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smirk; charming and sly. She stared at him a moment.
    He had succeeded at something. She looked again quickly for the assassin
    wearing her own green-and-silver livery— there he was, the one Riata
    watchdog she knew of certainly, still holding checked, still only observing
    from a distance— Allegreto had not slain or expelled him. Which did not mean
    that the youth had not bloodied his hands in some other way.
    She was torn between anger and relief. She had her own agreement with the
    Riata. In spite of the unceasing threat of the watchers they had placed on
    her, she wanted no Riata lives spent, not now. But she could not disclose
    that to a son of the house of Navona. And a murder in the midst of this
    banquet, in her retinue ... it would be offensive; there would be trouble;
    things were not done so here as they were in Italy, but she could not make
    Allegreto understand.
    She did not acknowledge him with more than a brief look, reserving her
    pleasure. He made a face of mock disappointment, then lifted his chin in
    silent mirth. A pair of servants bore huge platters past him. When they had
    moved beyond, he was gone.
    The trumpets sounded.
    Melanthe looked up in startlement. They could not yet herald the last
    course. Over the hum of gossip and feasting came the shouts of men outside
    the hall. Her hand dropped instinctively to her dagger as the clatter of
    iron hooves rang against the walls. People gasped; servers scattered out of
    the great entry doors, spilling platters of sweets and more subtleties.
    Melanthe reached for Gryngolet’s leash.
    An apparition burst into the hall. A green-armored knight on a green
    horse hurdled the stairs, galloping up the center aisle, the ring of hooves
    suddenly muffled by the woven rushes so that the pair seemed to fly above
    the earth as ladies screamed and dogs scrambled beneath the tables.
    Nothing hampered his drive to the high dais. Not a single knight rose to
    his lord’s defense. Melanthe found herself on her feet alone, gripping her
    small dagger as Gryngolet roused her feathers and spread her wings in wild
    alarm.
    The horse reached the dais and whirled, half rearing, showing emerald
    hooves and green legs, the twisting silver horn on its forehead slashing
    upward. The destrier’s braided mane flew out like dyed silk as light sent
    green reflections from the lustrous armor. Silver bells chimed and jangled
    from the bridle and caparisons. At the peak of the knight’s closed helm
    flourished a crest of verdant feathers, bound by silver at the base, set
    with an emerald that sent one bright green flash into her eyes before he
    brought the horse to a standstill.
    The knight was on a level with her, the eye slits in his visor dark with
    the daunting inhumanity that was the life and power of his kind. The
    destrier’s heavy breath seemed to belong to both of them. He held the reins
    with gloves of green worked in silver—on his shield the only emblem was a
    hooded hawk, silver on green. Rich ermine lined his mantle, and all over the
    horse’s caparisons embroidered dragonflies mingled with flowers and birds,
    silver only: argent and green entire.
    Melanthe’s hand relaxed slightly on the dagger as she realized that this
    was not immediate attack. She felt the sudden exposure of standing alone,
    but it was too late to sit down and hide her reaction. Everyone stared, and
    after their first startlement, no one appeared dismayed. At the edge of her
    vision, she could see the duke grinning.
    “My lady,” Lancaster said into the utter stillness. “Your unicorn comes.”
    “Mary,” Melanthe said. “So it does.”
    “My liege lady.” The knight’s voice sounded hollow and harsh from within
    the helmet. He made a bow in the saddle. The horse danced. “My dread lord.”
    “Trusty and well-beloved knight.” The duke acknowledged him with a lazy
    nod. “My lady, we call him the Green Sire who rides your unicorn. I fear he
    will not grace us with his