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stomach growled and reminded me that the morning meal had been some time ago, and that Kalisa’s cheese only went so far. I laughed nervously. Overtired for certain. I dropped the last of the rose hips into my basket, then indulged in a good stretch. Which, in turn, caused my hair to fall out of its bun. Again. I cursed and fumbled with it, managing to get it pulled back. There was a tie in my pocket and I pulled it out to restrain the curly mass. The night was still silent when I picked up my basket and moved on.
    Apparently I was the only large predator prowling the garden tonight. The warm light spilled out of the castle windows as I moved through the kitchen garden and approached the back door. The High Court must be in fine fettle tonight. Considering that there was a war on, it seemed rather odd and inappropriate. But then, the lords and sycophants that made up the bulk of the Court would think nothing odd about it.
    In our glory days, Xy had been a center for trade. The valley and the mountain passes were a gathering point for caravans, according to the history books. Xy had maintained a standing army, bolstered by the wealth of the merchants and the produce of the fertile soil. But in my great-grandfather’s time, the trade routes had dried up. To make matters worse, in my grandfather’s reign the Sweat had devastated the land. Grandfather had sealed the great trade gates, closing the mountain passes and isolating Xy even further. The standing army had been disbanded, leaving only the Palace and City Guard, and not many of them. The landed gentry that remained farmed the valley and Xy survived, small and alone, a shadow of what had been.
    Xymund longed for the glorious days of old, and attempted to maintain a ‘court’, gathering the ‘lords and ladies’ and their children to fawn upon him. Since my father had added the craftmasters and the clergy to his council, there was quite a crowd willing to eat at Xymund’s table, and play at the game of nobility. Once the Warlord had started his march up the valley, many of the Lords had fled their farms and manor houses and sought the city, bringing the fighting men at their command. This left the hamlets and villages normally under the lord’s protection to the mercies of the Warlord, and allowed the brute to advance swiftly, apparently to our very gates.
    I slipped in through the old wood door, and tarried for a minute on the threshold. For all its size and huge hearths, the kitchen always seemed hot, overcrowded and cluttered. Here Anna the Cook reigned in all her glory. She was standing in the middle of the room, directing serving staff, cooks and footmen like the skilled general she was. A huge, fat woman, whose apron was covered in food stains, she tolerated nothing and no one. I noticed with envy that all her straight black hair stayed in its bun. Wielding her wooden spoon, she was a force to be reckoned with. Nothing escaped her scrutiny. Including me.
    She took one look and gave an exasperated snort, which set all of her chins wobbling at once. “Child, look at yourself.” Her voice boomed across the kitchen. Some of the staff looked up and glanced at me with sympathy, but then continued on with their work. Anna made her way over, scowling, her keys to the spice cupboard rattling as she moved. “You look like a ragged pilgrim.” She threatened me with her spoon. “You haven’t eaten, have you.” Her voice carried easily over the noise and confusion.
    “Anna, you can read me like a book.”
    “As if I would waste time reading a book.” She bellowed something out and before I knew it, she and I were seated at a corner of the large, battered wooden table amidst the dishes, eating fresh hot bread with her special honey butter slathered all over it. My bundles had been added to the dirty rag pile, and my basket sat on the table. She kept a stern eye on the staff as we ate and occasionally erupted into admonitions when things weren’t being done to her