She wondered if the letter were from Elwis at all. Poisoners were deceitful people, capable of anything. She opened herself to her magic, letting it test the paper, the seal, and the contents for signs of danger. There were none, which relieved her, but the dread she’d felt earlier, from the mere memory of Dragan, lingered. Her heart began to beat faster and she was overcome by the sudden urge to flee. Determined to face her terror with courage, she walked calmly and deliberately to the balcony and stepped outside into the fresh air.

There was a wall of fog out at sea, but it had not come ashore today. The air was flavored with eucalyptus and salt. Standing at the balcony edge, she suddenly felt vulnerable. The cliff down to the city below was sharp from her vantage point. She heard the jangle and clack of the carriage carrying her brother and grandparents as the horses started down the road leading to the House of Pillars, the place of judgment in Ploemeur, which her mother had long presided over.

To dispel her nervousness, she broke the wax seal and carefully unfolded the paper. The breeze tousled her hair as she leaned back against the railing and read the short message.

My Lady Trynne,

If my messenger has found you, then you are reading this on the morning of the Feast of St. Benedick. I will be awaiting you at the sanctuary of Our Lady of Marq. I have no expectations of you. I am filled with gratitude that you condescended to meet me. I would be lying if I said I was not looking forward to showing you the wonders of this great city where I spent much of my childhood. There is a beautiful fountain amidst the waterways that I am most eager to share. I think you will like it. I pray to the Fountain this will not be our only opportunity to grow better acquainted.

With great respect,

Elwis

Trynne blinked, feeling a rush of relief. Elwis had calmed her worries about the visit in one simple note. There were little clues throughout his message that his feelings for her were deeper than he’d expressed them to be. But he was determined to woo cautiously and allow her behavior to guide him. So unlike the daft nobles who had pressed for interviews with her in Averanche.

She read the letter again quickly, admiring the steady hand and penmanship. Had he copied the letter several times to get it right? She assumed he had not delegated the writing of such an intimate matter to one of his scribes.