The fourth one came from a man dressed like a friar. “Will we ever see more of Nandy Bluestone?” Some of the people around Bridget looked puzzled, but she knew exactly who he was talking about. Nandy Bluestone, a saucy tavern wench, had last been seen flirting with the king in book two. The implication was that even more had transpired between them.

“No comment.” Haldon’s smile was teasing. “But as I wrote, Nandy does have good childbearing hips…”

“No you didn’t,” Bridget heard herself saying. Too loudly. The room fell silent. Heads turned.

Above his trademark silk scarf, Haldon’s features bunched as he focused on her. “What did you say?” He looked angry. But what he’d said had been wrong.

“It’s in Darkest Heart. You said Nandy Bluestone has narrow hips.”

People muttered to each other. The woman ahead of her turned around. The feathers on one wing scratched Bridget’s cheek. She waved a finger. “Do you know who you’re talking to, child? That is the author himself. Show some respect!”

Bridget’s eyes burned with tears. All she’d wanted to do was meet the man who’d made her mom’s slow death and her own lonely life bearable, even joyful. And instead she’d made him mad.

Bridget got to her feet. She had to leave. As soon as possible.

A voice boomed over the murmurs of the crowd. It was Haldon. “Can you show me?” From the stacks on the table next to him, he picked up Darkest Heart and held it out.

Feeling all eyes on her, Bridget walked toward him. Up close, his signature violet scarf was spotted and his eyes tired. But she didn’t read any anger in them. As Bridget took the book, he said, “While she’s looking, I’ll answer a couple more questions.”

Bridget kept her back to the crowd. She didn’t know exactly where the reference was, but she had a visceral feeling as to where to begin. Starting about a third of the way through, she began skimming the text. Haldon was explaining the winged unicorns’ social structure when she spotted Nandy’s name.

She lifted her head, and Haldon looked over at her. After she pointed at the passage, he took the book from her and read aloud.

When Nandy Bluestone had served the king a haunch of venison, he decided the girl interested him far more than the meal. Nandy was slender as a willow branch, with narrow hips, hair as dark as a crow’s wing, and eyes that sparked with mischief. King Tristan, well in his cups, had pulled her onto his lap, saying he was sure she was more tender than the meat. She had not even pretended to protest.