“She does indeed, as she has informed me more than once, at length, when I brought her a letter.” Elen raised her hands with a rueful smile as the two men chuckled. “I’m just their guide.”

They nodded in understanding. It wasn’t the business of the low to understand the high.

The prince and his wardens strode into view, headed toward the gate with the archon and his family in attendance. Folk had already emerged from their homes to line the street, to bow, to catch a last glimpse of this marvel. The haunt’s expression was very serious. So very, very serious that Elen had to exhale sharply to stop herself from laughing. He was trying too hard. No one but her seemed to notice.

Adlin darted into the guardroom and returned with an old handkerchief wrapped around a hunk of bread and cheese. “Here, Elen.”

“Isn’t this your own breakfast?”

“Please, with my thanks. I can get more, but I don’t know if they’ll remember to feed you.”

“Convey my thanks to your daughter. I know how well she takes care of you since her mother died.”

“I am blessed, indeed. Also, folk came by already and left a few letters, wondering if you could convey them to Orledder Halt. I told them such mundane business would have to wait.”

“Thank you. I’ll get them when I return. May you and yours be blessed by the High Heavens, Adlin. Ferso.”

The wardens reached the gate, and Elen got swept up into the party. The haunt caught her eye so briefly that anyone watching would likely have missed it. He blinked one eye. More likely, it was a sly wink pretending to be a twitch. She gave a little shake of her head and resolutely looked away. Sneaked a glance back again to see he had fixed his gaze on the path ahead, brow clear, chin lifted. But his lips quirked, as if he knew she was looking at him, or as if he was enjoying the theater of it. If a being like him even knew what theater was. She’d have to ask. Not that they could talk to each other again in such a casual way.