For the next two days, Idris was more restless than usual. There was no news from Kurellan or Cressida, and Layton had gone quiet, and he found himself adrift without a rudder. Willard would not talk to him. In fact, when Idris knocked on the hut door to apologise, he saw that the pigs were gone and there were no lights lit inside. His guilt fuelled his frantic desire to work on anything and everything he could, so that afternoon when Riette called him for weapons training, he was not surprised that the first thing she did was put a bowl of soup in front of him and scold him for not resting.

  “I do not train masochists,” she said, when he tried to protest.

  “You speak like I have any choice.”

  “I do, because you have choices, and you are making bad ones.” She eyed Black Star; Thistle was sniffing the glass end, his ears pulled back. “This is what the fae gave you?”

  Idris nodded, drinking as much soup as he could without pausing.

  “This is what you fought with Willard over?” she said.

  Idris rolled his eyes. The argument with Willard was a nuisance. He had been prepared to be the bigger man and say sorry, but he could not make amends with someone who would rather leave the palace than listen. When Riette saw him do this, however, she stamped hard on his good foot.

  “Black bells, why would you -”

  “You are a sorry excuse for a friend, Idris,” she said mildly. “Drink the soup, pick up your weapon. I had better not hear you complain even once.”

  “Commander,” he muttered, rubbing his foot.

  Black Star was a beast of a weapon. Before Riette allowed him to practice, she took control of it, first. She swung it artfully, with deadly precision, as if it were a plaything, and halved a training dummy filled with straw with a single, straight-down blow. Through the dust, she looked impressed.

  “Here,” she said, holding it out. “Try not to hold it too tight. Loosen your arms. We’ll start with a two-handed grip.”

  Idris had mixed feelings about training with Riette. She was an excellent fighter but an impatient teacher, especially when he was being lazy or making excuses. There was no room for sloppy mistakes. He understood it, because she wanted him to be skilled and safe, but it grated at him. There was that, and there was the fact that every time she touched him or was critical of his body in any way, he felt warm and thick-headed. They practiced first thing in the morning, usually when Idris’s muscles were already sore from doing stances all night, and worked for two hours every other day. By the time they were halfway through, Idris was already annoyed.

  “Use your left leg, hold the weight,” she said, pushing suddenly on his bent knee with her huge hands. He staggered, pushed his wooden peg prosthetic firmly into the sand to try and save himself, and succeeded in only wobbling to his right; Riette simply shoved him and he fell into the dirt. “Again,” she said, not extending a hand to help him up. “The hammer won’t save you from overbalancing, you have to rely on your muscles.”

  “It would help if I wore my proper foot,” he said.

  “No, it would not.”

  “I am not going onto battlefields with this old thing on -”

  “That old thing is the best balance you will have to train with,” she said, fixing him with a hard stare. “Especially if you are going to wear the other thing the fae gave you, the hare’s foot? I cannot imagine that is easier than a peg-leg.”

  “Please do not call it a peg-leg,” he said, stumbling back up.

  “Why not?”

  “It is embarrass -”

  She swung a shield at him; he slammed Black Star’s head into its flat centre, feeling it jar all through his arms, shake in his teeth. Riette shrugged, pulled a face.

  “Well, your reflexes are still good,” she said.

  There was the blast of a dragon horn to the west of the palace complex; Idris held his breath.

  “The Queen?” he whispered.

  “Wipe down, meet me at the courtyard,” Riette said, throwing him a towel. “With any luck, she has The Remaker in chains.”

  By the time Idris had cleaned up, put his other prosthetic on and got dressed, the courtyard was already filled with the Queen’s men, unloading equipment and meeting squires. Idris saw Kurellan first, handing his broadsword to his attendant, and then Cressida conversing hurriedly with Riette.

  “Any news?” Idris said to Kurellan, a tight knot in his gut. Kurellan nodded towards the Queen.

  “You’ll need debriefing,” he said.

  Cressida turned, caught Idris’s eye; he made sure to bow before he hurried over.

  “Anything?” he said.

  She pursed her lips and held out a piece of parchment. It had a raven’s feather attached to it with a pin. It was almost identical to the other letters Layton had left for him.

  Idris took the note, unfastened the feather.

  Too impulsive, son of mine.

  Stealing from me too? Raven’s Roost is still mine. I am not dead yet.

  One day I will welcome you into my new home.

  Stop sending your sea serpent to do a necromancer’s work.

  Idris clenched his fist on the paper, took a deep breath. “What did he leave behind?”

  “Not much,” said Cressida. “The trail was cold as soon as we arrived. We searched all over but... I suspect he is using a curtain, like he did on the tower.”

  “I can be ready to leave in under an hour,” he said, but she shook her head.

  “I do not see the point.”

  “I should have come out when -”

  “No. We need to talk. I will call court.” She paused, glanced around. “Where is Willard?”

  “He... he will be here when we call court,” said Idris, trying not to think about it. “I swear.”

  “I will leave you two to spread the word, then,” Cressida said to Riette. “The usual place, please. At your earliest convenience.”

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  “Of course, Majesty,” said Riette, bowing her head.

  The Gleesdale Court was, officially, a sort of war-court. Cressida had made it official with her royal seal and it was allowed funds and soldiers when appropriate, but it had a specific purpose and a select body. It comprised of Idris, Kurellan, Lila, Willard, Riette, Joa and Cressida herself and was held in Kurellan’s office in his tower, but meetings of late had been rather lacking in substance. Idris was glad for it, to take his mind off all the rest of his failings.

  Lila was in the training rooms of the soldiers’ barracks, but abandoned everything to assist. She pursed her lips, though, when Idris asked if she knew where Willard was.

  “He asked me specifically not to tell you, sir,” she said.

  “Can you get word to him that he and his father are expected at court?”

  “I... yes, I can. Meet me there.”

  Kurellan’s tower room was decked out more like a strategy room than an office for the Court Judge. It contained the old trappings of his military career – full armour, his broadsword, a map table for meetings – with only marginal room for texts and items more befitting to his status. It was dark and cold, and Idris disliked it mostly for the stairs. Before he climbed, he saw Cressida’s note to Joa, giving him permission to enter, attached to the wall.

  It was not a happy contingent, huddled around Kurellan’s map. Kurellan himself seemed less stoic than usual, more miserable; Cressida was worried, judging by the way she kept rubbing her thumb on the side of her forefinger. Riette kept quiet in the corner until Lila appeared, breathless.

  “Willard and Joa are on their way,” she said, bowing to her superiors.

  “Where is Willard?” said Cressida.

  “He...” Lila glanced at Idris, who gave her a firm look. “He left. For a while.”

  “Sir Idris and Willard had a big row,” said Riette, tapping her foot.

  “Over what?” said Cressida.

  “Idris’s cursed hammer,” the commander said.

  “It came? Where is it?” the Queen asked, turning to Idris, now.

  Idris sighed, trying to keep his composure. “It is in the training arena, in its case, I assume.”

  “I must see it.”

  “It is not necessary -”

  “I have it,” said Willard, coming through the door with the chest in his hands. Behind him was Joa, serene as a spring breeze.

  “Majesty,” the prince said, bowing.

  “Highness, an honour,” Cressida replied. “Please, seats, all of you. We have much to discuss.”

  Willard did not look at Idris. Idris noted that he looked dirtier, like he had indeed been living alone in the woods again, and that he was wearing clothes much like his old ones, made of rough-woven wool and plants.

  “I would like to call to order the sixth session of The Gleesdale Court,” said Cressida, “from the office of Court Judge Kurellan. All present?”

  “Aye,” was the murmur around the table. Kurellan, as his position dictated, took notes.

  “Judge Kurellan and I have been on a little excursion,” the Queen said. “But first, Sir Idris, if you would.”

  Idris took a deep breath and recounted all that happened in Marbury. When he was done, Kurellan raised his eyebrows and checked his writing.

  “Well,” he said with a sigh, “the old raven was expecting us, too.”

  This was news to Idris. He sat forward in his chair, anxious.

  “May I?” Kurellan asked the Queen. She nodded. “When we got the note, we were halfway to Marbury already. Turned right around. We made it out to the overlook that Lord Vonner earmarked in the final letter and began searching for aria resonance from there. The nearest place he could have been camped out was a neighbouring farmstead which had been abandoned after the war. Went in and there were signs of... firstly, disarray, and secondly, someone cooking in there.”

  “But the scouts checked everywhere,” said Riette, frowning.

  “The bells went mad,” said Kurellan. “Crying death arias all around the place. We found a crystal or two inside, we think he was using a death curtain to cover it. Evidence suggests he’d been there a few weeks before he moved on. The scouts don’t know enough to look for complex magic like that.”

  “I thought the scouts were supposed to call for me if they thought -” Idris began, but Cressida waved a hand.

  “Most soldiers do not hear death arias on a daily basis, or know what necromancy looks like beyond a few walking dead,” she said. “Besides, you cannot be everywhere at once.”

  “With that said,” Kurellan added, “we were... hindered by some thralls when we attempted to follow the tracks. I assume Lord Vonner is on foot, I do not think he is concerned about speed. The thralls, though, were very particular about destroying our bells, rather than hurting us. He did not want to be followed.”

  “By the time we made any progress, the aria was gone,” said Cressida, sighing.

  “Can I see the crystals?” said Idris.

  Cressida placed a velvet bag on the table; Idris reached inside and pulled out two clarifying crystals, one cut in a dodecahedron, one in a diamond. They were cool to the touch, but under his fingertips, he could feel the residual death aria in them.

  “These are definitely his,” Idris said. “It... sounds like him.”

  “The new letter?” said Riette, gesturing to Idris’s clenched fist. He sighed, flattened it out on the table. “He speaks of Raven’s Roost,” she said. “As if he has been there recently, or...”

  “More likely, he has some way of seeing inside. A left-over thrall, perhaps,” said Idris. “But the ‘new home’ part has me more concerned.”

  “He is not interested in anything but you,” said Cressida. “He will not face me, or Kurellan, or anyone else. Only you. I rather think he was disappointed that you were not with us.” She rapped her knuckles on the table. “This war-hammer, then?”

  “If I may?” said Joa, suddenly interested in the conversation. Cressida indicated that he proceed, and Joa opened the chest to show the contents to the court.

  “Sure you know how to swing that thing, whelp?” said Kurellan, his eyebrows furrowed. Idris swallowed.

  “I can learn.”

  “It is bonded with Sir Idris,” said Joa, “so he is the only person who can use the latent aria in the glass. We made sure of that.”

  “And it will be destroyed once the breastplate is gone?” said Cressida.

  “There is no doubt.”

  “Then I think it is time we settled this quickly,” the Queen said. “We have a vague location for Lord Vonner and we have a weapon capable of doing the deed. I propose that we begin the search in earnest, with Sir Idris out in the field. Once Vonner is cornered, I do not think he will be able to escape without our forces being able to track him down. I will make preparations with Kurellan and Lady Riette so we can return to business as usual soon. Any other concerns?”

  “Aye,” said Willard, “there’s some. If I may, Majesty... I’d like to speak more private like.”

  Idris sucked his cheeks.

  “Is it a boil we can lance now, or...?” Cressida trailed off delicately. Willard shrugged.

  “Dunno if Idris wants me spilling our business while the Old Honour makes notes.” He sniffed, rubbed his eyes. “I can be of service to the crown, if the crown needs it, but I can’t stay here right now.”

  “What did you do while I was gone?” Cressida said to Idris.

  “Willard takes umbrage with largely everything I do,” he said. “He left the palace and did not tell anyone where he was going.”

  “Told Lila,” said Willard bluntly. “Regardless, the dead-talker needs more reins on him before he drives himself into the grave. It ain’t any of my concern much further than that.”

  “Is there any remedy I can offer which might make you tolerate Idris’s nonsense for maybe a week or two longer?” said Cressida. Willard pursed his lips.

  “Majesty, I don’t want to insult you none,” he said softly. “You’ve been right good to me, a-building me a little house and all, and all the fancy clothes you gave me. I just don’t appreciate being used by someone who said he was my friend, and I can’t stand and let him burn himself to the ground. That ain’t the right thing to do. The only remedy I see is that he gets a new attendant who can watch him twenty-four seven and that ain’t a job anyone would want. No offense, Miss Lila,” he added, nodding deferentially to her.

  She smiled amicably. “None taken, Master Willard.”

  “In the meanwhile, I’ll stick around with the fae, in my place, where I belong,” he finished. “Lila knows how to find me, and I’ll come whenever you ask, Majesty.”

  Cressida was silent, but it was her dangerous silence. Her eyes fixed on Idris in an uncomfortable unbroken gaze, and she took a deep breath and inclined her head Willard’s way.

  “I understand, Willard,” she said. “We are all concerned over our friend’s conduct of late.”

  “If this is some kind of intervention, I must politely decline it,” Idris said, bristling.

  “I want it noted in the record that Idris is behaving like an unruly child,” said the Queen, raising her voice. “And that any further transgressions from normal, adult behaviour will be treated as contempt towards the crown.”

  “That is uncalled for, Cressida -”

  “It is ‘Your Majesty’ while I hold court, Sir Idris,” she fumed, her shoulders strong.

  It had been a long time since Cressida had been angry with him, and he found it unnerving. Still, he bowed his head and apologised as he was meant to, shaking all the while.

  When Willard left, he left with Joa beside him and did not speak to anyone. Nobody looked Idris in the eye.

  “Mature,” he said to Cressida as she walked past him.

  “You are one to talk,” she said, and he was left alone in Kurellan’s war room.