“Thank you,” Seregil replied. “If you don’t mind, Klia, I think we’ll be going now.”

“I’ll see you in two days, then.”

Donning their cloaks and weapons, Seregil, Alec, and Micum bade the others farewell and went to meet the steward. As they stepped out into the late-morning sunlight of the front courtyard, they found a tall, rawboned man talking with the grooms holding Cynril, Windrunner, and Micum’s glossy black gelding. He looked pure islander at first glance, but under his brimmed felt hat Seregil noted the high cheekbones and light eyes that suggested the man had some ’faie blood—a ya’shel of some degree.

“Ah, here you are, Dorin,” said Zella. “Allow me to introduce the new masters of Mirror Moon. This is Baron Seregil and Baron Alec.”

An unmistakable look of surprise tinged with something like dismay crossed the man’s face as he bowed to them, but his manner was impeccably respectful as he greeted them. “My lords, I am honored to serve you.”

“Lady Zella says you’ve done a fine job managing the estate,” said Alec.

“My family has served at Mirror Moon for as long as anyone can recall, my lord. We take great pride in the place.”

“We’re glad to have you continue your service.”

“Indeed,” said Seregil. “Lead on, Steward Dorin.”

It was a bright, brisk day, and the ever-present wind blew the scent of salt and seaweed up from the harbor.

A highroad ran east along the coastline. It was one of the old ones, stone-paved and wide enough for two good-sized wagons to pass, with grooves worn by centuries of wheels. Masses of wild sea roses grew along the edge of the road, and there were marshes filled with reeds and cattails, wild ducks, and chattering blackbirds. Gulls and a few sea eagles circled overhead, mingling their harsh cries. The seaward side of the road reminded Seregil of the area where the sea temple in Plenimar had been; long granite ledges shot through with dark veins of basalt stretched into the water from grassy banks. Here and there small inlets were edged with beaches made of egg-shaped rocks that clicked and rattled like dice in the surge of the waves. As they went on, the banks rose to cliffs, which changed from granite to pale limestone. Small islands lay scattered in the distance, dark with trees.

“There’s the old city,” Dorin said, pointing at the hills ahead.

Seregil shaded his eyes. Menosi was just visible in the distance, in a broad, shallow valley up in the hills. Its distant walls glowed white as bleached bone in the morning light, and it appeared from here as if it were floating above the pale spring green blanketing the gently rolling hills.

“It looks like the river flows down from the city,” said Micum. “Are there springs there?”

“Some of the sweetest on the island, my lord.”

“I believe menosi means ‘clear water,’ ” said Seregil.