Something is happening in Pargun, but I do not yet know what. Lyonyan fisherfolk say the Pargunese who used to chat with them freely are now close-mouthed; they don’t feel welcome across the river at all. Trade is down in Riverwash, where some Pargunese ships used to bring in goods from downriver. We have no reliable spies in Pargun; I’ve asked in Harway, but the Tsaians also seem to have no one. Several forest rangers made it across, as I told you was planned, and came back with reports of troops on the move. But none of the rangers speak Pargunese.

“Do we have anyone who speaks Pargunese?” Kieri asked Sarol.

“I can’t,” Sarol said. “I don’t know if any of the Squires can … we’ve never thought we needed it.”

“We do now,” Kieri said. He knew Pargunese, but he could not spend days creeping around across the river to find out what they were up to. “I’ll write Talgan … surely some of the people who live along the river speak some Pargunese.”

Once again he felt torn between multiple demands. He needed to know what Pargun was up to—but he also needed to know about the elves. If he had to mount a defense against Pargun—if they invaded—he needed to know if the elves would help defend the taig or if they’d hide in the elvenhome and leave all the work to the humans. What did they really intend? What might explain the Lady’s behavior?

Over the next days, he found scraps of time to talk to the other older servants, retired and still active. Tekko the huntsman spoke of his mother’s prowess on horseback, with weapons. “Bold, not afraid of anything,” he said. “They told us she was ages older than your father, but she rode like a young girl. Armsmaster then—he died years back—told us she was fastest he’d seen with a blade. She never missed a shot with her bow. But your father, Sir King, was as good—the two of them, with just one huntsman to manage the hounds, could bring meat enough for a banquet. Fine pair, they were.”

Was that why she’d gone alone with him on that journey? he asked.

Tekko sucked his teeth. “Dunno, Sir King. There was talk. Some said she refused an escort of Squires, expecting to travel with elves—but we didn’t see them here. Your father, now, he was angry with himself he didn’t insist on Squires or Royal Archers. There was a Queen’s Squire said more, but she was killed in a riding accident not long after.”

“Riding accident?”

“Aye. Horse started bucking, there in the palace courtyard, finally went over backward. Broke her neck and its, both.” Tekko paused, then went on. “Odd, that was. You know the Squires’ mounts, all well-trained. But everyone was still mourning the queen’s death; this seemed just another sorrow.”

A convenient accident, Kieri thought, but too long ago to leave useful clues lying about. He listened to the rest of Tekko’s tales, including that of the hound pup he’d long forgotten about, until someone interrupted them. After a few more conversations, he realized that some treachery had indeed taken place, but he was not at all sure whose. A lifetime of dealing with courts and councils had taught him how easy it was to foment quarrels, misdirect attention, cast blame on the wrong person.