Raisa’s gaze fell on the silver tray just inside her door on which Magret left messages and mail and calling cards. Suitors had begun buzzing around like flies on a carcass as Raisa approached her sixteenth name day. On any given day there’d be five or six elaborate gifts of jewelry or flowers, mirrors and vanity sets, vases and works of art, plus a dozen engraved invitations and letters on embossed stationery, mostly proclamations of undying love and devotion, and proposals that ranged from bland to indecent.

Some of the gifts were too elaborate to accept. A pirate prince from across the Indio had sent a cunning model of the ship he proposed to build for her so she could sail away with him. The queen’s secretary had answered on Raisa’s behalf, politely declining.

Raisa kept the ship model, though. She liked to sail it on the pond in the garden.

Truth be told, Raisa had no intention of marrying anyone any time soon. Her mother was young—she would rule for many years yet, so there was no need to rush into the confinement of marriage.

If Raisa had her way, her wedding would be the culmination of an entire decade of wooing.

Which made her think of Micah. He would be at dinner. Her heart accelerated.

Centered on the wooing tray was a rather plain envelope.

“Who’s this from?” she asked, picking it up.

Magret shrugged. “I don’t know, Your Highness. It was outside your door when I came back from the midday. Now sit so I can get you out of those boots.” She said those boots in a decidedly disapproving way.

Raisa sat down in the chair by the door, still studying the envelope while Magret tugged at her boots. They left smears of mud and ash on the nurse’s pristine white apron.

Raisa’s name was written on the front of the note in a neat, upright hand—naggingly familiar. She tore it open and unfolded the page inside.

Raisa, I’m home. Come find me if you get this before dinner. I’ll be in the usual place. Amon

“Amon’s home!” Raisa cried, surging to her feet, one boot off and one on. She gripped Magret’s elbows and danced her around the room, ignoring her outraged protests. She felt rather like a tugboat towing one of the big ships in Chalk Cliffs Harbor.

“In the name of the sainted Hanalea, stop, Your Highness,” Magret said, struggling for dignity. Wrenching her arms free, she began pulling off Raisa’s jacket.

“No!” Raisa said, twisting away. “Hang on, Magret, I need to go find Amon. I need to find out what he—”

Magret planted herself in front of the door. “You need to get into that bath and scrub off. If he sees you in this state, you’ll scare him half to death.”