Chaosti was working hard, but Falonar was working harder to maintain the pace he’d set. As the match continued, it became apparent that Falonar was an excellent fighter—and Chaosti was so much more than an excellent fighter.

Lucivar glanced at the hourglass floating on air next to Hallevar. Only a minute left. Then he could drag Falonar away from the others and find out what in the name of Hell was wrong with the man.

The sparring match would end in a draw. He didn’t think any man in the room would feel a bite to his pride that an Eyrien couldn’t defeat this particular opponent.

Except, apparently, Falonar.

One moment there was the clash of sparring sticks. The next moment, there was a flash of sunlight on metal and Falonar was holding his bladed stick.

Chaosti raised his sparring stick to block a chest-high blow. The blade on Falonar’s stick sliced cleanly through the wood—and the next move should have sliced through Chaosti’s waist.

Eyriens fought in the air or on open fields—places that suited a race with wings who needed room to maneuver. But the Children of the Wood were a more intimate kind of fighter.

Lucivar expected it, but even he didn’t see the transition from a broken sparring stick to Dea al Mon fighting knives. Moments after Falonar made that first aggressive move, he was lying on the floor, bleeding from a handful of wounds while Chaosti stood over him, one knife ready to slice his throat while the other knife was in position to rip through the Eyrien’s belly.

Every Eyrien in that room now understood why the Dea al Mon were feared.

“Chaosti,” Lucivar said quietly. “It’s done. Step back.”

“Is it done?” Chaosti asked just as quietly.

“Yes.” If he makes a move against you now, I will string him up with his own intestines and leave him for the carrion eaters.

Chaosti stepped back, but he didn’t vanish those long, elegant knives until he was out of the circle.

The Eyriens stared at him. Finally Hallevar said, “Thank you for the demonstration, Prince. It was . . . educational.”

Chaosti tipped his head. “Yaslana is family. It was a pleasure to oblige him.”

No one mentioned that it hadn’t been his idea, but Lucivar figured the warriors knew the obliging had nothing to do with the match and everything to do with not killing Falonar.

The Dea al Mon walked out of the communal eyrie.

No longer concerned about provoking Chaosti into more of a fight, Lucivar felt his temper slip the leash, turning hot and jagged as he walked up to Falonar. “That’s the second time you’ve used a sparring match to strike at a man. I guarantee you won’t survive if you try it a third time.”

He motioned to Zaranar and Rothvar. “Get Prince Falonar back to his eyrie and summon the Healer. The rest of you are dismissed—except you, Hallevar.”

The two men hauled Falonar upright, ignoring his snarled protest, and carried him out. The other men departed as quickly as they could.

When he was alone with the arms master, Lucivar said, “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

Hallevar shook his head. “But I’m guessing he’s finding it harder than the others to accept that when it comes to fighting, we might be second best in this Realm. Not you, of course.” He hesitated, then added, “We’re an arrogant race, Lucivar. You know that as well as I do.”

“We are, and I do. But we’re not stupid, and when a man wears the Sapphire, attacking a Gray-Jeweled Warlord Prince during a friendly sparring match is plain stupid, no matter what race the Gray comes from.”

“Something has been chewing at him lately, that’s for sure, but I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I can tell you that, even as boys, you and Falonar lived by different shades of honor.”

“Honor is honor,” Lucivar snapped. “It doesn’t come in shades.”

“Yeah.” Hallevar smiled. “As boy or man, that line was always clear to you. I don’t think it was ever that clear for Falonar, which is probably why the two of you can’t get along any better now than you did back then. And there’s the other thing.” He frowned, then shook his head.

“Say it.”

“You’ve fought your battles, and you’ve got nothing to prove. So you’re content to rule a territory that isn’t churned up all the time with power struggles and fights.”

“In that, I’m no different than any other ruler in Kaeleer.”

“Maybe that’s the point. Hard for a man to make a name for himself if there aren’t any battles to win.” Hallevar sighed. “You made your name, Lucivar, whether you intended to or not. You spent most of your life away from Askavi, but you gained a reputation on the killing fields, and hearing your name was enough to put fear in strong men’s eyes. No one is going to feel that way about Falonar.”

No, no one would fear Prince Falonar. Not in Kaeleer, anyway.

“Now can I ask you a question?” Hallevar said.

“Sure. Ask.”

“Why have you been so soft with the Eyriens in Ebon Rih? Those lazy bastards in the northern camps don’t want to hold their own cocks when they take a piss, let alone do anything useful. Why didn’t you kick their asses off these mountains sooner?”

“To go where?” Lucivar asked quietly.

“What difference does it make where—” Hallevar stopped. Stared.

“Yeah.” Lucivar smiled grimly. “Everything has a price.”

“You kept them close so they wouldn’t become someone else’s problem.”

“And because I had hoped that I could build an Eyrien community here. The community didn’t happen, but keeping them close to avoid trouble had worked for a few years. Now it doesn’t, so it’s time for them to go.”

“Between the women’s settlement in Doun and those of us who are staying in Riada, that’s the start of a community, isn’t it?”

Lucivar smiled. “Yes, it is.”

“You think the other Eyriens will survive once they leave Ebon Rih?”

“Not for long. Not in Kaeleer.” He blew out a breath. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be down at The Tavern for an hour or so. I want to check on Rainier.” And Merry and Briggs.

“You have any objections to the girl working with Tamnar this afternoon? Boy didn’t get any practice in this morning, and the girl is always eager for a chance.”

“I told Jillian she could have the training if she kept up with her schoolwork,” Lucivar said as he headed for the door. “So I have no objections.”

“Tamnar isn’t a child, but he’s not an adult yet.”

Lucivar stopped, hearing discomfort in Hallevar’s voice. “So?” If there was any question of the boy behaving inappropriately around Jillian, the arms master wouldn’t have asked for permission to have them train together.

“Being a bastard and all, boy hasn’t had much schooling with books and such. Wouldn’t want to shame him by putting him with the little ones, but . . .”

Understanding the point of the conversation, Lucivar smiled. “I’ll talk to Endar. I think we can work something out.”

Hallevar didn’t smile back. “That answer right there is the reason the people in this valley will never feel about Falonar the way they feel about you.”

Yaslana is family. It was a pleasure to oblige him.

And that, Falonar thought as he sat alone and embraced the pain from his wounds, was more proof that Lucivar Yaslana wasn’t one of them beneath the skin and shouldn’t be ruling over real Eyriens. To acknowledge something like Chaosti as family? No man respectful of his race would admit to such a thing—even if it were true.

The Children of the Wood. They weren’t natural, weren’t human, despite their shape. Nothing human could have blocked an Eyrien—blocked him—that way or moved fast enough to inflict several wounds before he even saw the blade.

This place was making the Eyriens weak, making them less. Diminishing them a little more each day.

He had to save his people. It was fortunate Surreal had that unexplained breakdown. It had kept Lucivar occupied, and had bought more time for the rest of them. But Surreal had recovered, and Lucivar would once again focus on driving out the people who should have first claim to this land.

Falonar pushed himself out of the chair. It wouldn’t do his wounds any good to be riding the Winds to the northern camps, but it had to be done.

If he was going to save his people, he’d better do it soon.

Lucivar walked into his eyrie and hung his winter cape on the coat tree near the door. All he wanted right now was a quiet, peaceful evening and an hour to soak in the eyrie’s heated pool.

“Papa!”

But if he couldn’t have peace, he’d settle for a happier kind of uproar.

He caught Daemonar and swung him around, making the boy laugh. “Hello, boyo.”

“I read stories with Auntie J., and Mama made soup, and I didn’t scare Auntie Srell!”

“Sounds like you had an excellent day.”

“Yeah!”

“Meet me in the bathroom, and we’ll wash up together for dinner.”

“Okay!”

He put Daemonar down and watched his happy bundle of boy run. Shaking his head, he went into the kitchen, where Marian was adding her finishing touches to a beef roast and fixings.

“Hard day?” she asked, wiping her hands as he moved toward her.

“I’ve had harder days.” He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the scent of her, the warmth of her. “Where is Surreal?”

“She went back to The Tavern. She said if she had to have a male watch her take a bath, it was going to be Rainier. Daemonar asking if her udders made milk probably weighed in on that decision.”

He laughed. “Mother Night.”

“Papa!” It sounded like the boy was near the bathroom, and if he wanted the boy to stay near the bathroom, he had to move his ass.

He sighed, then kissed Marian’s forehead. “Your men better get washed up for dinner.”

“And after dinner, will we talk, Lucivar?”

The choices and decisions he was making would change her life too. He nodded. “Once we’ve got the boy tucked in, we’ll talk.”

They ate dinner, took care of evening chores, and got their son settled in bed. Then they went to the heated pool in the eyrie, stripped down, and relaxed.

He told her about Falonar inviting Chaosti to a sparring match and then breaking honor by changing it to a real fight at the end when he realized he wasn’t going to win.

He closed his eyes and tipped his head back to rest against the edge of the pool. Opening his wings, he fanned them just enough to have the water clean them.

“What did I miss, Marian?” he asked. “Until recently, I considered Falonar a good second-in-command.”

“Maybe being second isn’t enough for him,” Marian said.

Second-in-command—and always second best to the half-breed bastard? That had mattered to Falonar a lot when they were boys. Maybe it still did.

“Three more years to fulfill his contract might feel like too long a time before he can fulfill his own ambitions,” Marian continued.

Lucivar opened his eyes. “He’s not being tortured or beaten every day. He’s not chained or caged. That being the case, three years isn’t a long time for someone from the long-lived races.”

“Depends on whether you feel that you’re being kept from something you want.”

“What is it he wants?” Frustrated, Lucivar sat up. “I provided a place to live, basic furnishings, and a wage to cover personal expenses. If Falonar dreams of being wealthy, there are investments he can make and people he can talk to about those investments—my father being one of them.”

“Maybe he misses aristo society,” Marian said.

“He rubs elbows with the aristo families in Riada—and in Doun and Agio, for all I know. So he can’t say he’s got nothing but rough-and-tumble common folk for company.”

“But the aristos are Rihlanders, not Eyriens.”

“And that’s my fault?”

“Of course it’s not your fault.”

Lucivar heard the bite in her voice. His hearth witch was getting riled on his behalf. It tickled him that she was defending him against himself, but since he didn’t want to end up sleeping alone tonight, he figured it was best not to mention that.

“We could end up being the only Eyriens in Ebon Rih,” he said. That wasn’t really true, but in a few days, there would be so many less than there were now.