The journey to Redair was an uneventful one, and the reunion with the king went much as Nessalir imagined it would.

  Kartesk examined his son as though he did not believe he were real. He stood from his throne and approached the lad, eyes wide with wonder, and walked around him, touching him gently in such a way it seemed he was reassuring himself of the truth of the prince's presence.

  "And where is my other son?" he asked, voice hoarse. "What of Ralof?"

  "I am sorry, King Kartesk," said Nessalir, bowing her head in apology. "He was slain before I arrived. I gave him a burial in the barrow, but the grave is shallow. You should be a simple thing to reinter him wherever you may wish."

  The king stood in silence. He looked upon Balof, but his eyes did not appear to see him.

  His living son fell to his knees. "It was my fault, father. In my foolishness, I awoke the Vile King. I sought to prove myself a warrior like my brother, to prove myself worthy of your bloodline. But all I accomplished was Ralof's death, and my own disgrace. You have a fool for a son."

  Still, Kartesk did not speak. He approached his throne, and he ran his fingers along the wood. He sat upon it, and turned his attention once more to Nessalir and Balof.

  "Rise, my son," he said. "Tomorrow, we shall mourn your brother's passing. Tonight, we shall celebrate the prince's return."

  "Father…" began Balof as he stood once more.

  Kartesk raised a hand to silence him. "Enough," he said. "Our people must see their prince returned." A tear ran down his face. "You must now retire to your chambers to prepare. And mercenary; speak to my seneschal. He will see you rewarded."

  So dismissed, Nessalir and Balof left the king to his sorrows.

  The seneschal Duulan did not have time to see to Nessalir's payment, for he was soon preoccupied with the night's festivities. Nessalir spent the day as a guest in Redair's royal hall, keeping to herself and tending to her wounds.

  When night fell, the feast began. The king smiled, and his eyes were dry, and Nessalir thought that none of his people would see through his mask to the grieving father he was. His young queen remained by his side, her face neutral, her eyes wandering often to Balof.

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  "I fear she will make another attempt," Balof confessed to Nessalir as he walked the hall and greeted the people. "Heldara is not a woman who gives up easily."

  "Of course she will make another attempt," said Nessalir. "That is why you must remain vigilant. You now know your foe, and that is information that should not be underestimated."

  When the people of Redair had all seen their prince returned, King Kartesk stood and addressed his subjects: "When the sun rises, it shall begin a period of mourning. I shall send men to retrieve the body of my firstborn, and he shall be laid to rest in my family's tomb. But for tonight, we celebrate the return of our prince! And that return would not have been possible without the bravery of the drakkowar woman, Nessalir the Red! Stand now, Nessalir, and let all know you as a friend of Kartesk!"

  Nessalir stood. She let the people look upon her. She raised her scaled, black-taloned hand, and allowed all who feasted to see her for what she was. "It was a grand battle," Nessalir told them. "I mourn for the prince I could not save, but rejoice for the prince I could. In that barrow, surrounded by the dead, I saw horrors beyond mortal ken—and I saw bravery as well. No matter what terrors the draugr inflicted upon him, Prince Balof did not break! He faced doom with dignity and grace, and that is an admirable virtue indeed. If this is the future of Redair, then I say your kingdom is in good hands!"

  She sat down as the people cheered. Balof watched her with gratitude in his eyes, and Kartesk looked at his son as though it were his first time seeing him. Queen Heldara turned an icy glare upon Nessalir, and the drakkowar knew that her message had been received. The good queen would best think carefully if she wished to trifle with the prince again.

  As the night continued, and the people fell into drunken revelry, Nessalir slipped away from the hall to stand beneath the night sky and partake in the fresh air. It was there that Duulan found her.

  "That was a fine speech, my lady," said the seneschal. "I do believe Balof has earned some respect from his father and the people."

  "That is good," said Nessalir. "The crown prince should command respect."

  "I suspect there is more to the story than I know," Duulan continued. "And I suspect you know more than you've let on."

  Nessalir turned to him, and she smiled. "I am merely a passing mercenary," she told him. "I know very little."

  Duulan laughed. "Why do I not believe you?"

  The two met one another's eyes, and Nessalir saw desire in his gaze. Well, tonight was for revelry and celebration, after all.

  "Is it true that you have dwarven ancestry?" she asked.

  The seneschal nodded. "My grandmother. I've inherited my short stature from her."

  "Short, yes, but I know dwarves to be stout and strong as well. Broad of shoulders and… other matters."

  Duulan flashed her a toothy smile. "Broad where it counts, yes."

  The two retired, and Nessalir was glad to learn his words were no empty boast.