“I’m pretty sure,” she said, “he’s afraid you’re going to put pinecones or something in the bedding of the Eletians.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Yates murmured. Karigan could almost see the gears and shifts of his mind in motion. She wouldn’t put it past him to try something so absurd.

“But for now,” he said, “I’m sick of all the doom and gloom. If Dale were here, she’d organize a party. Hey! That’s not a bad idea!”

By evening it was clear Yates’ idea had taken hold, for all the Riders in residence, including Captain Mapstone, attended what amounted to a barn party. He’d weaseled food from the cooks in the castle kitchen and sent Fergal and Garth to the Cock and Hen for a keg of ale. It turned out that a couple of the new Riders were not half bad on fiddle and pipe, so the center of the stable turned into a dance floor.

Even Karigan joined in, stomping her feet as she whirled from hand to hand in a country dance as old as the land. The dancing was not fancy, nor were the kitchen’s leftovers or the ale, but this party exceeded the masquerade ball by miles. It was good honest fun with people who were her friends. There was no deception here; no one wore masks.

The horses did not appear to mind the intrusion of all their Riders in their normally sedate environs, and in fact they watched the proceedings with ears alert, some bobbing their heads and whinnying.

After one last vigorous dance, Karigan breathlessly sank into a quiet corner with the dregs of her cup of ale and watched as her friends shifted into another breakneck reel. Tegan and Garth tore up the floor with the speed of their footwork. Yates showed off by doing a backflip off a bale of hay before heading back to the keg for more ale. He would not, she thought, be very happy to get in the saddle early tomorrow morning.

Meanwhile, Fergal coaxed shy Merla into dancing with him. Others stood around the edges clapping to the beat or trying to carry on hollered conversations. In an opposite corner, Captain Mapstone stood with Elgin, laughing at some joke. Karigan could not remember the last time she had seen such joy among her friends.

She smiled. She might not bear blood kinship to any of them, but they were family nonetheless. Her family. They mourned together and they celebrated together, and as Elgin had said earlier, she could rely on them for anything.

But now she thought it time she went to bed. She didn’t want to start her journey unrested. And she wanted to avoid good-byes. So she slipped out of the stable into the cold, dark night, her smile fading. She glanced over her shoulder as she strode away, watching her friends through the doorway dancing and drinking in the glow of lantern light. She thrust her hands into her pockets and quickened her pace, turning her back on it all. Soon the music and laughter faded behind her, and she wondered if she would ever see any of them again.

On the eve of the company’s departure for Blackveil, Richmont Spane stood with Gillard Ardmont, whom he’d hand-picked for the expedition, just outside the suite of rooms belonging to Lord and Lady Coutre and their daughters. The forester, in his buckskin and with his weathered features, looked out of place in the refined surroundings of the aristocratic wing.

“You are a good man, Ard,” Richmont said, placing his hand on the forester’s thick shoulder.

Ard had been one among many servants of Clan Coutre that had accompanied Lord and Lady Coutre to Sacor City following the signing of the marriage contract with King Zachary. Lord Coutre’s party had chosen the overland route from Coutre Province, which had required the services of the forester.

Richmont had helped Ard’s family in the past, and in return, Ard was extremely grateful and loyal to the clan, and particularly devoted to Estora. Richmont had gotten Lord Coutre to convince King Zachary and his advisors that Ard should join the mission to represent the interests of the future queen. He’d met little resistance. It meant they did not have to choose another of their own, and Ard’s forestry skills would be a welcome asset to the company.

Richmont, of course, had his own agenda for wanting Ard to join the company.

“I live to serve the clan,” Ard replied.

He was a humble man, Ard, and Richmont liked that about him. Ard had no family, only his commitment to the clan. He’d been a friendly presence in Estora’s girlhood, showing her the ways of gardens and woods. Estora, who was kind to those who served her, had regarded Ard as a sort of wise and rustic uncle, and when she was little she’d hold his hand as they walked garden paths and he told her the secret tales of roses, ferns, and oaks.

Ard, Richmont knew, was not only devoted to Estora, but worshipped her.

“It is a lot we are asking of you,” Richmont said, “to go into that wretched place.”

“The forest does not scare me, though maybe it should.”

“You were always a fearless one. But do not forget your other task—to ensure that the threat to Lady Estora’s marriage is eliminated. Do you still feel up to this?”

“I do. I owe you and the lady much.”

“Good man, good man. Now then, the lady would like to give you her own personal blessing on the venture. Before we go in, however, I want you to know I’ve set aside fifty acres of my own estate that will be yours upon the successful completion of your mission.”

“My lord!” Ever the humble servant, Ard bowed. Land of his own would boost his lot in life—if he survived Blackveil. “There is no need of reward. I do this for the honor of the clan.”

Richmont smiled. Yes, Ard was perfect for this. “Still, it will be something for you to look forward to upon your return.” It was probably best if Ard did not return so there’d be no questions about what happened to the messenger ...