“Does it matter if it is or isn’t?” Thierry asked.

“Not really,” said Medor Colle. He gestured. “Shall we walk?”

They did a loop around the hunting lodge, passing guards posted along the gravel drive, then going back along the river side. There were paths leading down to the Livraise, Thierry saw.

They kept going, past the construction now, the piles of timber and stone for the new wing, and finally came back up nearer the fires of Jeanette de Broché’s army. They didn’t approach. They stopped and looked at them.

After a time, Medor said, “They are starting north in the morning. She wouldn’t delay. Said she only came for the king, and that now she’s done what she had to do.”

“What do you make of her?” Thierry asked. He heard the owl again.

“I have no thoughts. My uncle doesn’t know, and if anyone would, it would be him.”

“Can she survive? Going off to find the Anglcyn before the army even assembles?”

“I have no thoughts,” said Medor Colle again. “This is beyond me.”

They started walking again. It was a beautiful night. They passed the entrance and kept on going, a second loop around Chervaux in an easy silence. Stopped again, looking at the Maiden’s army’s fires.

Thierry looked overhead. The moons, and the glittering, impossible profusion of stars at night in the countryside. He could understand the Asharites worshipping these cold, hard watchers. But did they watch? Did they care in any possible way about men and women here?

He said, surprising himself, “I would like to call you a friend. I can use one. I hope that is all right.”

Medor stiffened. Was silent a long moment. Thierry thought he knew why. There were so many ways, he thought, for people to be afraid, or lonely, or different.

“I can use one too,” the serjeant finally said. Or, rather, the newly appointed provost of Orane said. And added, “Thank you.”

They walked back to the entrance and went in and then up the wide stairs. Back in his room, Thierry slept this time.

When he woke in the morning and came down again, he learned that the army of the Maiden had already left, with the rising sun, after prayers.

The king and his court did the same later in the day. Back to Orane. Marina was with them, Silvy was (he hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye), Gauvard Colle was. And Medor, of course. Tasks to be taken up.

Thierry Villar? He was escorted north by the same guards who had brought them here. Back to Marina’s small, graceful château. Where her mother and children were. Where he was supposed to write better poems in the quiet of the countryside.