A soldier greeted her and pointed the way to the king. She crossed the roof, which was a warren of guard towers and, at this time of year, warming huts. Soldiers paced the battlements and looked out on the vista of Sacoridia searching for anything that might threaten the king and his realm.

She crossed a footbridge that spanned a wide gutter, melt water rushing through it beneath a crust of ice. She found Zachary leaning against a crenel gazing southward into the city. Donal kept watch several paces away. From this height, the buildings, people, and animals of the city looked to her like a princely toy set.

She joined him, angling into the lee of a crenel to shield herself from the wind, while allowing the sun to warm her. Zachary wore a fur-lined cloak and did not appear bothered by the cold in the least.

“What do you see?” she asked him.

If he was surprised by her arrival, he did not show it. “I see a busy and prosperous city laid out before me. Earlier a formation of geese flew north overhead, while a winter owl perched among the trees.” He paused, and with a faraway look in his eyes, added, “And not long ago, I saw a Green Rider ride off castle grounds. It was Karigan.” He produced his spyglass as if to prove he was not mistaken.

After the enormity of what Laren had told Karigan, she was not surprised the young woman had gone for a ride. Most Riders found solace in the companionship of their horses. Many was the time when Laren herself had sought out Bluebird for much needed comfort.

Zachary had provided the opening Laren needed. She said, “Speaking of Karigan, I thought you’d want to know she has accepted the mission to go into Blackveil.”

Laren thought it was perhaps more accurate to say she’d manipulated Karigan into accepting the mission, but another part of her truly believed that given a choice, Karigan would have volunteered to go anyway. She was like that, always wanting to take responsibility for the big problems. Or maybe Laren was just trying to justify her actions to herself.

There was no outburst of condemnation from Zachary. He just continued to gaze out at the city. Ever since he was a small boy, he’d been so serious and learned to rein in his emotions. He was under constant scrutiny from all quarters, and exposing his true feelings could compromise his authority, make him vulnerable to attack from his political enemies. Once in a while, as in their last conversation about Karigan, his emotions surfaced, but it was a rare occurrence.

When, she wondered, did he ever have a chance to follow his passions, to expose himself? How could he contain it all within himself? Weapons practice and the occasional hunt in the countryside no doubt helped, but surely these were not enough.

When was the last time he’d had a woman with whom to relieve his male urges? There were elegant courtesans in the city, accepted and patronized by members of the nobility, who could provide such a service. An outlet of this sort might help him in many ways, not least of which would be by diverting his thoughts from Karigan. Yes, she would certainly make some careful inquiries.

“I knew,” Zachary said, “she would not refuse. It would not be like her to do so.”

“Are you going to intervene?”

He did not answer for a long while. The breeze ruffled his hair and Laren tensed as she waited.

“I know the reasons why you chose her,” he said finally, “and understand them. Yes, all the reasons. When I separate my head from my heart, I understand. My heart, however, does not want it.” He rubbed his chin, his gaze toward the clouds. “Yet I am a king who must govern more with his head, and less with his heart.”

Laren’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I thought you would come to see the sense of it.”

“Do not mistake me,” he said. “I will not intervene, but it does not please me.”

“Of course it does not. It does not please me to have send any of my Riders.”

“Then I suppose,” he sharply replied, “I should blame myself that Karigan is going into Blackveil. After all, it is I who made the decision that Riders should be part of the expedition.”

Laren did not dare respond. There was no good answer.

“You censure me with your silence.”

“No. I don’t—”

“It is true,” he interrupted, “that it does all come back to me. I know that as the dangers to our land increase with Birch to our north and the uncertainty of Mornhavon to our south that I will have many difficult decisions ahead that will result in the sacrifices of many, including those I hold dear.”

Laren sighed. How could she have ever doubted him?

“There are times,” he continued, “that I wonder how my life would have been if I were born to a fisherman or a farmer, instead of a king.”

“Sacoridia would have been poorer for it,” Laren replied.

“It’s impossible to say. But I should have liked being a farmer. I’d have been a good one, I think.”

It was not difficult for Laren to imagine him on a saltwater farm in Hillander growing crops and raising cattle. Perhaps he found the idea of it alluring because it would not only save him from the critical decisions he must make to safeguard the realm, but because it would also allow him to be with the woman of his choosing.

“You are a good king,” Laren said firmly. “We need you.”

“Perhaps there will be a day when Sacoridia has no need of kings and queens.”

“What? That’s nonsense! That’s rhetoric straight from the mouths of those mad anti-monarchists that used to pass out pamphlets before the castle gates. What would we have without our monarch? Chaos, that’s what.”