Haern straightened, and he exchanged a look with Alyssa.

“This man,” she said. “Do they know who it was? Did he leave a symbol or name of some kind?”

“While the two survivors watched, he cut an eye into the ambassador’s chest. He calls himself the Wraith. That is all anyone would tell me, though I would not be surprised if Lord Keenan knows more.”

Haern swallowed, his mouth dry. Alyssa dismissed the servant, and when Zusa returned in a simple robe, they informed her of what they’d heard.

“First the Trifect, now elves,” Haern said, his voice low as he stared into the fire. “What does he want with me?”

“Have you ever heard that name before, this Wraith?”

Haern glanced at Zusa, then shook his head.

“No. I’ll need to speak with the elves who survived, learn anything I can of him.”

Another servant arrived, carrying a small cask of wine and a trio of cups. They all accepted, and then Alyssa led their toast.

“To a long life,” she said. “Something I feel none of us shall ever have.”

Haern clinked his glass against hers.

“A wonderful toast,” he said, trying to imitate Alyssa’s noble attitude while bowing low.

“Laurie will never, ever believe you are a member of my family,” Alyssa said, sipping from her glass. “Let’s pray he’s more understanding when he realizes you’re there to keep me alive.”

“And find his son’s killer.”

Alyssa downed the rest.

“That too. Good night, Haern. Tomorrow morning, we ride into the city. Try to sleep well. It will be a long day.”

She left Haern alone with Zusa. He shifted uncomfortably beside the fire. Zusa always made him feel awkward; he was never sure of what she thought or might say. She often stared at him, and was never self-conscious enough to hide it.