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Tortallan navy lay at anchor. All were courier ships, built for speed. The king wanted his Champion in the north as soon as he could get her there.

    Poor Mother, thought Aly. She’ll throw up for the whole voyage. But she’s going anyway, to get back to her duty. And she put up with it coming south, to give herself as much time with Da and me as she could. Now she thinks I don’t care enough to see her and tell her goodbye.

    “What of the mirror?” asked George.

    Alanna turned vexed eyes up to him. “I’m getting nothing from the mirror, but there are a hundred reasons for something like that.”

    “Like you being exhausted?” George inquired gently.

    Alanna rolled her eyes. “Don’t start with that again, George.”

    “And why not, when it’s true?” he demanded. “If you won’t speak to the king, perhaps I should.”

    Tired? Aly thought, startled. Alanna the Lioness
tired
? Impossible.

    She looked at her mother’s face and saw lines she hadn’t noticed before, at the corner of those famed purple eyes, at the corners of the Lioness’s mouth. Aly remembered that her mother was almost forty-three.

    “Field duty is a lot less tiring than serving as Champion during peacetime,” Alanna told him. “And I won’t have you saying anything to anyone.” She sighed. “But it could be the reason I can’t find her when I scry. I was never that good at it to begin with.”

    “If she’s not home by the time you sail, I’ll see to it she visits you in the north, to apologize for worrying you.”

    “I’m not
worried
worried. Aly can take care of herself. I just—bah.” Alanna leaned back against her husband. “Thank all the gods the war is winding down. Will you write to me when she comes home?”

    “I’ll send her with the letter.” George kissed the top of his wife’s head. “Don’t forget, Alan would have told us if there was anything to worry about. He can always tell if Aly’s in trouble. Remember the time the horse threw her and she broke her head. Alan knew of it before Aly got conscious.”

    Alanna smiled reluctantly. “I’d forgotten that.” She reached for her mirror. “Maybe I should give it one more try.”

    “And tire yourself more? I think not.” George took the mirror from her hand and tucked it into the pocket of his breeches. “Why don’t you go get ready for supper? Maude had them cook all your favorites.”

    “All my favorites? They’ll have to roll me north, I’ll be so fat.” Alanna collapsed her spyglass.

    “Ah, but you’ll puke it all up on the trip, so eat away,” George said in a falsely comforting voice.

    “That’s disgusting,” said his wife drily. She turned and left him alone on the observation deck.

    Only when she was gone did George pull a rolled scrap of paper from his pocket. When he read the message, the lines of his craggy face deepened and his broad mouth went tight. Ghost Aly read over his shoulder. It was a brief message in code from Lord Imrah of Legann:
She’s not here.

    George crumpled the paper in his hand and stuffed it into his pocket just as Aly sensed her ghost self fade.

    When Aly woke in the morning, she felt beaten all over—and so she had been, she remembered, by slaves fighting for supper. Her eyes were watering. She swiped at them with her hand and winced as she touched the sensitive bruising that ringed them, the legacy of her broken nose.

    Had she really heard a god in her dream? Why would any god show her visions of home? She hadn’t understood that comment about “letters,” or the one about her absence. She wished she had tried to tell her parents that she was fine and would be home as soon as she could get away. It hadn’t even occurred to her, she’d been so caught up in what her parents said. She did know that she
would
sail north as soon as she got back, to mend bridges with her mother.

    Get sold, learn my way about, get free, get home, she thought, grunting as she struggled to her feet. That’s