Luck in the Shadows

but we thought the whole affair was over and done until Alben turned up in this business with Lord Seregil."
    Nysander stroked his short beard thoughtfully. "I must hear the details of the plan, of course, but I am still uncertain as to how Barien, whom you say knew nothing of Alben, made the connection between this creature and his nephew during the confession."
    Phoria sighed heavily. "Alben spoke of the White Hart . That was the name of the vessel the stolen gold was put onto at Cirna."
    "Ah, and as high commander of the cavalry detachments assigned to guard such shipments, your approval was needed to reroute the gold. As was Barien's to alter the treasury manifest. Both of you needed to know the name of the vessel, if little else."
    Phoria met his eye stonily. "I should have refused. I should have stopped him. I offer no excuse for my actions."
    Idrilain took a rolled document from the side table and passed it to Nysander. "This is Barien's will, dated three years ago. You'll find he left his entire fortune and holdings to the Skalan treasury. It's more than adequate repayment."
    Slapping a hand down on the table, she rose to pace the room. "As if I wouldn't have forgiven him or tried to help! That wonderful, damnable old-fashioned honor of his destroyed him and cost me the most valuable councilor I had, not to mention the trust of my heir apparent. And all on account of a young idiot not worth the price of the rocks to crush him!"
    Phoria flinched visibly. "I shall relinquish all claim to the throne, of course."
    "You will do nothing of the sort!" shouted Idrilain, rounding on her. "With a war brewing and Lerans in the back pantry, the last thing this country needs is the uproar of an abdication. You made a mistake—a stupid, prideful mistake—and now you've seen the consequences. As the future queen of this land, you will accept responsibility for your actions and put the needs of Skala before your own. As the high commander of my cavalry forces, you will remain at your post and carry out your duties. Is that clear?"
    White-faced, Phoria dropped to one knee and raised a fist to her chest in salute. "I will, my Queen!"
    "Oh, get up and finish your report." Turning away in disgust, Idrilain dropped back into her chair.
    Rising, Phoria resumed her rigid stance. "As far as I know, the gold was delivered to the Hart as planned. Barien never mentioned the matter to me again until the night of his death."
    For an instant a small tremor disturbed the masklike composure of her face. It was the first time in years Nysander had seen her show the hint of any strong emotion other than anger. It passed as quickly as it had come, however.
    "Barien went to Teukros and confronted him, wanting to know why he'd continued an association with the forger," she went on. "Apparently Teukros denied everything having to do with the Leran plot and Seregil, but did admit to using Alben's talents to facilitate some shady shipping deals."
    "The secret of his fortune, I suspect," said Nysander. "I should hardly have given him credit for such ability, yet it seems we may have underestimated the wretch after all. General Phoria, do you think Barien arranged to have Teukros killed the night of his own death?"
    "He said nothing of the kind to me."
    "Did you arrange to have Teukros killed?"
    "No." For the first time in some minutes Phoria locked eyes with him and Nysander found no reason to doubt her words.
    "Is there anything else you can tell me of this business with the Hart ?"
    "Nothing beyond the fact that Barien could never ascertain exactly what happened to the gold. Herleus ceased his demands for money, and a few months later he was dead. Nothing was mentioned of it during the disposition of his estate, but that's hardly surprising. I suppose his heirs have lived rather well off their secret reserve."
    "Perhaps," said Nysander, unconvinced that the answer would be that simple.
    Armed with Nysander's report from the Palace, Seregil and Alec disappeared for the rest of the day.
    They returned to the tower before dark, however, still dressed in the hooded robes of professional scholars and smudged with fine bookish dust.
    Micum, who'd spent the afternoon with Nysander, exchanged a grin with the old wizard; Seregil and the boy both had the happy look of hounds on a warm scent. It was the most cheerful either of them had looked in days.
    "Herleus had no heirs!" Seregil cackled happily, warming his hands at the workroom fire.
    "None at all?"