Light bloomed suddenly, clear and white, a dome that covered the forecourt and the gateway. Riding through the gates, tall on her tall red horse, came someone Arvid had not expected to see again—certainly not there, that night. His last memory of her, immediately after he’d rescued her from torment, made him shudder. It seemed she looked straight at him for a moment, and then her gaze shifted.

“Paksenarrion!” The Marshal-General’s call carried no hint of tension or relief. “Welcome back.”

“Marshal-General. My thanks. I met Marshal Cedlin on the way, and he has brought his grange; he had heard of some trouble here.”

“I will speak with him.” The Marshal-General walked toward the gates, trailed by the Knights of Gird. Arvid lagged behind, hoping Paks would ignore him.

Instead, she rode on into the forecourt, toward Arvid, and the red horse stopped in front of him, its head a scant armslength away. Arvid found himself pinned by its gaze while Paks dismounted. He had the distinct feeling that if he tried to turn and run, the horse would grab his cloak and hold him captive.

“Arvid,” she said. He had to look at her. She was smiling as if he were her dearest friend, that open grin he had mocked for its naivete.

He bowed, with none of the grace he had once owned, and hated himself for noticing that. “Lady Paksenarrion.”

“You saved my life,” she said. “There is no lord or lady between us.” She tilted her head, looking him up and down. “And now, I see, you are a yeoman of Gird. Will you tell me that tale someday?”

His heart skipped a beat, then raced. “I … cannot tell it easily.”

Her expression changed. “No. Such tales are not lightly told. I will not ask … but I will ask what has gone forth this night. Blood on your cloak, your blade, your hands—”

“And none of it mine,” Arvid said. His pulse had steadied. “Nor the Marshal-General’s, which is Gird’s mercy. Lady—Paksenarrion, pardon—I must ask: do you hear Gird’s voice plain?”

Her eyes widened, then her expression changed again: understanding and compassion. “Yes,” she said. “And that is not an easy thing to hear, is it?”

“No,” he said. His throat closed for a moment. “It is not. I don’t know … I don’t know how to … what to…”

“Peace,” she said.

Whatever that was, it spread through his mind, a serenity he had never felt. A glamour? A spell? Perhaps, but one he could not resist.

“You will know,” she said, “when you need to know.” Then she grinned again. “Or that is how it is with me, and with the other paladins I know. You, Arvid, may be given a different path.”

“Paks!” Across the forecourt, another paladin, Camwynya, hurried toward them. Arvid looked around and noticed that the forecourt was almost empty now. “Where have you been?”