The prince was escorted to the imperial suite. Elen was sent to the barracks.

She asked around and found a militiaman willing to walk her up the stony path to the watchtower, a steep and invigorating climb in the cold night air.

Torges was a flirt. “We call this the snogging tower,” he said, but with a wink to make it clear he wasn’t applying any pressure.

Elen gave him a friendly smile. “Another time, I hope! I heard you can see an inlet of Pall from here.”

“Yes! Even at night.”

They greeted the guard on duty at the base of the elaborate wood construction and ascended by ladder three stories to the watch-platform. A militiaman draped in a heavy winter cloak was pacing in the brisk wind. He seemed happy to crouch in a sheltered corner to warm up with a smoke of sharp-leaf while Elen scanned the landscape.

Torges pointed out the sights. “There’s the griffin mews, rebuilt two years ago. The sarpa pen is off there. You can just see the roof, with the white tiles. You’d be surprised that we get sarpa through here every season, but that’s because of Prince Nwelin—he’s long had an interest in sarpa.” Before Elen could ask more about Worvua’s absent father, the militiaman kept going. “Livestock corrals over there, well away from feasting griffins and sarpa acid. You know how it is. And … There! Do you see the inlet?”

Off to the northeast, though not so far away, she caught sight of a pearly gleam, like a thread woven out of moonlight twisting through a dark countryside.

“It’s eerie how it shows up at night,” Torges said.

“Do you fear it might come this way?”

“Sometimes I do! I swear to you, it’s like a sluggish giant viper headed for the-High-Heavens-knows-where. Some say it’s got a mind of its own. Me, I think it’s hemmed in by the hallow-wood saplings the lord’s been planting, our thanks to her good governance. What do you think?”

“Pall usually rises on lower ground. If a stream can’t flow from there into this valley, then this Pall isn’t likely to either.”

“I didn’t think of it like that. I guess that’s why you’re a deputy courier and I just stand guard with as much curiosity as an old stone.” He offered her a swig from a leather bottle filled with alcoholic cider.

She drank, and he laughed when she winced at its vinegary tartness. “Did Surveyor Berri stop by here?” she asked.

“Yes, he was here, off and on for over two months. Got drunk every night and walked out to map every morning with a hangover. I’m surprised Spore didn’t eat him up. Half the time he was stumbling over his own feet. It’s a lonely life, being a surveyor. I’d hate it. No wonder he drank too much.”