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  He jerked his head at the water-streaming skylights, and his alarm clicked up another notch as he noted the water dripping from the earl's soaked ponytail. Had his father-in-law charged out into a raging storm like this one without so much as a hat?

  "I—" the earl began, then stopped, staring up into his son-in-law's face, seeing the powerful family resemblance to King Haarahld. There was less of Cayleb in Tirian's features, but he could almost have been a slightly older mirror of the king.

  "What?" Tirian asked gently, his eyes dark with concern and affection. Surely, Gray Harbor thought, that concern—that love—had to be genuine. He couldn't be mistaken about that! And yet . . . and yet . . .

  "Tell me," the duke commanded in a soft voice, simultaneously urging the earl away from the hearth and towards a leather upholstered armchair. He pushed his father-in-law gently down into the chair, just as Marhys Wyllyms knocked lightly at the library door and entered, personally carrying a silver tray laden with a bottle of the duke's finest Harchong brandy and two glasses.

  Tirian hadn't ordered the brandy, but he nodded in approval as the majordomo set the tray on a small table by the earl's chair, and then withdrew as quietly as he'd appeared.

  The duke unstoppered the brandy and poured two glasses, giving the obviously distraught Gray Harbor a few moments. Then he extended one glass to the earl, took the other, and settled into the facing armchair.

  "Father," he said firmly as Gray Harbor accepted his brandy glass. The earl simply held it, not even sipping, and Tirian continued in that same, firm tone. "You obviously didn't come out in weather like this on a whim. So tell me what brings you here. Tell me what I can do to help."

  To his astonishment, his father-in-law's eyes abruptly filled with tears.

  "I shouldn't have come," Gray Harbor said finally, and his voice was hoarse, his words more than a little slurred. Obviously, Tirian realized, he'd been drinking even more heavily than the duke had guessed.

  "I shouldn't have come," the earl repeated, "but I had to. I had to, Kahlvyn."

  "Why, Father? What's happened?"

  "Kahlvyn, you've been . . . involved with some people you shouldn't have been," Gray Harbor said. Tirian's eyes narrowed, and the earl shook his head. "I know you had no reason to suspect them," he continued, "but some of the men with whom you've been doing business are . . . They aren't what you think they are."

  "Father," Tirian said slowly, "I'm afraid I don't understand what you're talking about."

  "I know, I know."

  Gray Harbor looked away, staring into the crackling fire while Zhorzh Hauwyrd, his personal guardsman, stood uncomfortably behind his chair. Hauwyrd had joined Gray Harbor's service over twelve years ago. He'd become the earl's personal guardsman two years later, following his predecessor's accidental drowning on a fishing trip, and he'd long since proven his loyalty. Yet it was obvious Hauwyrd had no idea what had so perturbed the earl, although Gray Harbor's longtime retainer was clearly concerned about whatever it was.

  Well, that was fair enough. Tirian was concerned, too. Despite the heavy smell of whiskey on the earl's breath, his sentences came out almost normally. The consequences, no doubt, of all of his years of political and diplomatic experience. That clarity of phrase could have fooled many people into underestimating the extent of his inebriation, but Tirian knew him better than that. It was obvious to him that Gray Harbor was unfocused, searching not simply for words, but for the thoughts he wanted to put into words.

  Tirian had never seen him like this, and he reached out and laid one hand on the older man's knee.

  "What do you know, Father?" His gentle question was all but lost in the next crash of thunder, and Gray Harbor looked back from the fire to focus a bit owlishly on his face.

  "Kahlvyn," he said, "some of your business partners, some of the men you think are friends, aren't. They're spies. Traitors." He shook his head, eyes no longer filled with tears, but still dark with concern. "You shouldn't be associated with them."

  "Spies?" Tirian sat back in his chair abruptly, his eyebrows lowering. "Traitors?" He shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, Father!"

  "I'm talking about men you do business with who also work for Nahrmahn of Emerald," Gray Harbor said. "I'm talking about the man you buy hunting wyverns from. You're dealing with people who are the enemies of the King and the Kingdom, Kahlvyn. And," he drew a deep breath, "there are some who suspect that you know you are."

  "People suspect me of treason?" Tirian demanded sharply. Behind the earl's chair, Hauwyrd's face went abruptly and totally expressionless. Clearly, the guardsman wasn't at all happy about the turn the conversation had just taken.

  "Some people, yes," Gray Harbor said.

  "Who?" Tirian asked harshly. "Who are they?"

  "I can't tell you that, you know that. I shouldn't have said as much as I already have. But I'm telling you, Kahlvyn, you have to disassociate yourself from those men."

  "I don't even know which men you're talking about!" Tirian protested.

  "I can tell you that much," Gray Harbor said. "Lahang, the wyvern trainer. He's one of Nahrmahn's people. And Tairehl and Thorsyn, the merchants—they are, too. And there are others."

  "Which others?" Tirian set his own brandy glass back on the tray, and his eyes were narrow, intent, as they focused on the earl's face.

  "Those are the most important three," Gray Harbor told him, waving his left hand. "Oh, there are a few others, but those are the ones we know are important to Nahrmahn's operations here in Charis."

  "Who knows?"

  "Wave Thunder, of course," Gray Harbor said a bit impatiently. "Seafarmer, others. Does it really matter, Kahlvyn?"

  "Of course it matters, if they think I'm a traitor, too, simply because of men I know, men I do business with!"

  "The point is to demonstrate that you aren't a traitor."

  "The point is that I want to know who would dare to accuse me of such a crime!" Tirian said hotly. "I'm Haarahld's cousin, for Langhorne's sake!"

  "I don't blame you for being angry," Gray Harbor replied, "but no one wants to believe anything but the best about you. You must know that! It's just that—"

  He broke off, shaking his head, and Tirian glowered at him.

  "Just what, Father?" he demanded.

  "There's been an . . . accusation," Gray Harbor said, after a moment, glancing back at the fire. "It's ridiculous, of course. But there it is. And given the . . . person from whom it came, Bynzhamyn had no choice but to consider it seriously."

  "- 'The person from whom it came,'-" Tirian repeated slowly, his eyes intent and thoughtful. Then he nodded to himself.

  "It was the foreigner," he said. "This 'Merlin.' The one some people are calling a 'seijin'? Wasn't it?"

  "I can't tell you that. I won't." Gray Harbor shook his head. "I think it's nonsense, that it may well be politically motivated, but I can't tell you its source, at least until Bynzhamyn's disproved the charges. And," he looked back at Tirian, his own eyes narrowing, "the best way for you to help disprove them is to voluntarily disassociate yourself from Nahrmahn's known agents and tell Bynzhamyn and Seafarmer everything you know about them."

  "Everything I know? You make it sound as if you think I have been consorting with traitors!"

  "Damn it, Kahlvyn!" Gray Harbor said, his voice sharper than it had been. He set his own untouched glass back onto the tray forcefully enough to slop brandy over the rim, and glared at his son-in-law. "You have been! Whether you knew you were doing it or not is immaterial, as far as that's concerned. We know they're Nahrmahn's men. What matters now is for you to demonstrate that, now that you've been told who they are, you want to help us prove they are."

  "Why?" Tirian asked harshly. "If Wave Thunder already knows they're traitors, what am I supposed to add to his knowledge about them?"

  "Anything you can," Gray Harbor said slowly, his eyebrows tightening. "Anything that might help." He sat back in his chair, gazing at the duke narrowly. "Surel
y you don't need me to tell you how it works, Kahlvyn. I would have thought you'd be as eager as I am to do that!"

  "Why should I be? You aren't the one some unknown foreigner is accusing of treason." Tirian snorted angrily and pushed himself up out of his armchair. He stamped over to the fire and glared down into the crackling flames, his back to his father-in-law, his hands clasped behind him and his shoulders tight.

  "Why should I be so eager to defend my name—my family's name—against that sort of accusation?"

  "To discredit him in turn," Gray Harbor said, still speaking slowly, staring at the younger man's rigid spine.

  "Shan-wei with him!" Tirian growled. "I'm the King's cousin, not some wretched little backcountry baron! Why should I care about the charges of some ragged adventurer?"

  "You shouldn't," the earl said, more slowly yet, ". . . unless they're true."

  Tirian wheeled back to face him, just that little bit too quickly, and saw it in his father-in-law's eyes. Saw that Gray Harbor hadn't been quite as drunk as Tirian had thought he was. Saw the concern in those eyes turning into something else—something both far sadder and much harder—as the speed of his turn, or some flicker of his own expression, abruptly confirmed what Gray Harbor had so desperately wanted not to believe.

  "Langhorne," the earl said softly. "They are true, aren't they? You already knew Lahang is Nahrmahn's chief agent here in Tellesberg."

  Tirian opened his mouth, obviously to deny the accusation. But then he paused. He stood for a moment, looking at the earl, then glanced at Hauwyrd.

  "Yes," he said then, his voice clipped but composed. "Yes, Father. I knew Lahang was one of Nahrmahn's spies. And I'll admit he approached me, wanted to recruit me into a plot against Haarahld."

  "And you never told anyone." Gray Harbor's words were no longer slurred. They came crisp, cold. There was anger in them, and sorrow, and Tirian shrugged.

  "No, I didn't," he agreed. "Why should I? If Lahang wanted to use me in some plot against Haarahld, he'd have to give me some of the details, wouldn't be? How better to position myself to discover what Nahrmahn was up to?"

  "If that's what you were really thinking, you should have taken the information to Bynzhamyn the instant Lahang approached you."

  "And risk having the secret get out before I'd had the opportunity to actually learn anything?" Tirian began. "I hardly think—"

  "Spare me," Gray Harbor interrupted sharply. Tirian looked at him, and the earl shook his head. "I've known Bynzhamyn Raice for more than twenty-five years; you've known him almost that long. We both know that secrets entrusted to him don't 'get out.'-" He shook his head again, slowly, sadly. "No, Kahlvyn. The only reason you wouldn't have told Bynzhamyn would be that you were considering accepting Lahang's offer."

  Despite the thunder grumbling overhead, despite the rain pounding on the skylights, and the crackle of the fire, silence seemed to hover in the library. And then, finally, the Duke of Tirian nodded.

  "I was," he conceded. "And why not? My blood's the same as that in Haarahld's veins. My grandfather was his grandfather. If that kraken had taken his life, and not simply his knee, the throne would have been mine. Why shouldn't I consider the possibility that it still could be?"

  Gray Harbor stared at him, as if seeing him for the very first time.

  "I thought I knew you," the earl said at last, so softly his voice was all but drowned by the sound of the furious winter rain. "But if you can ask me that, then I never knew you at all, did I?"

  "Of course you did." Tirian made a throwing away gesture. "I've been your son-in-law for fourteen years. You've become my father in truth, not just in name. Anything I may have thought, may have done where Haarahld is concerned, doesn't change that."

  "It changes everything, Kahlvyn," Gray Harbor said. "Can't you even see that? I was the King's man, his servant, before I was ever your father-in-law. I swore an oath to him—the same one you swore—and I can't break it. Not for you, not for Zhenyfyr or the boys. Not even for me, for my love for my daughter's husband."

  "I see."

  Tirian stood gazing at him for endless seconds, hands clasped behind him once again, then shrugged slightly.

  "So, I assume I can't talk you into forgetting about this, or throwing your lot in with mine?" The duke smiled crookedly. "We'd make a formidable team, Father. Think about it. The Kingdom's ranking duke and the First Councillor? We could do it, if you could just forget about that oath of yours."

  "Never," Gray Harbor said firmly, sadly.

  "Which leaves . . . what?"

  "Bynzhamyn's already more than half convinced Merlin's accusations were accurate," the earl said. "Seafarmer's already investigating. And now, I know the truth, Kahlvyn. It's only a matter of time, and not much of that, until the King knows, as well. I think you have only one chance to salvage anything from this, and that's to turn King's Evidence."

  "Confess what I've done? Throw myself on Haarahld's mercy and promise to tell him everything I know?"

  "What else can you hope for?"

  "I can still hope to win, Father," Tirian said softly.

  "Win?" Gray Harbor repeated incredulously. "How? It's over, Kahlvyn! All you can do now is try to minimize the damage. You're Haarahld's cousin, and he and Cayleb both love you. Of course they'll be angry—furious! But you're also the most important nobleman in the entire kingdom, after Cayleb himself. Obviously this is going to change everything where their trust in you is concerned, but if you admit what you've done, do your best to help undo it, Haarahld will do all he can to keep the entire thing quiet. You know that!"

  "Dear, loving Cousin Haarahld," Tirian said, his voice harder, an ugly light glittering in his eyes. "Father, it should be me on the throne, not him!"

  Gray Harbor's expression hardened. He looked at his son-in-law, and he saw the man he'd always known . . . and a total stranger. A stranger so soured by ambition and resentment that he'd become both traitor and would-be usurper, yet somehow been able to conceal the depths of that bitter emotion from everyone.

  Even from those who loved him.

  "Kahlvyn," the first councillor said coldly, "the throne is not yours. It never will be. Accept that now, and do what you can to make amends with Haarahld while the opportunity still exists."

  "I don't think so," Tirian said.

  Gray Harbor stiffened in his chair, and Hauwyrd's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, but the duke ignored the guardsman, gazing straight into Gray Harbor's eyes.

  "It seems I can't convince you to join me," he said, "but I'm afraid you can't convince me to join you, either, Father. Which leaves us with a bit of a problem, doesn't it?"

  "You can't win, Kahlvyn."

  "I disagree." Tirian reached up to rest one hand on the mantelpiece of the fireplace beside him and smiled at his father-in-law.

  "I know you, and I know Wave Thunder," he said easily, almost lightly. "You wouldn't have blabbed about this to anyone else—not yet. Seafarmer, yes." He nodded. "I'll give you that, and Seafarmer may have spoken to one or two people he knows and trusts. But that's all, so far."

  "And it's enough," Gray Harbor said flatly.

  "No, Father, it isn't," Tirian disagreed. "I'm afraid events are going to force me to do something I wanted to avoid, but this isn't exactly something I never planned for."

  "What do you mean?" Gray Harbor demanded, his voice suddenly taut.

  "I mean I'd hoped the only person I'd have to kill would be Cayleb." Tirian shook his head in what appeared to be genuine regret. "I didn't want to do even that much. Maybe if I had, I would have planned better."

  "You admit you planned to murder your own cousin? Your Crown Prince?" Gray Harbor sounded as if he couldn't believe it, even now.

  "It was my idea," Tirian acknowledged. "Lahang was nervous. He and Nahrmahn didn't want anything to do with it at first. But Nahrmahn came around when I pointed out that I was Zhan and Zhanayt's regent."

  "And the King?" Gray Harbor's voice was no longer taut. It was leache
d of emotion, flattened and yet fascinated.

  "That would have been more difficult," Tirian admitted. "On the other hand, I felt reasonably confident Nahrmahn would be so . . . enthusiastic, shall we say, after Cayleb's death that I could trust him to make a respectable effort to remove Haarahld, as well. I'd have preferred that, actually."

  "Well, it isn't going to happen now," Gray Harbor said.

  "No, not that way. But I do have my own friends in the Palace, and I am the King's cousin. I'm afraid it's going to be much messier this way, but this Merlin fellow of yours will help make it work for me."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "It's simple." Tirian smiled thinly. "I'm afraid there are about to be several murders here in Tellesberg tonight. Wave Thunder, Seafarmer, most of Seafarmer's senior investigators—since I don't know which of them he's talked to, I'll have to attend to all of them. And Lahang will have to go, too. I can't have anyone who knows about my . . . association with him or Nahrmahn."