‘More than a few suitors, I guess,’ Sillen said, returning the stopper and slapping it tight with one palm.

Ivis stared across at the soldier. ‘If that was meant as a jest, Sillen, I’ll—’

‘No sir!’ Sillen said quickly, looking back down as he replaced the jar and closed the lid. ‘Begging your pardon, sir. What do I know of pretty daughters from noble houses?’

‘Not much, it seems,’ Ivis allowed. ‘Lock it up, damn you. And give me back that key.’

‘She’s coming round, sir,’ said Corporal Yalad.

‘Mother’s blessing,’ Ivis whispered in relief, watching her eyelids fluttering open.

She stared up at him without comprehension. He waited for some recognition as she studied him, but it did not seem forthcoming.

‘Hostage Sandalath Drukorlat, I am Captain Ivis. I am leading your escort to House Dracons.’

‘The – the carriage …’

‘We have to leave the road now, mistress – the track before us is good only for riding. Can you sit a horse?’

Frowning, she slowly nodded.

‘We’ll stay here for a while longer,’ Ivis said, helping her to sit up. Seeing her notice her half-undressed state, Ivis took up her outer cloak and draped it about her. ‘You were overheating in that carriage,’ he explained. ‘You fainted. Mistress, we could well have lost you – you’ve given us all a serious fright.’

‘I am weak with imagination, captain.’

He studied her, trying to make sense of that confession.

‘I am better now,’ she said, managing a faint smile. ‘Thirsty.’

Ivis gestured and a soldier closed in with a canteen. ‘Not too much all at once,’ he advised.

‘You’re holding my key, captain.’

‘It was constricting your throat, mistress.’ When she looked across at the strongbox, he added, ‘We’ll rig a harness between two horse-men.’ He smiled. ‘No idea what’s in that thing, but it’s damned heavy. Young women and their toiletry – it seems there’s no end to paints and perfumes and such. I know – got me a daughter, you see.’

Sandalath’s gaze dropped away and she seemed to concentrate solely on sipping from the canteen. Then she looked up in alarm. ‘The coachman—’

‘Sent him away, mistress.’

‘Oh. Did he—’

‘No. On my honour.’

It seemed she was about to press him on this, but lacked the strength, sagging back down as if moments from collapsing once more.

Ivis took her weight. ‘Mistress? Are you all right?’

‘I will be,’ she assured him. ‘So, how old is she?’

‘Who?’

‘Your daughter.’

‘Only a few years younger than you, mistress.’

‘Pretty?’

‘Well, I’m her father …’ And then he ventured a wry grin. ‘But she’ll need more wits about her than most, I’d wager.’

Sandalath reached out and touched his upper arm, a gesture that a princess might make upon a kneeling subject. ‘I am sure,’ she said, ‘she is very pretty.’

‘Yes, mistress,’ he replied. He straightened. ‘If you will excuse us for a time – I need to see to my troop, and see to the strongbox. Gather your strength, mistress, and when you feel able we will resume our journey to House Dracons.’