Casket of Souls

Immediately.
    Sorrow, joy, and relief warred in his heart. He didn’t know how to feel.
    At the Palace he drew a few questioning looks given the lateness of the hour and his uncommon clothing, but a page took him at once to the royal residence.
    Thero found Korathan alone in the darkened garden. He wore no robes or coat, but sat in his shirtsleeves, with one elbow on the stone table and his head resting on his hand, pale hair loose around his face. A wine bottle and cup stood before him on the table.
    Before Thero could even bow, he said softly, “Phoria is dead, isn’t she?”
    “You’ve had word?”
    But the prince shook his head. “We shared a womb, and a lifetime. I’m told it’s common with twins—to know.” He sat back in his chair and looked at Thero. “The war is lost?”
    “No, Highness, it’s won. I’ve had word from Klia herself.
    Queen Phoria drove the Plenimarans to their border, then fell on the brink of victory. Princess Klia finished the task.”
    “Thank Sakor for that, at least! Is there any suggestion that Phoria’s death was connected to your cabals?”
    “None that I know of yet, Highness.”
    “Then let it rest. Reltheus and the others have been convicted of conspiracy against the realm and banished.” He sighed. “I suppose we should have a drink. Sit with me, please.”
    Impatient as he was to return to Seregil and the others, Thero could not refuse, and not just because of their difference in rank. It was a bittersweet victory for Korathan.
    The prince filled his own cup, then pushed the bottle across to Thero. “To Phoria. Astellus carry her softly.”
    “To Queen Phoria.” Thero raised the bottle and took a small sip; he had work ahead of him tonight, hopefully.
    Korathan raised his cup again. “The queen is dead. Long live the queen!”
    “Queen Elani, the Four protect her.”
    They drank again.
    “And to victory,” Korathan rasped, and Thero could tell the prince had started drinking long before he’d arrived.
    “To victory, thank the Flame.”
    They sat in silence for a moment, then Korathan cleared his throat and asked, “Phoria— She died well?”
    “Yes, Highness, in the thick of battle. Klia said she’d tell you the rest when she returns. She sails tomorrow, bringing the queen’s body and the Sword of Gherilain back to the city.”
    “A wise woman, my little sister. This should put an end to any further rumors.” He took another sip. “Between you and me, Thero, I know Elani will make a fine queen, but Klia would have made a great one.”
    “She doesn’t want the crown. She’s said so a number of times. She loves soldiering.”
    Korathan let out a mirthless laugh. “As do I. Here’s to choosing one’s own path. To Klia.”
    “To Princess Klia.”
    Silence fell again, and again it was Korathan who broke it.
    “You and the others have served Skala well, even when ordered not to.”
    “As loyal Skalans—” Thero began, but Korathan shook his head.
    “I’m not a stupid man, Thero. The Watchers serve more than just queen and country.”
    “But never are those in opposition, Highness.”
    “Never?”
    “I can only speak for myself, and for Nysander when I knew him, but no. Never.”
    “I haven’t told Elani about you yet. What do you think I should do?”
    Thero considered this seriously; for one fragile moment they were, if not peers, then two men who held the safety of the nation in their hands. At last he replied, “When the time is right you should tell her, in any way you like.”
    Korathan raised an eyebrow. “When the time is right? When will that be?”
    “When we are needed.”
    “I see. Yes. Well, thank you for bringing word to me.” His face remained a calm mask as Thero rose to go, but the lightest of touches across the prince’s mind revealed a bottomless well of grief.
    Thero felt strangely guilty at leaving the man alone, but he’d clearly been dismissed so that Korathan could grieve in private.
    As soon as Thero was gone, Seregil gave the signal to Micum to move out. The man disappeared down the shadowy street, only to reappear at the front of the house in time to intercept the watchman and engage him in conversation. Seregil couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the other man appeared glad of a break in the night’s boredom.
    Seregil and Alec stole to the back of the house. The back door let into a kitchen, as with most houses, and there were three windows, two to the left of the kitchen door, and one