The haunt spoke before the intendant could. “The deputy courier guided my party across the Cut. No more discussion is needed on this matter.”

“To aid you is my only responsibility, Your Highness. The deputy courier can be housed here until my blessed cousin finds a way to retrieve her. Or perhaps she has orders to return by the path you used to get here, although I confess I am puzzled how it was managed. Her information will be of great value to my surveyor, so after you are gone I will have my people interview her—”

“No!”

Half the people jumped and the other half cowered. His anger hit like a pressure pushing outward. His thunderous glower was certainly worthy of the prince Elen had first encountered. He looked exactly like someone who had the means to destroy you if you tried to cross him. A prince in full flood, unstoppable, their will irresistible. But something more than that too, a sense he was somehow larger and more powerful than his physical body. That he was restraining himself.

Simo cautiously cleared his throat. “Your Highness, we no longer require the services of the deputy courier, and given your mission—”

“No. The deputy courier remains with me—” He broke off, took a breath, and went on. “The deputy courier will remain with this party.”

His tone allowed no argument, so no one argued, but the wardens didn’t know where to look. His insistence surprised them. All but Luviara, who studied him thoughtfully. Elen didn’t know where to look or what expression she ought to attempt to paste onto her face. She had a knack for looking the way she thought people wanted her to look; to appear unthreatening, or vaguely confused, or surly and tough, as the situation warranted. What did that no mean?

The haunt blinked several times, as if reviewing his impassioned speech and the reactions of those around him. Finally, he said, in a milder tone, “We may need a courier.”

The statement was odd, in itself, because a prince need never explain his reasons. Explaining made you look weak.

Emboldened, Simo said, “She is just a provincial courier, not an imperial courier, much less a palace courier. Intendant Berel will have couriers of her own, who know this intendancy better—”

“She is the courier we have, and know, and furthermore”—he jutted out his chin belligerently, warming to the subject—“we shall need her assistance returning the way we came, shall we not?”

“I sketched out our passage, so we can retrace it,” said Simo. “But I expect the route is closed to us because of the archon’s hostility—”