Although, in truth, in the world as they had it, if you were powerful enough you could do this: a dungeon, or just killing someone of no rank or stature. But it seemed these two men were not powerful enough. They’d thought they were. Thierry wondered who had found him. He didn’t ask the steward. It was unlikely the man knew. He was edging towards the doorway to the courtyard now, gesturing to Thierry. They badly wanted him gone.

So he left. Took a deep breath outside. Then another. He coughed. That was still there. He accepted help getting into the saddle. He’d learned how to do it by now but he was extremely weak. The horse didn’t seem unhappy to see him, but he really didn’t know horses.

It was a cloudy morning, blessedly so. His eyes were extremely sensitive. He needed them to start working better. This might be a countryside where the nobility of Ferrieres amused itself, but it was also a place of villages and farms—and of outlaws. Outlaws were everywhere in turbulent times, but notoriously so along the banks of the Livraise. He remembered learning that in Orane. Long ago, it seemed. Everything seemed long ago. He needed to find an inn, rest for a day, or more. More felt like a good idea.

He had no plan, no idea what to do. No least hint of what was happening in Orane, where he wanted to be. Or even how much time had passed. He should have asked, he thought. It was warmer. Leaves were on the trees, and there were flowers.

He saw that his hand was trembling, holding the reins. He drew another slow breath when he reached the road at the end of the gravel drive. He might have been broken, yes, it was possible, but he decided he was not going to be. Not by these men.

He turned back east, the way he’d come. Not to Orane; it was much too far, many days away. But he had passed a village before arriving at this Jad-cursed château, and he now had coins. Courtesy of the so-generous high cleric of Aurage. He’d stay at an inn. Try to recover, to become…himself again.

He decided he might even find a sanctuary and pray. Give thanks. His mother would want him to do that, he thought. He was alive, in the open air. Under clouds, but with the god’s sun behind them, and it was springtime.