“It’s a warden tower built where a witch road meets a Pall. The Vigil tower functions as a kind of gate, or sentry post, if you will. I’m not a warden so I don’t know how Vigils work exactly, just that they exist. I don’t know why the prince is going there. Keeping the roads safe and clear is part of what the wardens do. Wardens are also said to be spies and intelligencers for the emperor.”

“Ah. Travelers on the road who can report what they see.”

“Yes. Who did they meet? Did they hear gossip about a local official’s actions? Were they treated with proper protocol and respect?”

“Do wardens also report to the emperor about the prince’s actions?”

“Spying on their commander? That’s a good question. I don’t know. I have listened to the intendant talk about court, read a few histories, and I watch all the plays. I suppose the plays aren’t necessarily accurate. But they feel as if they ought to be. Oh. Here’s another bit. Gevulin isn’t the crown prince. That would be Crown Prince Minaylin, who is a prince of the Second Estate. However, Gevulin is a prince of the Third Estate, which means he could become the crown prince if the current crown prince were to die, be executed, or be disgraced and removed. In other words, Gevulin could become crown prince if he can outmaneuver the other princes of the Third Estate who probably also hope to become crown prince if they can manage it.”

“What is a crown prince?”

“The crown prince becomes emperor when the current emperor dies. Obviously, an emperor keeps an eye on potential heirs, while the rival princes keep an eye on each other.”

“Ah. Palace intrigue. How tedious. To think folk mire themselves in such swamps when the winds that dance across the land are free for those of us with wings.”

It was a delightfully poetic statement, but Elen was caught by one phrase. “The winds that dance. I wonder if that has anything to do with the Wind Dance. Do you have any memory of the prince’s many accomplishments? Eloquent Grace of the Wind Dance, Artist of the Brush and Virtuoso of the Pen, Master of the Lyre and Preeminent Bard of the Twelve Cycles and the Three Hundred and Sixty Poems of the Glorious Founder.”

“That sounds exhausting. No, I don’t know any of that.”

She thought of how he had stood with open arms in the basin, in the exact same posture as the prince had used at the Halt. “Maybe the physical actions will come more naturally to you because the body remembers.”

“It could be. I feigned unconsciousness last night in order to listen in and pick up the language. If I didn’t learn quickly, I’d have been dead long ago.”

“Isn’t a haunt already dead?”