Beltran had already dismounted, and was pulling on his formal tabard with the winged white horse device that marked him as the Valdemar Herald on it. Kordas gritted his teeth, stripped to his trews, and donned his own Court garments, right there in the stable-yard, ending by buckling on his Court Saber and baldric and shoving his Spitter into his belt. The trews didn’t matter; they were hard-wearing leather suitable for a long ride. And his riding boots had just been polished. Anyone who went on a long ride with shoes and linen trews, in his opinion, was an idiot. But gods! The fancy shirt with a ruff, no less, the long waistcoat, and the overly-elaborate two-colored greatcoat, made him angry just to look at, much less be forced to wear. And if this journey stretched for a full day, they’d be unbearable by lunchtime and look terrible when he finally arrived at the Imperial Palace.

“One more thing. From the Circle. You’ll be among strong telepaths, and maybe worse. Take this stone amulet and fix it in place behind your Ducal crest. They said, picture this as the skies over Valdemar, and then think into it—they said you knew how—of what you love about Valdemar. ‘Springs to sunsets’ and the more, the better. Just nothing about the Plan, including them. Especially them. Then they laughed. It’s supposed to play your emotional memories about Valdemar instead of what you’re actually thinking at the time. But recharge it daily. Add new bits. They said that Imperial telepaths would dismiss you as a homesick hick.” Isla half-smiled. “Which you will be.”

“That obvious, is it?” Kordas asked sardonically. “This amulet is just what I need. This could save me from exhaustion, trying to stay veiled-shielded the whole time I’m there. But I do have to say—it won’t be entirely deceptive. I’ll be thinking of Valdemar the whole time I’m away.” He spent a while picking at the Crest of Valdemar. It had many layers behind the escutcheon’s leather foundation, made up of almost an embarrassment of wards, locks, and memory enhancers, to which the stone amulet was pinned in place. Kordas traced fingers across the amulet and murmured, “I’ll try not to lose too much of myself there,” He held his breath a moment, then returned the Crest to its place on his baldric and sighed.

“You look splendid,” Isla soothed.

“I feel like a fop,” he grumbled.

“You’ll be fine,” she promised. “And just think what would have happened if you’d turned up looking—”

“Like an ordinary fellow with actual work to do?” he almost spat.

She raised an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

He sighed, and mounted the horse again. “I just hope they don’t invite me to stay for too long.”