This temple lacked a pure-water spring like the one at Thistle Spring, so the local archon hadn’t invested extra effort to expand it. A Declaration Week wreath hung at the modest entry porch. The arch let onto a walled courtyard. The altar was tucked into the eastern wall, which backed up against the archon’s compound. The temple had only a single custodian, no theurgist or specialized healer. The custodian slept in a tiny room built into the south wall. The hostel itself was nothing more than a long stone room with shutters and a row of crude bunk beds, laced with rope to sleep on. Elen had slept in far worse places. The hostel was safe, dry, and heated by a brick oven in the winter that could double as a hearth for warming porridge. The temple had its own latrine connected to the more elaborate plumbing system in the archon’s compound.

The temple’s custodian was going out the gate as she came in. Ralt was a wizened, good-natured old fellow, who liked to play a game of draughts on the evenings she stayed at the temple. Today, he clapped his hands together nervously. “Forgive me! I’m on my way to attend the archon. Is it true?”

“Yes, the wardens are escorting a prince. Did an imperial messenger come through from Orledder Halt? It can’t have been yesterday, so maybe earlier today?”

“No messenger stopped here at the temple.”

“No? I saw a messenger leave the Halt, wearing a yellow headband.” Maybe the runner had gone elsewhere, unrelated to the prince. Yet it seemed unlikely.

“Apologies, Deputy Courier.” His gaze darted past her toward the street. People were still hurrying past, headed for the plaza in front of the archon’s compound.

“Go on. You’ll not see His Exalted Highness’s like again.”

Ralt hurried out just as a stout, middle-aged woman appeared. Tevira had the strong forearms of a baker. Instead of her workday apron, she’d pulled on her treasured festival tabard, and she’d scrubbed her face and hands, one knuckle bleeding slightly where she’d rubbed too anxiously. “Deputy Courier, you’re back so soon. I’ve had no chance to collect more of the payment due to the lender.”

“That’s not why I’m here. The payment’s not due yet. Be calm.”

Yet Tevira dithered. “I had a whole batch of my sesame flatbread. I know how you like that specially, but the archon commandeered it all.”

“Yes, I understand, Tevira. Did you see a messenger come through earlier today?”

“A messenger?” The question baffled the baker.

“Never mind. Go on. This shall be a festival night indeed for Sfendia Moat. You don’t want to miss any of it. I’m sure the Exalted Highness will praise your excellent baking.”