Nevander releases his glamour of invisibility. Unclenching his jaw is more difficult. Managing that, he strides from his quarters. A perimeter patrol would do him good. He’s barely left Seren’s side for weeks, and the outer guards should see the Lord Guardian.
The justification echoes hollow as his footsteps down the marble halls. But he has to do something. Valerian reports that the woods have been quiet. No augray intrusions. Bristling at the borders from nightlands shades, but no crossings. Elladar’s courtiers have been behaving as well. Like everyone’s waiting for someone else to make the first move.
Nevander should be grateful. But right now, he wishes he had something to fight.
As he passes Calendar Hall, something flutters nearby. A tidingbird alights on his shoulder—quite literally. Its feather patterns glow as it winks into visibility.
“For me?” Nevander asks, holding out a hand.
The tidingbird vanishes in flight and reappears when it lands. It settles, round and fluffy, on Nevander’s finger.
Nevander removes a lightweight scroll from its harness. “Thank you.”
Trilling, the tidingbird vanishes again.
The letter is more likely to be dull than dire. Nevander’s received more messages in the past few weeks than in the past few years combined. Haelwen’s absence echoes through the palace like fluttering wings. Not that she personallyhandled many day-to-day matters. Her subjects just didn’t doubt their own routines so much.
Nevander unfolds the translucent paper and finds a message signed by the chief librarian. With a sigh, Nevander tucks the letter into his carryhold and changes course. Inspecting the perimeter will have to wait.
Typical Tansy.
He passes the aerie tower, with its constant chorus. Perhaps Nevander should send a letter of his own, by raven or another sturdy bird. Not tidingbirds, which are better suited to shorter distances. The Summer Crown is broken, and Nevander has not sent for the royal artificer.
He never said he would. He just implied it, so nobody else would summon Lysandra. A coronation would be a symbol of strength, and strength itself. Seren would be able to wield Summer magic.
Nevander’s promise would come due. He would lose the leverage that keeps Seren in the palace where he belongs.
Best to wait on summoning Lysandra. Seren is slowly accepting his identity. He’s too kind to ignore a squirrel in distress. Nevander just has to wait until Seren’s own empathy binds him to the realm.
He should take Seren to the aerie soon. The way Seren latched onto Harmony, he’ll probably like the nesting tidingbirds.
Midnight approaches as Nevander arrives at the Court of Hours. Nearly precisely the hour shown on the great clock that overlooks the courtyard—by sheer coincidence. The clock hands never move.
Tonight’s revelry is winding down early. A single harpist meanders from melody to melody, never finishing a songbefore the next catches their fancy. Atop the dais, a servant directs a floating mop to clean a pool of blood. Presumably a duel, since Nevander would have been informed of a murder.
Nevander stops to ask, “Did anyone die?”
“No,” the servant says, sounding disappointed. “Another fool thought she could challenge the best. Lady Morana went easy on her.”
Nevander conceals a wince. Hopefully Lady Morana won’t use her latest conquest as a chair, at least in front of Seren.
His next stop is the bar. White-haired Sevastia is closing up for the night, and she points him to the correct gazebo.
Fireflies illuminate a sprawl of bodies and pillows. Tansy leans very close to someone Nevander takes a moment to recognize as Second Ritekeeper Jasper. They look different without the ceremonial robes, their hair unbound and their eyes glassy with drink.
Tansy and Jasper are joined by an attendant from Summer’s Edge—Daffodil, Nevander recalls—and Lord Gevain himself.
No book in sight.
“Just the man we need!” Gevain exclaims, waving an empty tankard. Falcon feathers rustle in his hair. “You must open the palace for more visitors. I’m stuck reveling with Daffodil.”
Being rude to subordinates is unbecoming. But Daffodil tosses her hair with a laugh. “Even worse, I’m stuck reveling with Lord Gevain.”
She dissolves into giggles, and Gevain’s smile flashes bright. Ah. The thin line between rudeness and flirtation. That’s none of Nevander’s business.
Tansy lounges back. He’s shirtless again, which appears distracting to Ritekeeper Jasper. “Where is Prince Seren? He should be reveling with us. Has he even tried Sevastia’s mead?”
Nevander ignores the questions. “Follow me, Tansy. We need to speak in private.”
