INTHE MORNING IT WASTOSTEN WHO ORGANIZEDthe distribution of fresh horses, while Stala dealt with men and supplies. Tisala helped where she could, saddling horses and running messages. She’d just gotten back from such an errand when Tosten led a sizable liver chestnut mare with a wisp of white on her forehead and handed her the reins.

Tisala knew that something was up from the expressions on the various faces of the guards around her, but the mare didn’t bolt or show any signs of bucking when Tisala lowered herself onto her back.

“That’s Feather,” Tosten said, stepping into the saddle of his own fresh mount.

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Tisala, indicating the watching crowd with a sweep of her gaze.

Tosten grinned. “She’s Ward’s remount—no one else rides her, except our sister, Ciarra, in her wilder days. Don’t worry, he’d want you to have her. You’ll just have to sit on her a bit to keep her back with the rest of us.”

Tisala was taken aback, knowing how Ward felt about his horses. Had her feelings for Ward been so obvious? She didn’t allow anything to cross her face, but she was afraid Tosten saw it anyway. He grinned at her, then rode over to help direct the last few mounts.

Stala stepped up beside her and put a hand on the chestnut’s shoulder. “When this is over,” she said quietly, “visit us again. Ward would enjoy sharing Hurog with you.”

Stala grinned suddenly, doubtless at the expression on Tisala’s face. “He’s recounted to me every blow you struck against the Vorsag and every word you spoke to him. You’re not so obvious, but I’m an old woman. I’ve seen how you touch things that belong to him. Come back.”

Tisala glanced around quickly to make sure no one was listening. “I am older than he by five years, and hardly a beauty to make a man’s heart beat faster. He’ll do better finding a pretty Shavig maid.”

Stala smiled and stepped away from the horse. “You makehis heart beat faster, and five years is less than nothing to a man’s soul. Come back.”

THEJOURNEY TOESTIAN SEEMED LONGER THAN THEone Tisala had taken here. Her hand ached in the morning and she was grateful Feather’s soft mouth allowed her to use only one hand on the rein.

By evening they’d ridden by a small trading town and were in the lower hills that marked the barrier between Tallven and Shavig. They camped near a creek that night. To Tisala’s relief, they’d left the snow behind in the mountains of Shavig.