At last, after what would have been a wearying chase had it not been a dream, he led me back to the ruins of Green Angel Tower, but they had vanished. All was as it is now, in this current age, with only the broken Angel remaining to mark its memory. But the Angel had been cast down from its plinth and lay beside a ragged hole in the ground, something that looked to have been dug by some savage, hurrying beast. John Josua crouched beside it and beckoned me. I came with slow care because I was afraid he would startle again and run away, but he waited for me. Still, he would not let me embrace or kiss him, which in the dream made my heart ache so that I can still feel it. Instead he pointed at the hole, his thin little face so full of discontent and worry that I could do nothing else except what he wished. I got down onto my knees and put my head close to the hole. From it, although as from a great distance, I could hear the strangest clamor, people wailing and shouting and the noises of beasts. I was certain it must be the mouth of Hell itself, and I sat up immediately, afraid. John Josua was gone again, and I was alone in the garden.

The next moment I awoke in my bed aboard the Hylissa. My maid was beside me, almost in tears because she had tried to wake me from my dream but could not do so. I was breathless and could not speak at first, and my nightgown was damp with sweat. The Thrithings-folk say that a bad dream is the Dark pressing down upon us, kneeling on our chests, trying to squeeze out our breath. I felt that. I think John Josua, if it was his spirit that came to me, and not a trick of the Adversary, was trying to tell me, to tell us, that the Dark is close.

My good husband, perhaps you will think that as soon as we are parted I have become a fool, but I pray you will remember your own dreams during the Storm King’s War, the tall Tree and the great Wheel, and what came of them. I am afraid, not just for you or myself or even our grandchildren, although I fear mightily for them, but for all our kingdom.

I will write again soon. It may even be that by the time of my next letter I will have decided that the fears I write about now were only phantoms, but please do not forget them. Please do not ignore them.

There will be no real peace for me until we are together again, dear Simon, safe with our family. Take good care, my husband. It is when we are apart that I most realize how fortunate we were to find each other, though all the world was against us.

I will write to you again on a brighter day—perhaps tomorrow, when there are not so many clouds in the sky.

•   •   •

“And how is the queen, may God give her good health?”

“Well enough in body, Pasevalles, but prey to fearful dreams.” Simon folded the letter and slipped it into his purse. He had an ache in his stomach that felt like hunger, but he knew it was not.

“As are we all sometimes, Majesty. The land of Sleep can be a terrifying place.”

The king nodded. Whatever had smothered and silenced his dreams of late, Simon knew very well the terrors that could be found on the Dream Road. “In any case, I am sorry I’ve kept you waiting, Lord Chancellor. You look as though something is troubling you, too.”

Pasevalles shook his head. “I am not troubled, sire, but only being cautious. I am told that you have asked Tiamak and Aengas, the Northern Alliance factor, to speak to the prisoner.”

“That Hernystirman kitchen servant who stabbed Eolair? Yes. Aengas speaks his tongue. Between you and me, I am concerned that he may not be the simple madman everyone has assumed.”

“Majesty?”

“I told you of the strange reception we had from King Hugh. And Eolair has heard disturbing things, too.”

“Of course, Majesty. I also found it troubling.”

“A part of me wonders whether Hugh might fear Eolair’s influence—the Lord Steward is a popular man in Hernystir.”

Pasevalles looked troubled. “You think Hugh might have tried to have Eolair killed? I will be honest, sire—that little madman seems a very clumsy tool for such a dangerous task.”

“I know, I know. But these are perilous times and I trust Tiamak’s judgement.”

“As do I,” the chancellor said. “But what of Aengas? Do you trust him as well?”

The king gave him a look that was half surprise, half frustration. “What? Do you suspect him of something as well?”

Pasevalles frowned. “I suspect no one, Majesty. I am just cautious—as you would wish me to be, I think. The factor arrived from Hernystir on the same day as the attack on Eolair.”

“But they say the criminal has worked here in the Hayholt kitchens for years.”

“Of course, sire. I only mention it because in times like these no assumption is safe. That is why I ask what we know of Aengas.”

Simon found it difficult to keep an even temper. “By the Tree, Pasevalles, you are too suspicious. I know and love Tiamak as well as I do any man, and he tells me that Aengas is worthy of our trust. Is that not enough?”

In less exalted settings than a meeting between king and chief minister, Pasevalles’ small movement would have been called a shrug. “Of course, Majesty—it should be more than enough. But as you and the queen yourselves told me on your return, everything is different now. I only ask the questions my position demands that I ask. Please forgive me.”

“Don’t, Pasevalles. You make me ashamed. Of course you are right to be careful.” He sighed. “But in the end I must trust someone or I would go mad. I trust you. I trust Eolair. I trust Tiamak. I trust the queen.”

“Yes, my king. I too trust Lord Tiamak, both his goodness and his judgement. If he vouches for Aengas, that is enough.”

Simon’s bleak mood had returned. “Now I am worried too, but not about Aengas. I hope Tiamak will be careful of that kitchen worker, if the creature is truly mad.” He was thinking of some of the moonstruck folk he had met in his youth, the peasant girl Skodi and even Miri’s father, King Elias, in his last months. “Madness can lie hidden, you know. Like a snake under a rock. But when you lift the rock and the sun falls upon it . . .” He thrust his hand forward like a serpent’s bite, and accidentally knocked his empty cup clattering onto the stone flags. Pasevalles silently picked it up, and when the king waved his hand for it, wiped the lip of the cup on his doublet before returning it.

When the king’s cup had been refilled, he and lord chancellor finished the rest of their business. When Pasevalles had gone, Simon sat back in his chair and ignored the courtiers waiting for his attention, his thoughts on a very different path.

Miriamele’s letter had made him think about their lost son—a grief no less painful for being familiar—but it had also reminded him of his own childhood, when the castle had seemed as big as the world and when nobody had paid much attention to the comings and goings of a mere kitchen boy. The memory gripped him and would not let go.

“Where is my little girl?” he muttered to himself. “Where is my lion cub?” Simon got to his feet and looked around. Courtiers leaned forward, each hoping that he or she was the one the king sought. To the king, though, the throne hall seemed strange and unfamiliar; for an instant or two Simon could almost believe he was a child-spy once more, poking his nose into places he should not be.

Yes, I will find my granddaughter, he decided, ignoring the polite, expectant faces that surrounded him. It will do my heart good to see her and to hear her voice. My son is lost to God and my grandson has gone far away—for good or ill—but I can at least find my Lillia and keep her close.

Tiamak found it easiest to walk behind Aengas’s litter: the shoulders of its four brawny bearers all but filled the narrow corridors beneath the guardhouse. “I know nothing much beyond what I’ve already related,” Tiamak said. “He is a kitchen worker from Crannhyr who has been here in the Hayholt for many years—long before Hugh took the throne in Hernystir. My wife attended to him back in Feyever when he fell into a fit. His name is Riggan.”