‘Who knows?’ Stragen shrugged. ‘I’m at loose ends in the world, Sparhawk. I have a unique sort of freedom. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do. Oh, I almost forgot. I didn’t really come by this morning to discuss the ins and outs of liberty with you.’ He reached inside his doublet. ‘A letter for you, My Lord,’ he said with a mocking bow. ‘From your wife, I believe.’

‘How many of those do you have?’ Sparhawk asked, taking the folded sheet. Stragen had delivered one of Ehlana’s brief, impassioned notes to her husband in Kadach and yet another in Motera.

‘That’s a state secret, my friend.’

‘Do you have some sort of agenda? Or are you distributing them when the spirit moves you?’

‘A little of each, old boy. There is an agenda, of course, but I’m to use my own judgement in these matters. If I see that you’re becoming downcast or moody, I’m supposed to brighten your day. I’ll leave you to your reading now.’ He stepped back out into the hallway and moved off down the corridor towards the stairs leading to the lower floor of the inn.

Sparhawk broke the seal and opened Ehlana’s letter.

‘Beloved,’ it began. ‘If all has gone well, you’re in Paler by now – this is terribly awkward, you know. I’m trying to look into the future, and my eyes aren’t strong enough for that. I’m talking to you from weeks and weeks in the past, and I haven’t the faintest idea of what’s been happening to you. I dare not tell you of my anguish or my desolation at this unnatural separation, for should I unburden my heart to you, I would weaken your resolve, and that could endanger you. I love you, my Sparhawk, and I am torn between wishing that I were a man so that I could share your danger and, if need be, lay down my life for you, and glorying in the fact that I am a woman and can lose myself in your embrace.’ From there Sparhawk’s young queen launched into detailed reminiscence of their wedding night which was far too personal and private to bear repeating.

‘How was the queen’s letter?’ Stragen asked as they were saddling their horses in the courtyard while the emerging dawn laid a dirty stain across the cloudy eastern horizon.

‘Literate,’ Sparhawk replied laconically.

‘That’s an unusual characterization.’

‘Sometimes we lose sight of the real person lying behind the state robes, Stragen. Ehlana’s a queen, right enough, but she’s also an eighteen-year-old girl who seems to have read too many of the wrong books.’

‘I’d hardly have expected such a clinical description from a new bridegroom.’