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borders, would Fareas be able to hold Tenthen?
    Second: perhaps because of the memory of her husband’s first wife lingering in almost every person in the castle, or perhaps because Fareas had not been sent here at age two, but at sixteen, forced by royal policy to marry the widowed Adaluin instead of the Montredavan-An son she had grown up with in beautiful Darchelde, this place was not, and never would be, her true home.
    Therefore, the third thing, the unspoken one, which gave meaning to her life: she was devoted not to this castle, though her duty lay here. She was not devoted to the Montredavan-An family, though her heart lay there. All her devotion belonged to her children, most particularly her cherished third, he of the loving heart, of the brilliant mind. The first two children, if a boy and a girl, belonged to other people. The third was supposed to be kept at home, and so she had given him the education of a royal, looking to a future of enlightened leadership while his older brother rode the borders.
    He, too, was now to be taken to the royal city as a hostage.

Chapter Three
    E ACH spring since Inda was three his brother Tanrid had ridden off at the head of an Honor Guard, banners snapping, while the guard galloped like raptors in flight toward the royal city and the glories of the academy. Inda had watched, longing to go but never speaking of his desire. He knew his place was to remain at home all his life, first training and then defending the castle while his brother ranged the principality during the spring and summer seasons.
    He didn’t believe it would actually happen until he walked down to the courtyard and found his very own Honor Guard waiting, a Guard led not just by any Rider, but by Captain Vranid, his mother’s cousin, all of them wearing their green and silver House riding coats, tight through the body, long skirted, knives through the silver sashes. How splendid they looked! And all for him! Inda endured his mother’s embrace and whispered exhortations with a polite attempt at hiding his impatience.
    It was harder to say good-bye to Tdor, but his parting pangs eased once he rode through the gates into the cold wind.
    There was no galloping toward adventure for Inda. They had to camp in the lee of a hill while a bitter, sleeting storm from the coast battered them, their glorious coats hidden by thick gray cloaks and hoods. And when they resumed their ride, the road was filled with puddles the size of ponds.
    Their slow pace became a full stop when they reached the river that marked the northeast border of Choraed Elgaer, a river that looked to Inda’s eyes impossibly wide with rushing brown water surging over logs and swirling up onto the banks to shake the trees that grew there. The road leading up to the bridge had two logs laid across it, reinforced by stones.
    “You’ll have to halt,” came a voice from the hillock next to the bridge, where they saw a small round house with a pointy, conical roof of sandy-colored tiles.
    As rain pelted down a short, squat man emerged, holding a rain-canopy over his head.
    “We ride with Jarend-Adaluin’s son to the royal city,” responded Captain Vranid. He indicated the rain-sodden green banner with its owl in flight. “We must not be stopped.”
    The man shook his head. “The bridge isn’t safe, not with the water runnin’ past the mage-mark.”
    “Mage-mark?” Fiam muttered.
    Captain Vranid said, “We will retire to the guardhouse. Send a Runner when we may pass.”
    They rode back to the walled fort on a hill, and as the Guard saw to the horses, Fiam said to Inda, “I thought spells protected bridges for at least ten years. Or is the spell gone?”
    “No, or we’d have heard about Mages being brought in to renew all the water and mine spells,” Inda answered, watching as an aide spoke familiar words over a waiting Fire Stick. That was everyday, boring magic. The kind one grew up with, not great spells of the sort only read about in the