“I don’t think there’s much Gwenno wouldn’t dare,” Dorrin said, chuckling.

“Just so. Those two will push each other into rashness if you’re not careful. The younger boy—he’s not as meek and mild as he seems, I’ll warrant.” The Marshal-General took a swig from her waterskin and offered it to Dorrin, who shook her head.

“If I keep them busy enough,” Dorrin said, “they should settle. A load uses up all that youthful energy.”

“True.” The Marshal-General twisted in the saddle, stretching. “I’m hoping your military background will see the foolishness of letting them indulge—lean on—their privileged backgrounds.”

“Oh, yes,” Dorrin said. “I saw that with some of Kieri’s squires, and I have scant patience with it.”

They arrived at the border of Verrakai Domain in midafternoon, having spent two nights in Harway so Dorrin could thank the tailor and cobbler for their work on her court clothes and order the supplies she thought she’d need for the next few tendays. Somewhat to her surprise, her people had made real progress on the road from Harway while she was gone. It ran almost straight and, if not smooth, was much improved. One of Dorrin’s militia met them, this time politely.

“Lord Duke, welcome home.”

“I’m glad to be back, Jaren.” She was, in spite of her expectations. The woods were cooler than the fields had been; they camped that night in the new way-house she’d had built—still only a rough shelter of three walls and a roof, but at least it was rain proof.

The next evening they reached the house. Now sleek cows grazed in the water meadows near the stream; in the distance, the grain looked almost harvest-ready in the slanting golden light, though she knew it would be another three tendays at least. The house, blue-gray against the light, looked friendlier without the grim keep tower looming over it.

As they neared the house, Paks’s red horse lifted its muzzle from the grass and whinnied loudly. Paks appeared from the gate in the garden wall, trailed by a gaggle of children.

“Marshal-General!” she called, waving; she broke into a run, leaving the children behind.

The Marshal-General stiffened; her horse stopped abruptly. “That light!”

Dorrin said, “The sun’s glow?” It seemed especially golden that evening.

“It’s more than that,” the Marshal-General said.

“Dorrin,” Paks said, slowing to a walk. “How was it? Did the king like the crown and things?”

“It’s a long story,” Dorrin said. “I’ll tell it all, once we’ve bathed and eaten. You need to meet my new squires: Gwenno, Beclan, Daryan.”

She dismounted just in time to meet the swarm of children who had now caught up with Paks. “Auntie Dorrin! Auntie Dorrin!”

Dorrin looked at Paks, who shrugged. “They’re your family; they needed something to call you besides ‘my lord.’ ”

It made sense, but … Auntie? She supposed she was, to most of them, but she had never imagined herself as an auntie. From the looks on her squires’ faces, neither had they.