The courier produced a sealed packet. “I am to give you these letters. Read. Then we will talk.”

Nepanthe ripped at the packet, fumbling in her eagerness. Finally, she got to the first letter.

It was not written in Mocker’s hand. She wasn’t surprised. Her husband could write, but unless he worked with uncharacteristic patience his penmanship remained impenetrable even to himself. Anything he wanted understood he would have someone write for him.

The letters were crazy. Bizarre, paranoid, unbelievable. Rambling, tortuous, and only partially coherent.

He flatly accused Bragi and Haroun of plotting against his life. He was in hiding in the middle east, where he had friends. He wanted her to slip away and join him before Bragi took the next logical step and imprisoned her and Ethrian.

It made no sense. He’d never mentioned having friends in the east. And what reason would Bragi or Haroun have for trying to kill him?

The messenger asked, “Have you finished?”

Startled, she looked up at his cold assassin’s face. “Yes. What’s it all about?”

“Lady, I am sorry. I was not told. I was sent to bring you to him. I have two friends with me. We are to guard you during your journey to Throyes. We are to avoid notice by local authorities. That is all I was told.”

“But…”

“I am sorry. Will you come?”

“Yes. Of course.” She rose, surprised by the haste with which she had made her decision. It was as crazy as Mocker’s letters.

“Pack quickly and lightly. We will travel by horseback, in haste, lest our enemies discover us and give pursuit.”

“Yes. Of course.” Of course. That was Mocker’s way of life. Travel in the shadows, work in the shadows, always moving fast and light. Live and die in the shadows. Don’t look back because something might be gaining.

She burst out of the library. “Ethrian, pack some things. We’re going to your father. No. Don’t ask questions. Just do what you’re told. And hurry.” She left him looking baffled.

She threw things together with little thought for the journey she faced. Her mind was wholly taken with the puzzle of what was happening.

“Keep up, boy!” Scar snarled. In all the weeks of travel Nepanthe had learned no name for Mocker’s messenger. He was in a vicious temper today.

She didn’t blame him. His wounds had to be hurting him terribly.

Two days earlier they’d had a brush with bandits, just when Scar was beginning to relax because they were nearing Throyes. His comrades had both been killed.

“It’ll only be a little while longer, Ethrian,” she promised. “We’re almost there.” They were among the farms which supported Throyes. A hazy patch of horizon lay ahead. “We should spot the city walls any minute now.”

“No walls at Throyes,” Scar said. It was one of the few times he’d said anything remotely conversational. “Three hours, we be there.”

He was close. Only a few minutes over three hours later they were dismounting before a home as stately as any Nepanthe had known in Lieneke Lane. A grossly fat man met them. He did not seem pleased to see them. He and Scar argued, then Scar terminated the discussion by mounting up and riding away. The fat man fumed and sputtered and threatened his back.