She looked forward to seeing it. It would mean that most of her journey was behind her. But she still did not know how far she had to go. And what she could see from her windows—or from horseback when she elected to ride—soon became tedious. The contours of the dunes changed constantly, yet the dunes themselves never changed. They were simply sand, and more sand, and even more sand. Her carriage and wagon rolled along easily without seeming to make any real progress.

When Commander Crayn came to the side of the carriage in the middle of another featureless day and called, “Majesty!” Queen Estie almost gasped in surprise. She practically flung herself at the door, slammed it open.

“Commander?” A twist of wind stung her eyes with grit, but she ignored it. “Is there some difficulty?”

Powdered with sand as fine as dust, Crayn’s face matched the sandstone hue of his eyes. His smile made the corners of his mouth and the crinkles around his eyes appear suddenly, as if they had been cut with a delicate tool.

“No, Majesty,” he answered. “We all hate this desert, but we are making progress at last. My scouts have sighted the bridge.”

Gripping the doorposts, Estie leaned as far out as she could to scan the horizon. “Where?”

With one hand, the Commander tried to wipe away his grin. “We cannot see it from here, Majesty. It stands beyond these dunes.” He gestured ahead.

Queen Estie started to ask, How much farther? But Crayn had more to tell her.

“There is a rider on the bridge. Alone. Apparently waiting. And apparently a woman.

“You will know her, Majesty, if my scouts are not mistaken. She wears a hooded cloak of such whiteness that it mocks the sands.”

Estie’s heart beat faster. She had known only one woman who wore a cloak like that, a garment that shed blood as easily as it did rainwater and hard traveling. “Then take me to her.” At once, she pulled herself back into the carriage and shut the door so that the Commander would not see her trembling.

Lylin, she thought. Lylin.

Despite his inward absorption, Third Father heard Crayn. “If she wears such a cloak,” he remarked unexpectedly, “she is surely a most holy devotee of Spirit. But her raiment indicates her devotion, nothing more. She may not be known to you.”

Queen Estie ignored him. Memories of Lylin heated her pulse. At one time, the devotee had served her well. More than once, Lylin had protected her from men who might have killed her. With only her hands, the assassin had prevented a war with the Nuuri. But she had also beaten Jaspid half to death. Estie could not forget that. It contradicted everything Lylin had done for her.