Once more a-horse, once more able to see everything they passed, Camwyn saw his position differently, as no doubt Mikeli had intended. The wagons were not merely a hindrance slowing them down, raising clouds of dust, but a necessity—the assurance that the entire party would have food, shelter, supplies for any emergency. The teamsters and servants were no longer faceless and nameless; he did not know all of them, but he knew enough to know the difference between the man willing to drink too much at midday and snore through the afternoon pretending to drive and the man who sat upright and alert the entire time. He knew he must not protect the drunk, because that risked everyone. The drunk drove the wagon with weapons and other supplies for the Royal Guard. He had told Mikeli, and the Royal Guard captain had “noticed” the jug and taken it away from Tamnis. Now one of the Royal Guard who had twisted a knee drove that wagon, and Tamnis was at the back of the train.

The occasional farm family or shepherd running toward the road to wave and shout as the king rode by were now closer together. Closer yet. Now a continuous line—men, women, children, waving anything they could, throwing flowers at the king. A few landed on Camwyn; he remembered to smile to both sides and wave now and then. The horses, settled by days on the road, did not even jig.

Harway, though smaller than Vérella, was the next largest town Camwyn had seen. It had a grange, a Field of Falk, a town hall several stories high, large inns, and cobbled streets lined with shops. The wagons peeled away to the south somewhere, and Mikeli rode with his guard to the Lyonyan border. There both his own border guard and the Lyonyans in russet and green saluted him. He gave a package—Camwyn had no idea what was in it—to one of the Lyonyans, who bowed and handed it to someone in a green tunic with a ruby in her ear. She mounted a horse at once and rode away. Then the Lyonyan guard handed a green velvet pouch to Mikeli.

“Lyonyan King’s Squire,” Mikeli said to Camwyn as they rode back through the town toward the inn where they would stay that night. “King Kieri uses them as couriers.”

Camwyn had his own room in the inn, solid wooden walls between him and any watching eyes. As if such a place were no challenge, his hand did not light up all night.

The next morning they started early for Verrakai Domain.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Verrakai Steading