“Argenthyne!” Spane said in incredulity. “Why that’s a child’s tale ...” He trailed off when Graelalea leveled her gaze at him. Maybe, as he looked into her eyes, eyes that had witnessed the passage of centuries, he recognized whom and what he addressed. He blinked rapidly and looked away.
“Argenthyne is no legend,” Graelalea said. This time no one countered her words. “My brother,” she continued, turning her steady gaze on Zachary, “expresses his hope you will not impede our passage through the breach in the wall to reach the forest.”
Laren suspected the Eletians would not be deterred one way or the other, and that Jametari was simply conferring a courtesy by giving Zachary notice of their intentions.
Zachary stroked his mustache. “Is there anything else your brother wishes to express?”
Graelalea did not appear put off by his lack of affirmation. “Yes,” she said. “If you wish to make this a joint expedition, that you choose worthy individuals, and meet the tiendan at the breach no later than the equinox. On our part, our number shall be small—six of us—so that we may travel lightly and swiftly.”
“It’s insane,” Spane said. “Sire, surely you won’t even consider anything of the sort.”
Zachary ignored him, his countenance unchanged. Laren, however, knew his thoughts. When Prince Jametari first told them of his desire to send an expedition into Blackveil, Zachary later confided to her that the Eletians would not go without Sacoridians along. Whoever went was not likely to return, yet she understood why he must send his own people. He needed to know what lay on the other side of the wall, too, to learn what they faced should they be unable to repair the breach.
She also knew he wanted to keep an eye on the Eletians.
And now Zachary would not have to force the issue. The Sacoridians had been invited.
“I thank you for bearing Prince Jametari’s message to us,” Zachary said. “I will consider his words.”
Graelalea nodded as though she expected no more.
“Have you accommodation for the night?” Zachary inquired. “We would be honored to house you.”
Lhean made what looked like a warding gesture, sharp enough to catch everyone’s attention.
“You have something to say, Lhean?” Graelalea asked.
“Is this place not a ... What is the word these people use? For a house of the dead?”
“Mausoleum,” Telagioth supplied.
“Yes,” Lhean said. “Mausoleum. They sleep upon their dead. I feel it, and I should not like to pass a night here.”
Colin looked mortified and Spane seemed about to burst out in indignation. Estora laid a gentle hand on his wrist to quiet him. No reaction came from the elderly Sperren, who dozed in his chair. Zachary looked—amused?
“Lhean,” Graelalea said. “We are guests, and we do not speak so in the house of our host.”
Lhean did not look shamed by the rebuke. He raised his chin, proud and haughty.
“You must forgive my cousin,” Graelalea said. “He is young and this is his first time venturing among your kind.”
“Young” was a deceptive concept in Eletian terms. Lhean could be hundreds of years old. And yet there was a quality about him that suggested his youth—a guilessness in his eyes. They lacked the deep knowledge and timelessness Laren had observed in other Eletians, as she saw in both Graelalea’s and Telagioth’s eyes.
“He only speaks truth,” Zachary said.
“Your Highness—” Colin began.
“Yes, Colin, we do not speak carelessly of the tombs, but there is no reason to deny what our guests already know exists.” Zachary smiled. “Though I never quite thought of the castle as a mausoleum. Now that he mentions it, however ...”
“We thank you, Firebrand,” Graelalea said, “for your offer of accommodations, but we shall begin our journey home.”
“Truly?” Zachary asked, sounding genuinely disappointed. “May we offer anything else? Provisions?”
A solemn expression fell across Graelalea’s face. “There is. My brother has a request. He wishes I return with something he found very precious here. A treasure, if you will.”
A hush of expectancy descended on the chamber as all waited to hear the request. What treasure could he want? Laren inventoried in her mind all the precious trappings of the castle she could think of—jewels, weapons, art—and she saw that the others must be doing the same. What did the Sacoridians possess that would be good enough for the Eletian prince?
“My brother,” Graelalea said, “requires many pounds of dark chocolate fudge and Dragon Droppings. We must visit the Master of Chocolate. Would his shop be open at this hour?”
Laren saw to it the Eletians got their chocolate. She sent Fergal, who was eager for even the most mundane of errands, ahead to alert Master Gruntler to open his shop for special customers. Then she assigned Mara to accompany them to Master Gruntler’s, thence to the city gates.
By the time everything was arranged and Laren reported back to Zachary, the others had already dispersed. She found him in his private parlor pouring himself brandy. Two of his Hillander terriers sprawled before the fire and barely blinked at her entrance. Zachary poured her a glass, too, which she accepted gratefully. She sank into an overstuffed chair by the hearth, thinking it had turned out to be a very long day.
Zachary dropped into a chair opposite her. “Now tell me the truth. You are uninjured from your battle with the groundmites?”