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“Welcome back, sir. I trust your travels have been successful? Not that it’s my business, of course,” he took Cyrus’s hat and gloves, “because I’ve been quite happy here, by myself, cleaning the house, making sure everything was ready for your return.” He glanced around. “Not that you’ll notice, of course, but I do feel there are standards to maintain in the residence of a Drake.”

Sighing, Cyrus shook his head. “Hello, Gerald. Any messages?”

Gerald, although it was improbable for a tickerkin to do so, rolled his eyes. “Very few, sir. It’s actually been rather quiet.”

“Well, that’s good. Gave you plenty of time to whisk the old duster around, then, didn’t it?”

Trying not to grin at his tickerkin’s noticeably gusty sigh, Cyrus headed for the message tray on the far side of the hall.

Several notes, those with coloured inks, or decorative elements of various kinds that signalled a female author, were set aside. Others, with a far more professional salutation, he kept in one hand.

Two more...those were important.

“I’ll be in my study, Gerald.” He held up a hand to forestall any more witty repartee. “I’m not at home to anyone this morning. The only exceptions are Bram or Lady Maelin of Theryn.” He paused. “Or her maid, or any messages, notes, missives, pigeons, whatever, from her.”

Gerald tilted his head slightly and stared at his master. “Like that then, is it?”

His master stared back. “Exactly like that.”

“In that case, I’d better give the parlour an extra once over. In case we have...and I’m not even sure I can pronounce the word...guests.”

Cyrus blinked at him, standing in the hall like an emperor penguin surveying his own personal ice floe. “Gerald, your outstanding intelligence and unparalleled efficiency are the main reasons I haven’t had you dismantled for spare parts. Your sarcasm, on the other hand...” He chuckled. “Well, that’s an asset too, if I’m going to be completely honest.”

“I’m glad you think so, my Lord. You’ll find fresh garments laid out if you need them. And I believe Cook has the kettle boiling if a cup of Crownbright tea would be in order.”

“Give me an hour or so, Gerald. Let me deal with these...” He tapped the mail on his fingers. “Then yes, a cup of tea will be most welcome. I have some plans to make, some thinking to do. I’ll be in my study.”

He took off his jacket as he walked down the corridor, opening the door to his study and finding it filled with sunshine. For one moment he envisioned Maelin there with him, standing at the tall windows and looking out over the waters to the city of Caelemar. The inlet separating the two coastlines sparkled this morning as the sunlight hit the waves rippling around the massive pillars that held bridges connecting Caelemar to its surroundings. They’d always looked more like anchor stanchions to him, despite the carriage and walkways they supported.

Without them, would Caelemar drift off into the Sea of Echoes?

He shook his head. Those were childhood musings, and he’d come a long way since then.

Sitting at his desk, he opened his messages, briefly scanning a note from his accountant assuring him his investments were thriving.

Another mentioned that interest had been expressed in purchasing some property he owned in the Duskbound Mountains. He’d ordinarily have put that aside too, but the name DeLaurent sounded familiar. Thinking for a moment, he placed it. The famous composer, founder of the DeLaurent symphony orchestra, and son of the Duc DeLaurent, who had endowed a magnificent cathedral somewhere or other, seriously irritating those who had thought it should have been built in Caelemar.

He put that message on a folder that lay to one side of the desk and was for items to be reviewed and dealt with in a reasonably short time. The folder had been empty up to now, so it wasn’t a hardship to begin filling it again.

The final two notes, however...

They both bore tiny marks that signalled their origin. One was a very small feather...the Fae. And the other? An equally tiny, and barely noticeable spiderweb. The Witches.

He sighed as he opened the first one, and then the second, deciding to read them both at once.

Which made sense, since they both said pretty much the same thing.

“You will be needed very soon. Please await further information.”

Cyrus leaned back in his chair. It seemed the alarm had finally sounded. Enough so that someone, or several someones, had called for a Velvet House Conclave. It didn’t happen often, but when it did?

Everybody showed up. No exceptions.

He sighed, then activated his Whisperseal, hoping Bram remembered how to use his.

“Drake to Bram,” he said, then waited.

Within a minute or so, the reply came. “Mr Cy?” The voice was a bit distorted, but it was recognisably Bram.