Inside the box were sacks, each labeled with the kind of fruit. Camwyn sniffed at them, then began cutting notches on the tally stick. Aris worked on the box beside him. “I got thirty-eight sacks,” Camwyn said. “Fourteen apple, sixteen peach, six cherry, and two plum.”

“Mine had thirty-eight as well,” Aris said. “But twenty-two peach, five apple, and eleven plum. No cherry.”

“We’ll have to check every box,” Camwyn said. “And without upsetting the teamster.” He retied the latchstring—at least all the knots looked the same—and counted down as far as he could reach. The boxes were stacked four high.

The rest of that day was as miserable as he’d feared. Once the wagon was in motion and the troops at the rear of the procession moved out, dust rose in clouds, drifting in under the wagon cover. Moving the boxes one by one to open them and count through their contents took much longer than he’d hoped. Camwyn and Aris emerged at the noon break, covered with dust and thirsty, to find that they were supposed to eat with the supply train, not at the king’s table. “You’uns is too dirty, and it take too long to clean you up,” their teamster said. “Here’s water and bread and cheese and a hunk of hard sausage.”

Nobody laughed at them or scolded them, but still … it was hot beside the road, and they had not finished half the wagon’s contents yet.

By the time they halted for the day, they were still not finished, and the teamster pored over the interior of the wagon to be sure they left it neat. “No, you’uns can’t stay here by you’sefs. Gird only knows what mischief you’d get up to. What’s done is done; what’s not done there’s another day for. Get you gone.”

Servants halted them at the entrance to the king’s campsite, brushed them down thoroughly, and then sent them to bathe and change. Camwyn felt bruised all over—the wagon’s ride had been rough, for all that this was the best road in the kingdom, and he and Aris had lurched into the hard-edged provisions boxes more than once. They bathed from the same bucket, changed, and Camwyn took the tallies they’d filled. He had the report to write before supper.

Mikeli at supper seemed calm and pleasant, greeting them both and continuing his own conversation with Juris Marrakai while they ate. As the servants removed plates and offered dessert, he turned to Camwyn. “Your report, please.”

Camwyn handed it over and eyed the dessert tray. Mikeli read, brows slightly furrowed. Camwyn took a pastry; Aris had already eaten two.

“You didn’t finish even one wagon?” Mikeli said.

“No, sir king.” Better to be completely formal. “We had to open every box—”

“Why?” Mikeli asked.