“Indeed. There’s no river here for water, but we have several wells both inside and outside the walls. Some of this is storage space—” He waved at the east side of the courtyard. “Let me show you to our quarters after I speak to the staff.” They were waiting by the door: steward, cook, others. He introduced Calla, “My wife, Lady Arcolin, and her son, Jamis,” and she greeted each by name. Then they went upstairs.

“There was no time to send ahead and have the rooms prepared,” Arcolin said. The starkness of the rooms struck him as never before. No woman or child had lived here for tens of years, and that showed in the bare, cold, unwelcoming spaces.

“No matter,” Calla said. “It will not take long to make them comfortable. Is there someone who can help me?”

“Do you not need to rest and refresh yourself?”

“I am not so old as that,” she said with a grin. “A bath later would be delightful, but now I want to get the new bedding out of the wagon and into this room. And for Jamis?”

“Across the passage there’s a smaller room.” It had been a nursery when Kieri’s children were born. The smaller room, dustier than his own chamber, needed cleaning, furniture, and bedding. Soon servants bustled up and down the stairs, bringing items from the wagon. The cook sent a meal up to Arcolin’s office, as Calla wanted to be upstairs where she could direct where things were put.

Faster than Arcolin expected, Calla announced that the two rooms were now ready. Jamis’s bed, reassembled, stood in the corner of his room with a quilted cover of Girdish blue; he had a chest for his clothes and a table and chair of his own. He whirled around and around, arms wide. “It’s big!” he said. “And I have a fireplace!”

“Then put your clothes away,” Calla said. She led Arcolin to the room that had been Kieri’s, then his alone, and was now theirs. Despite the autumn chill, she had opened the shutters, and he could see that the room looked warm and welcoming: new mattress plumped up under the new bedclothes, bed curtains drawn back to the posts, striped curtains beside the window, the patterned rug he’d admired in Vérella now spread on the floor. Near the fireplace, she’d had servants put a tub, a towel rack, and ewers of hot water.

He had just dressed again after bathing when Arneson came to report on the recruit progress. With him was Kaim, Count Halar’s son, who had served as Arneson’s squire this past campaign year. He looked at the boy, liking what he saw at first glance—a sturdy, bright-faced lad. After Arneson introduced them, Arcolin said, “I need to speak to Captain Arneson; wait for us downstairs.”

“Yes, my lord,” Kaim said; he bowed and left.