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have to ride. You just don’t move that fast, my love.”
    Lara made a face at him.
    “My mother may not write all that well, but she uses clerks,” Heath said slowly. “And she would have sent for me, if nothing else. Something is not right. We don’t have enough information.” He faced Keir. “I should go ahead to Water’s Fall tonight.”
    “A concerned son in search of answers about his father?” Lara asked.
    Heath shook his head. “Not just that. I know the castle. I can get in and out quickly without raising an alarm. I can bring back word.” He stood, brushing off his trous. “I am sure my father is well. He’s in Eln’s hands if he isn’t.”
    Lara smiled. “Eln is the best.”
    “I can be there and back by dawn, if not before,” Heath said. “I will find you along the road, or in camp.”
    “Alone? You’d go alone? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Atira said.
    “Worried about me?” Heath asked.
    Atira glared at him. “What if he fails to return with the information? Another should go with him. One who is used to the city, and who knows the Xyian tongue.”
    “And that would be you, eh?” Marcus growled.
    “Well—” Atira said.
    “Enough,” Keir growled. All conversation stopped. “Heath, the idea is a good one. We need information. Take Atira with you, for she is correct, as well. We will camp here this night and leave in the morning.”
    “Those two?” Marcus snorted. “Is that the best idea?”
    “It is my command,” Keir growled.
    Atira bowed her head, then turned toward the horses. Heath followed.
    “Heath,” Lara called.
    Heath looked back at Lara.
    “Bring me news, Heath,” Lara said, her eyes bright with tears.
    Heath smiled with as much reassurance as he could muster. “I will, little bird.”
    But the uncertainty burned in his gut as he turned to go.

    LORD DURST OF XY EASED HIMSELF INTO HIS CHAIR by the fire and settled back to try to warm himself. His wife didn’t look up from her sewing, the white cloth covering her lap.
    The heat helped. For a moment he almost felt healthy and strong again, but then he took a breath, and the ache was enough to remind him.
    They’d brought him to these chambers in the Castle of Water’s Fall after he’d been brutally attacked by the cursed Firelander, Keir of the Cat. Brought him here and waited to see if he’d live or die. They’d given him the best of the chambers provided for members of the Council.
    Durst hated every inch of its rooms.
    He’d fought for his life even as the whore had forced the Council to see her crowned Queen. She’d tossed her crown in the Seneschal’s lap and chased after the Warlord like a two-copper whore, bare of foot, with her hair down.
    Shameless bitch.
    Oh yes, the best chambers. And Master Healer Eln had labored on his behalf. He’d lived, despite the unprovoked and unwarranted assault on his person. Oh, he’d survived, but he’d never regain his strength, never regain all that he’d lost.
    Othur had extended the courtesy of the chambers for as long as Durst wished to remain in Water’s Fall.
    Durst curled his lip in a silent snarl, then caught himself. “Wine, my dear.”
    Beatrice put her sewing aside and rose without a word. She walked slowly to one of the side tables and poured a goblet for him.
    Durst sighed as he watched her soft steps. Beatrice was a ghost of herself since their sons had died. The eldest in the war with the Firelanders, then Degnan’s death in a foolish attempt to—
    Durst’s throat closed as he fought off his grief.
    Beatrice came to his side, her soft scent filling the air. She handed him his cup, then settled back down, arranging the white cloth in her lap as she returned to her work.
    A knock at the door saved Durst from his tears. “Come,” he called out, his voice cracking. He took a sip of wine to ease his throat.
    Deacon Browdus entered, followed by Lanfer.
    Lord Durst used the cup to hide his distaste. Browdus looked his usual oily self,