“Yes, Lord.”

I shivered, suddenly and inexplicably unsettled. I must have misheard, I thought. No one lived a hundred and fifty years. But Anari had said it so matter-of-factly he clearly believed and accepted it as a matter of course.

Although Dworkin hadn’t looked more than fifty when he first came to Helda’s door, now that I thought about it, he had looked distinctly younger than that when we had fought the hell-creatures.

More magic, I thought. Would it never end?

Anari led me up two flights of steps to a wing of the building devoted to, as he said, my family’s private quarters. All around me I saw symbols of great wealth and power. Not just paintings and tapestries of the sort I’d seen below, but intricate mosaics set in the floor, beautifully carved statues of nymphs and nude women in alcoves, crystal chandeliers and wall sconces, and gilded woodwork everywhere. Over the decades—or centuries—of his life, Dworkin had accumulated treasures enough for a dozen kingdoms.

“These will be your rooms, Lord,” Anari said, stopping before a large double door. “I trust you will find them acceptable.”

He pushed them open—and I found myself standing before what seemed to me a private palace.

Rich red-and-gold carpets covered the floors in thick, luxurious layers. Beautiful paintings and hanging tapestries covered the walls, showing fairy tale scenes with mythical creatures. Overhead, gilded columns and crown moldings supported a ceiling painted in pastel blues, with high clouds and even a few swooping hawks in one corner. Three elegantly upholstered chairs clustered around a small table to the far right. To the left, on the other wall, sat a small writing table complete with pens, ink, paper, sealing wax and seals, and a blotter.

“Your bed chamber is through here,” Anari said, stepping into the room and opening another set of doors set in an arched doorway. Through it I could see a high canopied bed and a full-length looking glass, plus a wash stand with pitcher and basin. “There are two wardrobes and a changing room as well.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Lord. Do you have baggage?”

“Nothing but my sword and the clothes on my back.”

He stepped back and looked me over critically. “I believe I can find you suitable garments for tonight,” he said. “I will make an appointment for one of the castle tailors to measure you tomorrow morning. We cannot have a man of your stature improperly furnished, after all.”

“Indeed,” I said agreeably, as if I had this sort of conversation every day. “I’ll leave the appointment up to you. Schedule it as late in the morning as possible.”

“Thank you, Lord.” He bowed slightly. “I will endeavor to live up to your faith in my abilities. In the meantime, with your permission, I will order a bath drawn and heated.”

“Please.”

“Is there anything else you require at this time?”

I almost laughed. Anything else? I needed everything else, starting with explanations to dozens of questions about my newly discovered family. But I merely smiled and shook my head.

“The bath will do,” I said. “Now, where—?”

“A boy will summon you when the water is ready.”

“All right. That will be all.”

“Very good, Lord.” He shut the doors on his way out, and as he did, I noticed how the heavy old hinges gave a faint squeak. At least nobody would be able to sneak up on me, I thought, the soldier inside taking over for the moment.

Unbuckling my swordbelt, I draped it across the back of the nearest chair, then sat down and pulled off my boots. It felt good to be alone. I tossed my boots into the corner by the door, then wandered through the suite, admiring all the little decorations, the gilding on the moldings and woodwork, the paintings and tapestries on the walls. Finally I flopped onto the bed, spreading my arms and feeling the goosedown yield beneath me. Soft… softer than I had felt in a long time. Not even Helda’s bed had been this comfortable.

I just needed a woman’s warmth beside me, I decided while stifling a yawn, and I could easily call this place home. But a trace of guilt crept into my pleasant thoughts.

King Elnar and Ilerium remained besieged, and I remembered Dworkin’s promise that he could help end the attacks. I would have to press him for an explanation the next time we met. Duty called.

An hour and a half later, after a long hot bath had soaked many of the day’s accumulated aches from my bones, I returned to my rooms for a quick nap.

The castle’s staff had been busy in my absence, I discovered. My boots had been cleaned and polished to a shine that would have made my orderly green with envy. Not even my sword had escaped their attention—the gold and silver inlay on the hilt had been polished to perfection. When I pulled half the blade’s length from its scabbard, I discovered it had been freshly oiled. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.

I could definitely get used to this sort of life, I thought, yawning widely.

The bath attendants had made off with the blood-and-sweat stained clothing I’d been wearing, replacing it with the long black robe I now wore. Anari had not yet produced the clothes he’d promised… not that I found fault—he hadn’t had much notice, after all.

With nothing to wear and nothing to do before dinner, I crawled into bed. Almost immediately I grew dead to the world.

Some time later, when the afternoon light had begun to fade, I came awake with a start.

I’d heard a noise. Something just wrong enough to sound an alarm and wake me.

A light knock sounded again from the other room, so softly I almost missed it. Then the hinges squeaked slightly as the door opened slowly… stealthily.

Someone trying to sneak up on me? No hell-creatures could possibly get in here, I thought.

I sat up, instinctively reaching for my sword. It was gone—I had left it on one of the chairs in the next room, I realized.

“Lord?” I heard an old man’s voice call. It wasn’t Anari. “Lord Oberon?”

“I’m here.” Rising, I found I still wore the robe I’d donned after my bath. I tightened the belt and wandered out into the main room of my suite, stretching the kinks from my muscles. “What is it?”

A man in his late years, dressed in castle livery, stood in the doorway to the hall. He held a large silver tray laden with towels in his age-spotted hands. He had to be at least seventy years old, I guessed. Undoubtedly, he had been serving my father as long as Anari. He had a warm, gentle smile.

“Your pardon, Lord Oberon,” he said. His voice quavered slightly. “I am Ivinius, the barber. Lady Freda said you required a shave and haircut before dinner.”

I ran my fingers over the thick stubble on my chin. “Thoughtful of her.”

“Her ladyship is most kind,” he murmured. “I’ve known her since she was a babe in her mother’s arms, bless her.”

He set his tray down on the table. In addition to the towels, I saw that it held two small blocks of shaving soap, plus several cutthroat razors of varying lengths and a selection of tiny glass bottles: probably lotions and perfumes. Without asking, he began to drag one of the armchairs toward the window.

“I’ll get that,” I said, starting forward to help. He looked too frail to be moving furniture.

“No need, Lord,” he said. He gave the chair one final tug and swung it into the last of the afternoon sunlight, exactly where he wanted it. “Please sit, Lord.”

As I did so, he went into my bedroom, picked up the small table with the wash basin and pitcher of water, and lugged them slowly over to my chair.

“Do you need help?” I asked, half rising.

“No, Lord.” He gave a low chuckle. “It is kind of you to ask, but I have been doing my job since before you were born. Please relax. I will be ready for you in a moment.”

He might look doddering, I thought, settling back in my seat, but he obviously had his pride. And he obviously knew his own strength. With a slight grunt, he set the table down beside the chair. He hadn’t spilled so much as a single drop of water from the pitcher.