The Spires gleamed in the last golden light of the setting sun. If she were a haunt wanting to attract prey, Elen thought, she could not have conjured up a more alluring vision. The prince stared like a man who thirsts and has at long last seen water.

After a protracted pause, he addressed Captain Simo. “I’ve read that a person can observe marvels if they ascend an intact Spires compound on the night of a full moon. We must go there at once.”

Elen said, to Luviara, “Your Worthiness, I advise against such an expedition, because—”

The prince climbed back into the carriage as she was speaking. He had taken no more notice of Elen than he would a rock. As the door thunked shut, she broke off. No use beating her head against a barrier she could not open.

Simo appeared below, looking up at her. “Deputy Courier, you will accompany me to show me where you discovered the Spore.”

Her lips pressed together, and she squelched the warning. She had no authority here. After shouldering her pack, she climbed down.

The carriages rolled on. Kem did not look back as she was left behind with Simo and two other wardens.

23 SOMETHING HAD CAUGHT IN HIS THROAT

Elen had worked with surveyors and sentinels but never with wardens. Choosing caution, she touched clasped hands to her chest to signal her respect.

“Go on,” said Simo. He unsheathed a slim sword forged of shrive-steel, with its characteristic blue-black gleam. One of the wardens kept out his bow—long-black-hair-in-a-bun Jirvy—while the other—short-haired Xilsi—slung her bow at her back, swapping it out for a spear tipped with a shrive-steel point.

Dagger in hand, Elen began to walk, indicating with words and by pointing where she routinely set her feet. They followed her with the taciturn determination of hunters. The wind rustled the grass and made the thorny black-claw brush click and clack. The swish of a mouse tail vanishing beneath a flowering bush caught Simo’s attention. Elen tensed. Simo extended a hand and, rubbing his fingers together as if wiping dust from them, whistled a strange melody. As if under a spell, the mouse crept out from the bush. It had a healthy brown coat and bright black eyes. Simo snapped his fingers, and it scurried away.

“Active mice are a sign of a healthy environment,” he said, with a nod. “And birdsong. I hear rock pigeons, robins, and scatter-wings.”