Before long, they passed into the outer regions of the Hand. When the King had satisfied his friend’s hunger for news and explanations, he halted his horse. He had exhausted his tolerance for rehearsing the past. Now Belleger’s future called to him. His world had been altered. He needed time to consider it.

“I will leave you here, Elgart,” he announced. “You are weary, I know. But before you find a bed, I must ask you to seek out Howel.” The man had lost the woman he loved. “He has done what he can in your place, but he believes it is not enough. Your return will relieve him.”

Elgart accepted the command with a nod. “And then, Majesty?”

“Then?”

“When I have rested. How can I serve you?” Wryly, he observed, “You no longer need spies. What else can I do?”

King Bifalt did not hesitate. “Help Prince Lome. I have asked him to command the evacuation of the Hand, but he does not trust himself. Or perhaps it is me he does not trust. Malder accompanies him, but his doubt remains. Your presence may stiffen his spine.”

Familiar Elgart pulled up one eyebrow, dragged down the other. “Is he drinking, Majesty?”

“Yes,” sighed the King. “But not as much as I expected.” More firmly, he declared, “He can do this. Despite his fears, he remains our father’s son. Still, I hope to reassure him.”

Elgart nodded again. “Easy enough, Majesty. With my weapons, perhaps?” He allowed himself a wistful moment. “I have been naked without them too long.” Then he grinned. “I am an amiable man, as you know, Majesty”—a characteristic jest—“but I can summon a look of ferocity for the Prince. Leave him to me.”

The King started to thank his friend, but Elgart stopped him. “Does my return please you, Majesty? My pleasure is greater. Ask me to name another monarch who would trust his people to Prince Lome, and I will show you Amika’s Queen. There is no one else.”

Assuming a jaunty air, he turned his horse and trotted away. Despite his long absence, he probably knew exactly where to look for Howel.

Above the King, broken clouds still slid over the city, shedding their ambiguous omens of light and shade. But in the east, the shadows were darker under a thickening cloudbank. The touch of the breezes made him think of snow.

More snow might be good. His people knew the city. Rile’s forces did not, despite what they had learned from those treacherous priests. A heavy snowfall would hamper them.

Prodding his horse into motion, King Bifalt headed for the old city and Belleger’s Fist. He wanted to be alone in his rooms so that he could think.

When he reached his quarters, however, he found Prince Jaspid waiting for him.