The young man’s eyes glimmered in the lantern light. “The father I knew was a good, kind man.”

“And an ambitious one,” said the queen. “Learn from his errors, and know that I will not forgive if you seek any kind of vengeance.”

“Never, Majesty—”

“Enough. Now, I do have some conditions to the restoration of your holdings. First, you are to have nothing more to do with my niece.”

Beka saw Danos’s fleeting look of pain as he nodded. Everyone knew of the princess royal’s favor, though Danos never boasted of it.

“Aloud, Captain,” Klia ordered.

“I swear on my honor,” Danos replied.

“My second condition is that you do not seek a place at court,” Phoria went on. “Do you swear to this, as well?”

“I do, Majesty, on my honor.”

“Very well, then. Carry on.” With that she nodded and walked away into the darkness.

“I don’t deserve her mercy,” Danos muttered, getting to his feet.

“See that you live up to it,” said Klia as she followed Phoria. “No more throwing your life away. It belongs to the queen as long as you wear that uniform.”

Beka rose and went to Danos. “I’m sorry about Elani.”

Danos said nothing, just went back to currying his horse.

Chapter 37 - The Hunt, Interrupted

STEALING away to the inn, Seregil, Alec, and Micum prepared their disguises and headed for the slums near the Temple Precinct, where Kepi had heard of new outbreaks of the sleeping death.

“We’re not likely to hear about too many sick ones, the way people feel about the quarantine,” Seregil noted as they set off.

The Lower City and the Ring had been relatively simple to cordon off; the sprawling open neighborhoods of the Upper City were impossible, so the sick were all being moved into the Ring to be overseen by drysians. Even though Korathan had ordered that one of the pastoral sections be used, no one wanted their loved ones taken inside and the protests continued.

Seregil and Alec dressed as beggar women again, since they’d managed to pass easily in that guise. Micum wore a stained tunic and breeches he kept there for just such purposes, and Seregil’s battered hat. He hadn’t shaved since he arrived in Rhíminee and had a good start on a grey-sprinkled scruff. They attracted little attention as they walked along the Street of the Sheaf to the slums east of the Sea Market and made their way slowly through the squalid lanes and sagging tenements.

They worked all morning, and into the afternoon. Although it was safer here than in the Ring, it wasn’t necessarily safe. Micum, posing as their protector, cast a baleful eye at any who seemed overly interested in his “women.”

This area had absorbed more of the Mycenians who’d fled the war, and people in country garb sat on doorsteps and leaned out of windows.