Shadows Return

benefit?”
    “Of course it has, but Phoria would bite off her own tongue rather than admit it.”
    “Why?”
    “Because the plan was our mother’s, not hers, and Klia was the one to support it.”
    “So Phoria’s still putting her trust in swords over magic,” added Seregil.
    “Always, and Skalan swords in particular.”
    “And Phoria can’t see past her own jealousy,” Alec muttered.
    Korathan gave him a warning look. “Remember where you are and whom you’re speaking of! She’s the queen, and my sister.”
    Alec made him a hasty bow. “I beg your pardon, Highness.”
    “So, what’s the plan?” asked Seregil, shooting Alec a warning look of his own.
    “Your ship, the
Lark,
is berthed at the Lantern Street quay. You sail with the tide at first light.”
    “The queen seems in a hurry to get us out of town.”
    “More anxious to settle the matter, I think.” Korathan took a thick packet sealed with the Royal Signet from his coat and gave it to Seregil. “Here are letters of passage to the khirnaris of Gedre and Bôkthersa, and Phoria’s orders to Klia. Come back swiftly, and you may just buy yourself some favor.”
    Seregil hopped down and made Korathan an exaggerated bow. “Your royal errand boys hear and obey, Highness.”
    “Seregil—”
    “Don’t worry, I understand how important this is. There’s just one thing I’d like to ask you before we go. As a friend?”
    Korathan softened noticeably at that. “Go on.”
    “Will you give me your word that Phoria means no harm to her sister?”
    Korathan thought a moment, then put his hand to his heart. “I give you my word that I believe her when she says so.”
    “Hmm. Very well. I’ll bring Klia home safely, and trust you to keep her that way once she’s here.”
    “One of these days, that mouth of yours is going to get you into serious trouble.”
    “Has before. Will again, I expect. Take care, Highness. I’m glad it’s you standing beside the throne.”
    They took their leave, but it wasn’t until they were free of the Palace that Alec could finally breathe freely. “Phoria must have been satisfied with our answers, or she wouldn’t have given us a commission, right?”
    Seregil shrugged, looking more upset now than he had when Phoria was insulting them. “It could have been worse. At least we have something worthwhile to do.”
    Alec waited for him to say more, but Seregil was uncharacteristically quiet as they rode to the Orëska to catch up with Thero.
    We lied,
Alec realized. Given the choice between following Klia or Phoria, there would be no question. He prayed it never came to that.
             
    Perpetual summer reigned in the walled gardens that surrounded the Orëska House. The shining white palace, with its four domed towers, gleamed against the faultless blue sky. Here were beds of flowers and herbs, and groves of trees covered in every sort of fruit. Magyana had brought back many of the most exotic ones, found in her long years of traveling.
    Red-liveried servants bowed to them as they entered the echoing atrium. Sunlight streamed down through the central dome, making the brilliant mosaic that paved the entrance chamber glow. The great Dragon of Illior was whole again. Looking around at the graceful archways and the scores of robed wizards and apprentices going peacefully about their business, it was as if the devastation of the Plenimaran attack had never happened. Nysander was gone, but, Alec reminded himself, so were Mardus and his followers. The Orëska remained, strong and powerful. Why was Phoria so bent on alienating them?
    “You’re gaping,” Seregil chuckled as they crossed to the staircase leading up to what was now Thero’s tower. As they reached the top, however, he was no longer smiling. They’d been in to visit Magyana several times since their return, but had avoided these rooms until now.
    Wethis answered Alec’s knock. The young servant had grown up since Alec had seen him last and was sporting the beginnings of a passable beard. “My lords! It’s good to see you. Master Thero and Mistress Magyana are waiting in the parlor downstairs.”
    Gone were the precipitous stacks of dusty manuscripts in the entry, and the jumbled wonders covering every flat surface. Everything was orderly and clean now, though evidence of Thero’s own work was everywhere visible in the neatly arranged books and papers, and the various crucibles simmering over little braziers. The freshly polished steel