“Didn’t the prince tell you about the scrying?”

“No,” Rhodorix looked puzzled. “What scrying?”

“Mistress Vela’s fairly sure the horde went back into Lin Rej. She’s been scrying, and she can see someone moving around in there. It’s in ruins, but it would still be better than the shelter they’d find in the wild mountains.”

Rhodorix swore under his breath. “If the prince didn’t tell me and Andariel,” he said, “it means he didn’t want any of the guards to know. Not a word to anyone else about this, beloved. It could send the axemen into a blind rage, and it could sink the fighting spirits of our men. Do you understand?”

“I do, truly.”

“Good.” Rhodorix said nothing more for a long moment. “We’ll deal with them when spring comes. There’s naught we can do about it now.”

That he was so obviously right wrung her heart, but she smiled and put on a brave face, just to ease his worry. Yet not two days later she received news that left her helpless against tears. Nalla contacted her during a scrying practice.

“I’m so sorry,” Nalla said, “but you have to know. Your mother caught a fever. She died last night in her sleep.”

Hwilli tried to speak, but the only sound she could make turned into a sob.

“I know,” Nalla said. “I’m so sorry. Hwilli, I’m leaving Rinbaladelan in the spring. I’m being sent to meet Maraladario at the Lake of the Leaping Trout. I’ll tell you more then.”

Hwilli nodded to show she’d heard, then dropped her face into her hands and wept. The vision disappeared and left her to her grief.

The shortest day of the year came icy cold but clear. The gongs woke the fortress to a night darkness that hid what would have been late morning in summer. Rhodorix rolled out of bed, dressed, and then woke Hwilli.

“I’m going to fetch Gerro,” he told her. “It’s almost time for the sacrifices.”

She sat up and yawned, covering her mouth with one hand, and nodded to show she’d heard him.

“No going back to sleep!” He grinned at her. “The gods will be angry.”

“Huh! The gods aren’t going to notice someone like me.”

“Wear that new dress anyway, just in case.”

“I will, then, and my thanks to you again.”

Rhodorix had asked for cloth as part of his guardsman’s pay in order to give it to Hwilli. Much to his surprise, he’d been able to get her a dress already sewn up by the prince’s wife’s women, a further mark of the rhix’s favor toward him. “The horses are our living wall,” the prince had told him. “You have my thanks.” Rhodorix treasured the memory, letting it roll around his mind like fine music.