“No,” she said. “No more than it is mine.”

“If I had not been his lover . . .” he began.

“There’s no profit in that,” I said. “My father complained bitterly about you. He used to say that if it hadn’t been for you, the king would have divided up Oranstone among his loyal followers, including him. I doubt that was completely true—but I don’t know how much of his restraint was for your sake and neither do you.”

“My father,” said Allysaian as she stood up and touched Garranon’s rigid shoulder, “told me that the king gathered the children of the rebels together to kill them and break Oranstone’s heart, but he changed his mind abruptly after walking through the cells where the children were held—after seeing you.”

Garranon took his wife’s hand tightly and looked at me. “Jakoven won’t be alone—why do you think you can take him?”

“Oreg can handle anything the wizards throw at him,” I said. “With you, Tisala, and Axiel to cover the sword work, I’ll take on the Bane. It was my blood that woke it, and I think I know something about how it was made. Enough, maybe, to unmake it.”

Allysaian rose onto her toes and kissed Garranon on the cheek. “Go, my lord,” she said. “Do what must be done and come back to me.”

He bent and kissed her, not a gentle kiss good-bye, but one full of promise.

AXIEL,OREG, ANDTOSTEN WERE ALREADYmounted with a second horse tied to their saddles when we got to the stables. Tisala was arguing with one of the stablemen. When she saw us, she pointed at me, and the stableman followed her finger and frowned before turning abruptly and disappearing into the stable.

Tisala handed off the two horses she’d been holding to Garranon and followed the stableman. She returned with another pair of horses.

“Having trouble finding a horse up to my weight?” I asked, eyeing the small, narrow-chested, fine-boned horses she held.

Tisala grinned at me. “These are mine. They could carry you all the way back to Hurog without showing the effects,” she said, patting one arched neck fondly. “But you’d die of embarrassment before you’d ridden a mile with your feet dragging in the mud. We have a couple that will do you better, I think.”

The stableman came out with a young gray mare much taller and stouter than any of the other horses he’d brought out. There was something about her hindquarters that looked familiar, but her raw-boned head matched the other Oranstone horses. I took the reins and mounted.

“She’s not a trained warhorse,” warned Tisala. “She’s just coming four and is still pretty green.”