they revolted. With a flourish, he signed the parchments splayed on the table before him. Just the first of many. Did you record Our actions here, Verul?

With pleasure, Majesty. The scribe smiled as he scribbled in the big book atop his lap.

Tennison swept up the documents and consulted his ledger. Your Majesty has a full docket this morning meeting with departing guests who wish to pay their respects before they go.

Arbuckle frowned, irked by the bothersome protocols of the imperial court. Can We dispense with any of this, Tennison? We must speak to the dukes, of course, especially Mir and Nythes, but We greeted the minor lords during the coronation. If they’re in such a hurry to leave...

The secretary tapped his pen against his chin in thought. "We could arrange a dinner tonight honoring all of your guests, Majesty. That would shift the responsibility for maintaining protocol onto their heads, not yours. It would free up most of this morning and several hours this afternoon."

Excellent. Do so. The emperor sipped his blackbrew happily. We want to work on Our new edicts. There are many wrongs that need to be redressed beyond the few We just signed, and We’ll have to make a public announcement soon. So...what next? He looked at the others and decided his single remaining wizard took precedence. Master Keyfur?

Keyfur bowed amidst a swirl of colorful robes. With Your Majesty’s permission, I’ll begin interviewing wizards and assembling a new Imperial Retinue.

"Do We truly need one?"

The wizard looked confused. "There’s always been an Imperial Retinue of Wizards, Majesty."

But why? Arbuckle persisted. "For the prestige of having magical power at the emperor’s beck and call? Archmage Duveau’s attempt to assassinate Us demonstrates all too well how easily that power can turn against Us. What tasks really need a wizard’s touch?"

Keyfur considered the question for a moment, then slowly nodded. Maintenance, mostly, Majesty. Maintaining the palace wards against magical travel in and out, the enchantments to detect poison, other safeguards, things like that.

Arbuckle grinned. So, Master Keyfur, are you up to the task?

"Me, Your Majesty? The wizard looked shocked. My expertise doesn’t cover all of the disciplines of magic required. I could acquire the necessary skills for specific enchantments after some study..."

Then please begin immediately. We grant you complete access to the former possessions—magical or mundane—of the deceased members of the Imperial Retinue, including Duveau’s.

Your Majesty is too kind. The peacock feather tucked behind Keyfur’s ear swept the floor with his low bow before the wizard stepped back, his face cracking into a wide grin.

Arbuckle grinned back, pleased at how well his morning was proceeding. And Captain Ithross! To what do We owe your personal attendance today?

Palace security, Majesty.

Arbuckle looked around the room at the guards. Do you not consider a squad of your finest imperial guards sufficient for Our protection?

In all honesty, no, Your Majesty, Ithross confessed, his face flushing red. "You need better protection. There’s no reason to assume that because you’ve been crowned