In one way, the Commander would be right about her. The responsibility for her people was hers, yet she had dropped it like a worn-out cloak. She was not proud of herself—and certainly not sure—as she returned to Commander Crayn, her escort, and her waiting carriage; but she could not have made a different choice. The implications of her decision to forsake her husband ruled her.

For the next three days, Queen Estie traveled smoothly among her guardsmen, trailing her wagon of supplies and three messengers she did not expect to need. The weather was kind despite the unspoken promise of winter in the east, cold enough at night to gild the grasses and gorse with frost, warm enough during the day to spare her the burden of heavier garments. In this region, the countryside was defined by gently swelling hills and shallow valleys clad in grasses or patches of bracken, and marked like signposts by small clusters of trees. Her road curved here and there to accommodate the counters of the terrain, but always it carried her eastward. And always it accompanied the course of the Line River, sometimes at a distance of a league or more, sometimes within arrow-shot of the hurtling waters.

As a kind of penance, she required herself to spend a few hours every day in her carriage, suffocating in Third Father’s silence and in Magister Facile’s woe. The rest of the time, she rode her horse in the company of her escort and Commander Crayn, taking advantage of the sunshine and crisp air. She could relax among the gruff observations, complaints, and jests of her guardsmen. And Crayn’s casual conversation soothed her. He was not a fretting man. In his own way, he knew what she had asked of Soulcess and Sikthorn, and understood what she hoped to accomplish by leaving her realm in their hands. While she had nothing to do except follow her road, he attended to her physical needs, watched for signs of danger that she might not recognize, and talked with her about anything that came into his head.

As the days passed, Estie noticed more birds. In these less traveled stretches of Amika, they flourished. Alarmed by the carriage and riders, whole flocks swept up from the brush and scrub, swirled together overhead, then settled elsewhere as if by common consent. Smaller birds flitted here and there, or simply hopped away. And high in the sky, Vees beat their way southward, honking to each other like geese. Watching them, she felt a touch of regret, not because she envied their swift freedom, but because she knew so little about them. Ravens she could name, and robins, but no more than that. King Bifalt and the coming war had preoccupied her to the exclusion of almost everything else. She was ignorant of details that would have been obvious to any farmer or shepherd: details that she would have enjoyed knowing.