Frisha shook her head. “Oh, I—”
Hilith fluttered her hands as if flustered. “I have acted inappropriately. Please forgive my lack of formality. It has been an arduous journey, and I am out of sorts.”
“Of course, Lady Gadderand. You are most welcome here. It is good to see that you are well, but I am sure you must be terribly exhausted.” Frisha waved to a man who had several pouches tied to his waist, each overstuffed with scrolls. “We should see that you are assigned quarters immediately.”
Drascon said, “I was just escorting Lady Gadderand to the quartermaster.”
“There is no need. I will make the assignment,” said Lady Frisha. She looked at Hilith. “We all share quarters here—at least for now. We had a bit of trouble some weeks ago, but it seems to be over, so we shall not worry you over it now. Still, it is better if someone knows where you are at all times. You may share quarters with Lady Evena in the ladies’ wing of the palace.” She smiled and said, “You will only be a few doors away from mine.”
Hilith’s grin was genuine. Things were going better than she had hoped.
Rezkin sat at the table in his suite poring over the map. Like all maps, it was slightly different from those he had previously studied. Some cartographers were better than others, and maps that had been reproduced were not always as accurate as the originals. This one had been provided by Privoth, and it was a far more recent and detailed accounting of eastern Ferélle than he had expected. It seemed Privoth had been planning this for some time.
He glanced out the window as something bright captured his attention. A woman in a long, flowing red skirt ambled from stall to stall examining the wares. The vibrant red fabric rustled in the breeze, and it reminded him of the ten statues standing in a ring in a plantation courtyard beneath a flowering vine. He did not know why his thoughts should go to those men now. They were no longer of consequence. A loud clap sounded in the distance from the direction of the docks, breaking him from his reverie, and he went back to examining the map and making notes. Several minutes later, he heard a rat—tat, tat—tat, tat, thump. He rounded the table to admit his companions.
Kai entered first, lugging one end of a squirming, overlarge burlap sack. He was followed by Farson, who maintained a tight grip on the other flailing end. They tossed the lump onto the settee, and Kai laughed as the subject struggled to free himself. Farson leaned against the wall with a bemused smirk. His face straightened as soon as he met Rezkin’s hard gaze. Rezkin had not yet figured out the striker’s intentions, but he would be prepared upon revelation.
A head of shaggy brown hair emerged, and Tam shouted, “Hey now, what was that all about?” His gaze landed on Rezkin, and his face brightened. “Rez! You’re here!”
Before Rezkin could reply, Tam began a rambling monologue of his experiences in Uthrel over the past few weeks. “And then he just threw his ale, and what was I supposed to do?” He blinked at Rezkin, but the question seemed to be rhetorical because he did not wait for a response. “Now, I know I was supposed to keep a low profile, but come on! I was drenched, and the Golden Dripper’s ale smells like piss. So, I—”
“Tam—”
“—told him I’d meet him out in the alley and we could settle it like men, and then—”
“Tam—”
“—well, you know, he got all huffy saying he wasn’t gonna wallop some desperate refugee kid—”
“Tam—”
“You know that’s what they call us, now, right? Every Ashaiian outside of Ashai is called a refugee. It doesn’t matter if they’re here on legit business—”
Rezkin raised his voice, “Tamarin Blackwater!”
Tam’s rambling abruptly stopped as he stared at Rezkin. “There’s no need to shout, Rez, I’m like four feet from you.”
At that, Farson burst into laughter.
Rezkin stared at him in wonder. “You find this humorous?”
“Yes, yes, I do,” the striker said. “That young man has no idea who you are, and to hear him scold you in such a way, and you just stand there … I am almost inclined to believe he is actually your friend.”
Tam huffed and squared off with the striker. “I am his friend. Who are you to talk? You trained him. You’re like the only family he’s got, and all you ever do is talk about him like he’s some evil menace. I may not know everything about him, but I know he’s a good person and a good friend.”
Farson looked back at Rezkin. “You have done well, even managing to incite true loyalty. I wonder how long it will last.”
Rezkin gripped Tam’s shoulder halting his response. “Pay him no heed. We have more important things to discuss.”
Tam threw the striker a vicious glare. “I don’t know why you let him stick around.”
Rezkin returned to his place behind the desk and leaned over the map. He met Farson’s gaze over Tam’s shoulder and said, “Better to keep your enemies close.” Farson clenched his jaw and then looked away. Rezkin said, “Let us move on.”
Tam said, “Why did you kidnap me?”
“You are not supposed to be associated with us. You are here to spy. We did not want anyone seeing you enter the building.” Rezkin glanced at the strikers. “Your abduction was probably overkill. I might have erred in allowing Kai to choose the method.”
Tam scowled at the grinning man and then turned back to Rezkin. “Don’t you think dragging an unwilling person through alleys in broad daylight is kind of obvious?”
Rezkin shrugged. “Gendishen takes a hands-off approach to slavery. They do not engage in it but do not interfere, either.”
“So, they just let people be kidnapped?”
“No, I am sure these two”—he motioned to the strikers—“were surreptitious, but the few people who might have seen would probably rather not get involved. Now listen.”
Rezkin briefly explained the nature of his mission, and Tam was almost bursting with excitement.
“A mythical sword? A real mythical sword. From prophecy. I can’t wait! When do we leave?”
Rezkin shook his head. “You are not going.”
He watched as Tam’s entire world collapsed with those four words. “What do you mean, I’m not going?”
Rezkin sighed. “It is a ridiculous task. The sword cannot be magical in the way described in the prophecy.”
“What do you mean?” Tam said, refusing to be deterred. “There are plenty of enchanted swords. You have enchanted swords.”
Rezkin glanced at Wesson, who had been practically hiding in the corner while maintaining the sound ward. The mage looked up, startled by the sudden attention. “Oh!” he said and leapt from his chair.
Wesson cleared his throat. “Ah, where to start. Well, you see, certain enchantments like preventing rust, maintaining a sharp edge, or strengthening against breakage are intended to preserve the material already present. They do not change the nature of the substance itself. Other enchantments, like the bond, those used for tracking items, or those that prevent people from using the weapons are personal enchantments. They are designed to draw power from whoever is handling the weapon. They can store a certain amount of power, but eventually, the spells will fade.