“Very satisfactorily dead,” Ser Gabriel said, with relish. “What good… luck.” He looked up and his eyes met Towbray’s. “Don’t you think, my lord, that it is remarkable how these events occur? That those who most offend her grace—die.”

Towbray shot to his feet. “Is that a threat?” he asked, hand on his dagger.

The Red Knight sat back. Both his hands were visible. “Yes,” he said.

He and the Queen exchanged a glance.

Towbray glared at his son. “If that’s how you view me, I’ll take my knights and retire to my estates,” he said.

Ser Gabriel shook his head. “A man can die very quickly on his estates. I think you should ride with us, and get to know your son again, and perhaps meet his excellent wife. I promise you, my lord, that as long as you are with us and serving her grace’s interests, you are perfectly safe. Well—apart from the boglins and barghasts.”

Now the Queen smiled. “My brave Towbray needs no further threats,” she said, her voice as pure gold as her magick. “I will keep him by my side for his good company and good counsel, and we’ll have no more of this.”

Throughout, Lady Almspend kept reading, the Queen’s son kept feeding, and Toby and Blanche continued to serve their master and mistress. The service went on—food was served, wine brought.

Out in the darkness, the moon rose, the watch changed, and suddenly Sukey’s voice could be heard. “Grow up in a barn, you useless fuck?” and all the gentles at table laughed or giggled.

Almspend handed the dispatches back to Ser Alcaeus. Charts and maps were unrolled—now scarred with many plans and many daggers.

Gelfred appeared out of the night, dressed in black, and with him was Donald Dhu’s son Kenneth, dressed in deerskin and mail. Both settled into seats that Toby unfolded for them, as if their coming was appointed and ended some preliminaries.

“So,” the captain said. “We lost a day, and the red banda’s lost all their horses. There’s worse to come. We know we’ve already lost messenger birds.”

“How?” the Queen asked with real interest.

“Every message is numbered and we often sent duplicates. And we resend digests with lists of messages by dispatch rider and sometimes by occult means.” Alcaeus failed to keep the smug and civilized superiority from his voice.

“Your grace, the Moreans—the Emperor—have more than a thousand years of experience at this, since Livia herself and her Legio XVIII came here.” The Red Knight smiled at his unnecessary display of historical knowledge and Alcaeus grinned at his erudition.

“So glad we all know which legion came with the Empress,” Francis Atcourt muttered.