“Look for yourself,” he said, in almost exactly his master’s tone. “We wouldn’t want you to have to come again.”

Blanche sniffed. It was a sniff of dismissal, contempt, the most formidable of all the weapons her mother had given her, and she had used it to put apprentices and laundry maids in their places on many occasions. She took the bag and did indeed walk around the pavilion, giving everything a careful look.

She knew the great tent well from a day spent with the Queen; the inner hangings, the small chest of bound books, the absence of any kind of religious equipment. On the back was a small tapestry of a knight and a unicorn.

She loved the tapestry.

But she was too angry—and hurt—to enjoy it. So she turned, delivered another sniff, and started out.

“I’ll take you back to the bishop’s palace,” said Nell. “I wouldn’t want anyone to do you an injury.”

“I can find my own way,” Blanche shot back.

“Can you?” Nell asked. “Military camps can be dangerous for unarmed women. You don’t want Cat Evil finding you alone. Or any of the others. They’re only tame to some fists, like falcons. They ain’t tame.”

Blanche, who’d survived months of the Galles at court, snorted. “And you’ll protect me?” she asked. Nell was tall and big-boned, but she was fifteen years old to Blanche’s twenty, and Blanche suspected she could drop the younger woman with a single blow. Laundry gave a girl muscles.

They were out in the darkness. “What’s eating you?” Nell asked. “Why’d you go and spit at the cap’n? He likes you.”

“He wants me,” Blanche said sullenly. “That doesn’t mean he likes me.”

“Is that the rub? Toby says the two of you…” Nell made a hand motion that was, blessedly, hidden in the darkness.

“Toby doesn’t know shit,” Blanche spat.

“Now you don’t sound like a lady,” Nell allowed, so very reasonably that suddenly Blanche stopped, crouched—and burst into tears.

She found herself crying on Nell’s shoulder. Like the Queen, she shook it off. “You should give me your coat,” Blanche said. She pushed a smile. “It stinks.”

Nell nodded. “I’d be happy—” she said. “I thought we was friends. But then you were—”

Blanche put up a hand. “I’m tired and—” She shook her head. “Damn it,” she said. She knew the fatigue and the worry had sapped her. Last night’s lack of sleep was no help. “I’m not a whore,” she said.

Nell laughed. “No one said you was!” she allowed.

“Cully thought so, and Cat,” Blanche said. They were walking more quickly.

“Aye, well, Cat pretty much hates women and Cully doesn’t think there’s another kind.” Nell shrugged. “I never get close to Cat.” She looked out into the darkness. The gate was close.