"How is my sister?" Emrys asked.
"Viviane is well. She sends her regards."
Emrys snorted. Aelwyn knew that Viviane believed Emrys had sold out the enchanters of the world by making them servants to the throne. "Your father is nothing but a glorified civil servant," the Lady of the Lake liked to grouse.Viviane had chosen elixir over subservience. "I will not bow to some lesser creature," she'd told her niece, and made it clear what she thought of Aelwyn's decision to return to the palace. "What is outside this mist that calls to you so? There we are but chattel, performing monkeys. Let them find someone else to create their fireworks and call for rain."
"Is my sister as stubborn as ever?" Emrys asked in a bemused tone.
Aelwyn smiled. Other than inquiring about Viviane, her father did not mention Aelwyn's long absence or its cause; he did not ask about her health or her happiness. Then again, Emrys had never been particularly affectionate. Her father was nearly thousand-year-old wizard who had advised Artucus, the first King of England, and all his heirs—including Henry VI, for whom Emrys had brought the kingdoms of England and france to create the foundation of the empire.
Emrys settled back into his chair and drummed his fingers on his desk. "I had to convince the Order to take you in; you know that they aren't very fond of Viviane, and were wary of her influence upon you. I had to assure them of our obedience. Do not fail me."
"My will is to serve," she said, showing him she had already learned the vows of her future station.
He nodded, pleased. "Run into any trouble on your journey?" he asked, taking a pipe out of his pocket and lighting it.
"No, Father," she said with a shrug, fiddling with the obisidan stone in her chain. She thought of the little thief, and how she'd held his soul in her hands. "None at all."