“It’ll take a while to call a doctor,” said the guard, who was no longer making any serious attempt to stop Giddon. His aspect was rather depressed, actually, and Giddon wondered if his failure to refuse them entrance was going to get him into trouble. “But there’s an animal doctor on the property at present. That’s why I suggested it.”

“I’m sure he’s busy with your animals,” said Giddon.

“It’s a woman.”

“I don’t care if it’s the prime minister! We need a doctor.” Then, as the guard moved ahead up steps that led to an entranceway surrounded by late-blooming flowers, Giddon squeezed Bitterblue harder. “Hey,” he whispered. “You okay?”

She opened her eyes and shot him a mischievous, black-eyed look. Then she closed her eyes and let her mouth hang open slightly.

Giddon relaxed.

Inside the house, rooms opened to left and right and a corridor streaming with light extended straight ahead. A woman was marching down this corridor toward them, her boot heels clomping like horseshoes on stone and a peeved expression on her brown face. Her white hair, soft as a cloud, was pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck.

“What now?” she snapped at the guard, deep-voiced and annoyed.

“Traveling entertainers,” said the guard, looking cowed before the woman, despite his greater height. “Heart condition.”

“I’m the Queen of Monsea,” Bitterblue moaned, still tucked in Giddon’s arms.

“Of course you are,” said the woman, glancing at Bitterblue’s bedraggled furs and the plain, overly large tunic and pants she wore beneath it, borrowed from Nola. Her messy hair, her enormous black eyes. “And who are you supposed to be?” the woman barked at Giddon.

“I’m Giddon,” said Giddon.

“Yes, I’ve heard of you,” she said sourly. “Very good. Big and loyal-looking. You only need the Graceling and a few pasty men and your act will be complete. Would you like to plop Her Majesty down on a couch?” she said, extending an arm through an open doorway. “We can rustle up a drink for you, but I’m afraid that then you’ll have to be on your way.”

“We need a doctor,” said Giddon firmly.

“We can direct you to the nearest doctor.”

“My companion can’t walk, as you can see.”

“We’ll lend you a horse,” she said with finality, then turned and swept off. “No more guests!” she shouted for the benefit of the guard, who was still standing by, shoulders slumped, face tight with apprehension.

“I hope we haven’t gotten you in trouble,” Giddon said. “She’s plainly upset about something.”

The guard seemed unable to decide what to say. “I’ll ask someone for water,” he said, turning to go.