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my mother. It is late afternoon when I manage to slip off on my own. Only my quad notices, but then not much escapes them.
    When the king departed, he left me two quads as well as his captain. I have gotten to know the faces of the eight men of my quads, but they do not speak before me and rarely look at me directly. Most, I realize, do not speak our language. I have learned only two of their names: Matsin son of Körto and Finnar son of Hakin. These two are most often with me, and I wonder if they are captains in their own right, reassigned to their king’s escort and then to me, or just more able to understand my language and report what they hear.
    I stop through the kitchens and Cook gives me a teary-eyed smile, promising to send up my favorite meat pies as a treat in the morning. Dara and Ketsy catch my hands and dance me around the kitchen, the scullery maids giggling and the kitchen boys clapping. I finally break away from them, laughing. As I move to the door to the courtyard, my quad steps in from the hall, following me across the room. The kitchen falls unnaturally quiet, the only sound that of their boots. It is all I can do to cheerfully call my last good-byes.
    I find my old tutor, Bol, sitting in the herb gardens, much as Cook had advised me to do. Rather than looking like a lord at his ease, Bol looks like a bent old gardener kicking up his heels and enjoying the sun. He smiles as he sees me, holding out a hand.
    “Bol,” I say, going to him. “It’s good to see you out and about.”
    “I like the gardens, my lady. And the gardens don’t mind me.”
    I smile. I will miss Bol dearly.
    “You’ve come to say good-bye,” he says, drawing me down to sit beside him. I look out across the gardens to where my quad lounges. Here, where there is no cover for them, they look terribly conspicuous; the sight of them guarding the entryway, armed and watchful, would have been laughable had they not looked quite so dangerous.
    “I’ve a question for you.”
    “Aye?”
    “Has Menaiya any enemies?”
    Bol rubs his chin. “None that would openly attack. Why do you ask?”
    “I just wondered,” I say, my eyes on the soldiers. “Who would have cause to hate the royal family?”
    “More than a few people, I suspect,” Bol says with amusement. “But they haven’t had a war in over a hundred years. This king’s grandsire, I believe it was, took it into his head to cross the Winter Seas and loot the Far Steppes. Foolish of him.”
    “Why?”
    “The war followed him home and killed off most of the royal Family. The Family’s dwindled since then. Strength gone out of the bloodline, I suppose, though some call it a curse.”
    “Hmm,” I say, no closer to the answer I am looking for. After all, the sorceress I remember could hardly be so old, could she?
    After I leave Bol, I head for the stables, casting an anxious glance at the long shadows. It is getting late, but I cannot leave without this last farewell.
    Redna takes my hand and gives me a quick peck on the cheek, smelling of horse and leather. “I’m glad you came down here. Your brother’s got you a horse.” She glances to where my quad waits at the entrance.
    “A horse?”
    “Great white stallion, handsome as can be, but don’t you ride him. He won’t take a rider.”
    I grimace. “I see.”
    “We’re going to miss you something awful what with your brother’s idea of kindness.”
    “You’ll be fine,” I say lamely. “Just stay away from him.”
    “And when he’s king?”
    “Maybe he’ll fall off his horse and Cousin Derin will get the crown.”
    Redna snorts. “I’ll wish the queen long life, and hope I’m married and gone when the crown passes.” I nod. “There’s two hostlers will be going with your escort; I gave Westrin an earful and he’ll listen to you and keep that horse from causing trouble.”
    “And the other?”
    “He’s your brother’s man.”
    “Thank you, Redna.”
    “We’ll all be praying for you.” She