San Batiste. Giselle. Accepted reparations from Mitla and added them to rear guard. No further news on salamanders. On my way.

San Colombo. Alison. Four hundred fifty-one wagons intact and on the way. Advance guard at the top. Three days if weather holds. No news on salamanders.

“Nothing from Gavin?” the emperor asked.

“Nothing today, my lord,” Michael answered.

“All of those except Sauce must be from yesterday, so we’re two days behind with Gavin and he was facing a major engagement at the fords of the Cohocton,” Gabriel said. “Time to assume he lost. Badly.”

“Pretty much guaranteed,” Michael said. “Tell me again why we let Harmodius and Desiderata go south?”

“Because we can’t lose Harndon,” Gabriel said. “And because the Queen of Alba isn’t really subject to my commands.”

Michael shook his head. “Don’t you find it . . . ironic that the Sieur Du Corse is a more reliable ally than the Queen of Alba?”

“No,” Gabriel said. “Not at all. I’ve beaten Du Corse twice, and Desiderata still thinks I’m her subject, not the other way around. I am married to her laundry maid, for example. We’re lucky she responds to our messages. Listen, Michael. She is a sovereign queen. Despite which, she sees herself as the head of the alliance. For many reasons. I cannot give her orders, and despite that, she’s taking the right actions. Let it go.”

Michael nodded. “But if she and Harmodius were at Lissen Carak . . .”

“We’d all sleep better?” Gabriel said. “True enough. But we all have to plan for a world after the gates open and then close again. And there’s one of the questions no one has asked . . . how long do the gates stay open? Regardless of it all . . . even if we win, we have to eat and trade and farm and continue to have lives. Or there is no point to winning. Harmodius has his own agenda, and so does Desiderata, and to be honest, so do Tom and Sauce and probably Cully and MacGilly here. Even Blanche . . .” he said as the door to the bedroom opened.

Master Julius rose. His report was interrupted by the emergence of the Queen of Alba’s former laundry maid, who entered in a purple silk kirtle and a matching overgown of purple wool trimmed in squirrel. “My lord,” she said.

Gabriel beamed at her.

“May I just say of my former mistress that she is absolutely loyal; she is, if anything, painfully aware of who kept her on her throne and saved her from the stake, and nothing short of death would keep her from the coming fight.” Blanche found her voice shaking. She was still, in her heart, a loyal servant of the crown of Alba.

Michael rose and bowed. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said. “I . . .” He paused. “I am afraid,” he admitted.