“Of course the lad’s situation must come first,” said the intendant graciously since, at any time in the last fourteen years, he could have ordered her to do what he wanted and she’d have had to do it or else flee from Orledder as a fugitive. “But the patrol cannot wait. Fetch what you need from your home. I’ll send word to the chatelaine at the caravanserai to have a bath and provisions readied for you. The captain will have a sentinel assemble a local map, as well as a stock of salt spirits, tinder, and obsidian chips. Six days will be sufficient for you to track the length of Lancer’s Ridge in either direction. You can be back in time for Declaration Day. While you are out on patrol, I’ll give permission for Kem to stay with Archivist Heyadi and her nephew, so you can be sure he’s safe.”

“A generous gesture, Intendant. With your permission, I’ll ask Kem which he prefers, to stay in the Residence with Archivist Heyadi or in the cottage as he usually does when I’m on courier duty. He’s a responsible youth. He’s never given me any reason not to trust him.”

“It’s true, he’s not one to get into much mischief, although I can’t say the same for young Joef.”

They shared a smile.

The captain said, “I hear Joef will Declare for the Archivists’ Guild, but I think a restless, strong, cheerful fellow like him is better suited to a sentinel’s life. Good officer material. I’d take him in a heartbeat. But it’s not up to me, is it? Though, it could be up to you.” Jinyan gave a cutting look toward the intendant. They’d had this argument before.

Elen knew when to slide out of the way. She crossed arms on chest and bowed. “My thanks.”

After the intendant raised a hand in dismissal, she grabbed the last roll and left.

The Residence’s archives lay within the administrative wing on the southeast side of the square, aligned toward the heartland of the empire. The archives had no door opening directly onto the square, but their attic storage stretched all the way to the exterior wall that overlooked the plaza. A lattice screen built up under the eaves offered ventilation to keep air circulating through the shelves and cupboards of scrolls, memorials, and official correspondence that were too old to be frequently referenced but could not be disposed of.

The plaza had emptied out. Residence menials were sweeping and polishing with renewed vigor in expectation of the prince’s imminent return and bad temper. Her courier’s token got her past the sentinels standing at the doors to the administration wing. They knew her, but the token remained a necessary formality.