Dorrin released them all to visit a grange if they wished, and they walked off not quite together, Beclan a stride in the lead and Daryan a half stride behind Gwenno.

The next morning, the train of animals and riders lined up to depart seemed almost a half-cohort to Dorrin. She herself, all but one of the servants she’d arrived with, her three squires, Master Feddith the tutor, Grekkan Havverson the new estate steward, and the Marshal-General, plus the muleteer hired to care for the pack animals and spare horses. Others would come later.

The few pack animals they’d come with weren’t enough for the return. They now carried supplies for the journey, supplies Efla insisted were needed for the cook back home—five mules’ worth, plus a mount for Efla.

Dorrin gave a last look at the house; it seemed to have an entirely different expression with its windows and door open, no longer grim and forbidding. Just another city house, one that might someday be full of light and music and friends, if she chose to make it so.

Their procession moved through the streets toward the bridge. This early in the morning, most of the traffic was inbound, farmers bringing produce and livestock to the thrice-weekly market. By the time they reached the city gates, Dorrin had sent Daryan to buy a poke of hot sweet rolls from a baker’s stall, and when Beclan looked longingly at someone carrying a basket of peaches, she nodded and said, “Get enough for all of us.” Guards at the city gates grinned as they passed.

“Thought I saw them peaches going in just a bit ago—”

“If they were in a basket on a donkey cart led by a man with a green ribbon on his straw hat, you did,” Dorrin said. “We’ve a long road to take.”

“Coming back for Autumn Court, m’lord?”

“Gods willing,” Dorrin said. She paid the toll for them all.

They turned onto the east river road, munching buns and fruit. Dorrin could not but think how different this was from that frantic winter journey to catch up with Kieri: then cold and dark, now the summer sun, even this early, warmed their faces and gilded the fields and orchards they passed. Mist hung in ragged streamers near the river; the soft air smelled of fruit and flowers and hay. And no reason to hurry: they came to Westbells only shortly before noon. Beyond that more lush pastures, fields of ripening grain, orchards …

The party divided naturally into three groups: she and the squires and the Marshal-General, her servants, and the muleteer with the extra horses and pack animals. That was pleasant enough and seemed safe this bright summer morning, but Dorrin had spent too many years in Kieri’s Company to ignore possible danger.

“We’ll be rotating guard positions,” Dorrin said, when they had passed Westbells. “For now, I want Daryan ahead on the road; Beclan, you’ll trail our group; and Gwenno, you’ll be flank scout on the river side. Eddes will be flank scout on the land side.”