The second messenger was from Lissen Carak—an Order volunteer.

“Diccon Twig, your grace,” he said with a bow. “I bring news that the Faery Knight is at the fortress with an army of the Wild.”

Before anyone could speak, the Queen raised her hand—the sharpest gesture Blanche had seen her use.

“And seeks alliance with you,” he went on. “If your grace allows, he will come here with his captains for parley under safe conduct.”

“Give him my sacred word,” the Queen said solemnly. “Let him have this, my regal ring with my seal, that he knows we mean what we say.”

Diccon bowed. “My other message is more private,” he said.

He looked around. “Is the Earl of Towbray’s son, Ser Michael, here?”

Ser Michael shot forward.

“Ah, my lord—your wife is delivered of a daughter, already christened at first light: Mary. And your lady wife and babe do well.” Young Twig bowed.

Ser Michael hugged him and kissed both his cheeks, to the younger man’s acute embarrassment.

“You must send her here to us, that we may play with our children together,” the Queen said.

The thing in the tower screamed again, and the Queen, standing—everyone was standing—shook her head. “What is that?” she asked in her beautifully authoritative voice.

The Red Knight flushed. “If it please your grace,” he said. “It’s probably my griffon. It needs company, and food. Would you care to see it? And perhaps we can find all these ladies and gentlemen food and lodging.”

Blanche gave him a nod.

Luck—and a little shoving—got her a second at the turning of a stair.

“She’s more alone than she’s ever been. She needs you.” She got those words out before Ser Michael realized who was interrupting.

Gabriel nodded. “Got it,” he said tersely, and continued up the stairs. Michael pressed her from behind, and she climbed.

There were rooms in both big towers. Blanche looked into several and they were empty—empty of all but heavy chests which probably held wall hangings. It was a start.

She paused on a landing, let Ser Michael pass, and waited until Nicomedes came.

“Can we get Sukey and put her in charge of the castle?” she asked.

Nicomedes shook his dark, ascetic head. “She is managing a great camp,” he said. His voice was sober, and it struck her that he, too, was Morean.

“If I start issuing rooms?” Blanche said.

Nicomedes nodded sharply. “I’ll back you,” he said.

“I need a tablet,” she said.

Prior Wishart, passing, stopped. “For what, daughter?” he asked.

“Father, I need to assign people rooms. I need to get everyone out of their travel clothes. There needs to be food and drink…”

The great Prior handed her his ivory tablets. “All my knights can share one room,” he said, “or sleep with the soldiers in the barracks.”