“Such a fair princess would not be hard to spot,” Gaborn agreed, “but I doubt that any of Raj Ahten’s men would give me a second glance.”

“You wear the device of Orden, do you not?” Iome asked. If Gaborn believed that Raj Ahten’s men would not recognize a prince by his countenance alone, she would not gainsay him. Still, she imagined the green knight embroidered on his cloak. “Better not to have it spotted within these walls.”

Gaborn chuckled mirthlessly. “I’m wearing one of your soldiers’ cloaks. I won’t give my presence away. Not before my father arrives. If history is any guide, this could be a long siege. Castle Sylvarresta has not fallen in eight hundred years. But you need only hold out three days—at the most. Only three days!”

Prince Orden sounded confident. She wanted to believe him, to believe that the combined forces of her father’s men with King Orden’s soldiers could turn back the giants and sorcerers of Raj Ahten. Orden would raise a cry, call for help from Heredon’s lords as he came.

Despite the eighty-foot height of the castle’s outer walls, despite the depth of Castle Sylvarresta’s moat, despite the archers and ballisteers on the walls and the caltrops hidden in the grassy fields, beating Raj Ahten seemed too much to hope. His reputation was that terrifying. “King Orden is a pragmatic man. Will he even come? Surely he would not throw his life away to protect Castle Sylvarresta?”

Gaborn took offense at her tone. “He may be pragmatic about some things, but not where friendship is concerned. Besides, fighting here is the right thing to do.”

Iome considered. “I see. . . . Of course, why should your father fight at home, watch his own people bleed and die, watch his own castle walls crumble, when he could make as good a defense here?”

Gaborn nearly growled in answer, “For twenty years my father has traveled here for Hostenfest. Do you know how much envy that has aroused elsewhere? He could have celebrated at home—or elsewhere—but he comes here! My father may visit other kings for political reasons, but only one does he name ‘friend.’ ”

Iome had only a vague idea what other kings thought of her father. None of it seemed good. “A softhearted fool,” they called him. As an Oath-Bound Lord, he’d sworn never to take endowments from his own people unless they were freely given. Her father could have bought endowments—many a man might sell the use of his eyes or voice. But Sylvarresta would not lower himself to purchasing another’s attributes. Of course, her father would never consider strongarming or blackmailing men for endowments. He was not a Wolf Lord, not Raj Ahten.