No more blood!

“No more blood,” Dorrin said. “A place of safety and honor.”

How long?

How long indeed? She had intended to live and die as a faithful vassal of the king of Tsaia. Yet the oath she had sworn did not say “until death” as many such oaths did. “I do not know how long,” she said to the treasure. “But for now, abide in peace.”

Until you come again, but do not wait too long.

The sense of resentment vanished, replaced by watchful patience. Dorrin laid her hand on the box, and through all the wrappings felt a tingle as if she held one of those treasures in her hand.

The rest of the morning, as she woke the first three from sound sleep and chivvied them back to work, let the other two sleep, answered myriad questions from the cook, from the escort who were awake, from the Marshals, she felt like someone trying to push a handful of balls uphill—the moment she let go of one problem, two others would roll down on her. Finally she was ready to return to the palace: properly dressed in clean clothes, the box lashed to the pack-saddle of one horse, mounted on a horse she’d had to remind her escort three times to groom. Even as she turned to ride away, Efla appeared, to report that she’d seen a mouse in the larder.

Dorrin spent the short ride from the house to the palace wondering if she could find any trustworthy house staff for hire at such a time. At the gate, this time, she was recognized and waved through; stable help took the horses and palace servants ran out to help, putting the box in a sling between poles.

“It is a coronation gift,” Dorrin said. “The prince knows of it.” They nodded and followed her to the entrance.

“The Master of Ceremonies wishes to meet with you,” said the guard at the door. “He has been summoned.”

The Master of Ceremonies, wearing a short cape of brilliant red over Kostvan colors, an eye-startling combination, strode down the hall toward her.

“My lord Duke, welcome! I apologize for not being at hand yestereve when you arrived; the prince bids you to luncheon with him, if you will, and has given me explicit instructions about your generous gift. It is not, I understand, suitable for public display?”

“As the prince wishes,” Dorrin said. “He knows what it is; it might provoke … comment.”

“Then come with me to the treasury, and we will see it safe housed.” He signaled to the servants and led them all deep into the palace, again confusing Dorrin’s sense of direction. “This is not the old treasury. The old treasury was found to have a tunnel entrance, from the days when it was the cellar of the original tower. That tower fell in the Girdish war, its secrets lost until, after the attack on the prince, we looked more closely. The new treasury is above ground, in the interior.”