“That bloody garden wall again,” the officer muttered. “It should be built three times so high.” He eyed Mat. “Guardsman-lieutenant, not captain. I am Guardsman-lieutenant Tallanvor. I recognize the Daughter-Heir’s seal.” His sword finally slid all the way back into the sheath. He stretched out a hand; not his sword hand. “Give me the letter, and I will take it to the Queen. After I show you out. Some would not be so gentle at finding you walking about loose.”

“I promised to put it in her hands myself,” Mat said. Light, I never thought they might not let me give it to her. “I did promise. To the Daughter-Heir.”

Mat hardly realized Tallanvor’s hand was moving before the officer’s sword was resting against his neck. “I will take you to the Queen, countryman,” Tallanvor said softly. “But know that I can take your head before you blink if you so much as think of harming her.”

Mat put on his best grin. That slightly curved blade felt sharp on the side of his neck. “I am a loyal Andorman,” he said, “and a faithful subject of the Queen, the Light illumine her. Why, if I had been here during the winter, I’d have followed Lord Gaebril for sure.”

Tallanvor gave him a tight-mouthed stare, then finally took his sword away. Mat swallowed and stopped himself from touching his throat to see if he had been cut.

“Take the flower out of your hair,” Tallanvor said as he sheathed his blade. “Do you think you came here courting?”

Mat snatched the starblaze blossom out of his hair and followed the officer. Bloody fool, putting a flower in my hair. I have to stop playing the fool, now.

It was not so much following, really, for Tallanvor kept an eye on him even while he led the way. The result was an odd sort of procession, with the officer to one side of him and ahead, but half turned in case Mat tried anything. For his part, Mat attempted to look as innocent as a babe splashing in his bathwater.

The colorful tapestries on the walls had earned their weavers silver, and so had the rugs on the white tile floors, even here in the halls. Gold and silver stood everywhere, plates and platters, bowls and cups, on chests and low cabinets of polished wood, as fine as anything he had seen in the Tower. Servants darted everywhere, in red livery with white collars and cuffs and the White Lion of Andor on their breasts. He found himself wondering if Morgase played at dice. Wool-headed thought. Queens don’t toss dice. But when I give her this letter and tell her somebody in her Palace means to kill Elayne, I’ll wager she gives me a fat purse. He indulged himself in a small fancy of being made a lord; surely the man who revealed a plot to murder the Daughter-Heir could expect some such reward.