Richmont knocked on the door and a Weapon admitted them. Estora sat composed beside her parents. Her youngest sister, Cressandra, sat by the fire, engaged in needlework. She was in that delectable stage of just beginning to bloom into young womanhood. Richmont licked his lips and hastily averted his gaze. Once the bodies of females matured fully, his interest in them waned. He’d always controlled himself around Coutre’s daughters. Giving in to his desires was a conflict of interest, since incurring Lord Coutre’s wrath would only prove counterproductive to Richmont’s ambitions.

He took pride in himself for having resisted the lure of Coutre’s daughters all these years, and found he could slake his thirst at the wells of others; girls who were not nobly born, girls whose families were generally poor and had no recourse to his attentions to their overly young daughters. Usually they were happy enough to receive payment in the end.

“Ard!” Estora said. She rose and took the forester’s rough hands into hers and brought him into the room. Ard blushed, and it occurred to Richmont how oblivious Estora could be to the power she wielded over people just by her sheer proximity. They loved her, especially the commoners.

Ard bowed. “My lady.”

Estora returned to her chair. There was some inane chatter with Lord and Lady Coutre about weather and health, and finally Estora said, “Ard, you have ever been a good servant to Clan Coutre. Your willingness to journey into the dark forest of Blackveil is beyond any call to duty.”

At Estora’s nod, a servant brought forth a small, ornate box. “Clan Coutre wishes to acknowledge the danger you are placing yourself in on its behalf,” she continued. “You were always good to me when I was little, answering all my silly questions with patience and kindness. Because of you, I have always loved green, growing things and find solace in gardens. It hurts my heart that you are going to face the danger of Blackveil, but knowing how deeply skilled you are in the craft of forestry does comfort me a little. I believe your skills will be tested to the utmost.”

“I will do my best,” Ard said.

“I know, my friend. But I want to personally bless your mission, and I wish with all the speed of the gods you will return to us unharmed. We’ve a small token of our thanks.”

She opened the box and there, perched on blue velvet, was a silver signet ring with the cormorant symbol of Clan Coutre etched into it. This was a rare and high honor they were bestowing upon him.

Overcome, the forester wilted to his knees, tears shining on his ruddy cheeks. Estora placed the ring on his finger.

“When all is dark and fraught with peril,” Estora said, “Lord and Lady Coutre, and my sisters and I, hope that this ring will remind you of our high regard for your courage and honor.”

“With your blessing,” Ard replied, “I shall bring honor to Clan Coutre, and do all that is asked of me.”

Estora placed her hand on his bowed head. “So be it.”

Richmont smiled. Estora had no idea she had just given Ard her approval to commit murder. Richmont was pleased. Very pleased.

DEPARTURE

The next morning Karigan arose while it was still dark to prepare herself and Condor to leave. After a warm breakfast, she assembled with the other members of the expedition and their escort outside the main castle entrance. The escort comprised half a dozen soldiers of the light cavalry and, to Karigan’s delight, another half dozen Green Riders who would remain at the wall to aid Alton. The small size of their company would allow them to ride swiftly and reach the wall before the equinox.

She yawned through the benediction of the moon priest, who stood on the castle steps droning on and on. She had not slept well, but at least she didn’t feel as miserable as Yates looked crouched over in his saddle with a greenish tint to his face.

Condor shifted beneath her and snorted, steam pluming from his nostrils, just as anxious as she to be off, but now that the moon priest had finished, General Harborough started issuing final orders. Captain Mapstone stood next to him, hands clasped behind her back.

“I know you will conduct yourselves with the utmost professionalism,” the general was saying. “And you will serve your king and country well. Captain, anything you’d like to add?”

She gazed at each of them in turn, not smiling, but not looking sad either. She appeared every inch the commander she was. “Each of you has my confidence this expedition will succeed. I want you to know how proud I am of you, and I look forward to you all returning home safely.”

General Harborough grunted. He appeared ready to send them off when the great doors of the castle opened. King Zachary emerged onto the top landing and trotted down the steps, a pair of Hillander terriers running alongside him, and Fastion following behind at a respectful distance.

Leather creaked and metal jingled as the company bowed to him from their saddles. The king paused first by Lynx, and moved on to each member of the expedition to share some private word. Much to Karigan’s dismay, she got all fluttery inside awaiting her turn. What would he say to her? Something personal, or just wish her well on her way?

He wore blacks and grays as somber as the moon priest’s gowns, his longcoat flowing behind him as he approached her. Karigan did not feel the morning gloom or the cold or anything when he stopped at Condor’s shoulder, but when he clasped her hand, the warmth of his touch shocked her. She almost missed his words.

“Do whatever you must, Karigan,” he told her, his voice so quiet it would not carry, “to come back. You must come back. To me.”