The melting slush gave way unevenly beneath our horses’ hooves. We left by the west gate. Ostensibly, only the Prince and Marshcroft knew our destination. The bird with the message had arrived yesterday. In reality, I shared that knowledge. There had been mutterings and discontent about the Queen consenting to meet with emissaries of Old Blood. It had been judged wiser to keep our rendezvous location a secret lest any of the more intractable nobles sabotage our plans.

The wind promised either rain or wet snow to come. Sap had flushed the leafless trees to life. We did not take the fork of the road that led down to the river but instead took the branch that led into the forested hills behind Buckkeep Castle. A lone hawk patrolled the sky, perhaps in search of venturesome mice. Or perhaps not, I thought to myself. As the trees drew closer to the road, Marshcroft gave us the order to reform so that the Prince and the Queen rode now in our midst instead of before us. My dread grew. Not by any word or sign had Dutiful indicated that he was aware that I rode at his back, but I was glad of the tight Skill-awareness that hung between us.

We rode on through the morning, and at each fork in the road we took the less trafficked one. I was not pleased that the narrowing passage through the trees forced us into a long and straggling line. Myblack detested keeping a steady pace following the horse in front of her and I had a constant battle to keep her from moving up on him. Her wilfulness was an unwelcome distraction as I tried to expand my Wit-awareness of the forest around us. Given the men and horses around me, it was a near-impossible task to be aware of anything beyond them, much like trying to listen for the squeaking of a mouse while surrounded by barking dogs. Nonetheless, I cursed myself and sent a sharp Skill-warning to the Prince when I first became aware of the outriders flanking us. They had done a wonderful job. I was suddenly aware of two of them, and before I could draw breath, noticed three more ghosting alongside us through the trees. They were on foot, their faces hooded against recognition. They carried bows.

This is not where we were told they’d await us, Dutiful Skilled anxiously as Marshcroft called an abrupt halt. We formed up as well as we could around the Prince. The Witted I could see had arrows nocked, but the bows were not drawn.

Then, ‘Old Blood greets you!’ a voice rang through the forest.

‘Dutiful Farseer returns greeting,’ Dutiful replied clearly when the Queen kept silent. He sounded very calm, but I could almost feel the hammering of his heart.

A short, dark woman came striding through her archers to stand before us. Unlike the others, she was unarmed and her face uncovered. She looked up at the Prince. Then she turned her gaze to the Queen. Her eyes widened and a tenuous smile came to her face. Then, ‘FitzChivalry’ she said clearly. I stiffened, but Dutiful relaxed.

He nodded to Marshcroft as he said, ‘That was the agreed password. These are the folk we promised to meet and escort.’ He turned back to the woman. ‘But why are you here rather than at our arranged rendezvous?’

She laughed lightly, but bitterly. ‘We have learned a measure of caution in the past, my lord, in dealing with Farseers. You will forgive us if we still employ it. It has saved many a life here.’

‘You have not always been fairly dealt with, so I will excuse your suspicion. I am here, as you requested, to assure you that we offer the emissaries safe passage to Buckkeep Castle.’

The woman nodded. ‘And have you brought for us a hostage, one nobly born, as we requested?’

For the first time, the Queen spoke. ‘He is here. I give you my son.’

Dutiful went white. Marshcroft burst out, ‘My Queen, I beg you, no!’ He turned back to the Old Blood woman. ‘Lady, if it please you, I was told nothing of a hostage. Do not take my prince from my protection. Take me instead!’

Did you know of this? I demanded of Dutiful.

No. But I understand her reasoning. His response was oddly calm.

He spoke his next words aloud, but they were for me as much as for the guard. ‘Peace, Marshcroft. This is my mother’s decision, and I will obey it. No one will fault you for following your queen’s will. For in this, I am Sacrifice for my people.’ He turned to look at his mother. His face was still pale, but his voice was firm. He was proud of this moment, I knew suddenly. Proud to serve in this way, proud that she had thought him mature enough to face this challenge. ‘If it is my mother’s will, then I put my life in your hands. And if any of your folk are harmed, then I am willing to forfeit.’

‘And I, too, will remain as surety for my queen’s word.’ Laurel’s soft voice rang clear in the shocked silence that followed. The Old Blood woman nodded gravely. Laurel was obviously well known to her.

My thoughts raced as I tried to put it all together. Of course the Old Blood folk would have asked for a hostage. Safe passage and hidden identities would not protect their chosen leaders once they were inside Buckkeep’s walls. Despite Chade’s dismissal of their request, I should have known that someone would have to serve. But why did it have to be the Prince? And why could not the Queen have chosen me to remain at his side instead of Laurel? I looked at Kettricken with new eyes. The subterfuge surprised me, as did her circumvention of Chade. Well I knew he would never have agreed to this. How had she arranged it all? Through Laurel? Marshcroft flung himself from his horse and knelt at her feet in the sogging snow, begging her not to do this, to let him be hostage instead, or at least to let him and five chosen men remain with the Prince. But she was adamant. Dutiful stepped down from his mount and drew Marshcroft to his feet. ‘No one will ever fault you for this, even if it goes awry,’ he sought to assure him. ‘My lady mother is here to give me over; that was why she came. All will know it was her will, not yours, that this be done. I beg you, good man, remount and take our queen safely home.’ He raised his voice, ‘Yes, and all who ride back with you, hear me. Guard these folk as if my life depended on it, for I assure you that it does. That is how you can best serve me.’

The Old Blood woman spoke then to Marshcroft, saying, ‘I promise both you and his mother that he will be treated well, so long as our own are treated similarly. On this you have my word.’

Marshcroft looked little comforted by it.

I was in a quandary as I sat and watched the exchange happen. I will double back and follow, I promised the Prince.

No. My mother has given her word that we will treat fairly with them, and so we shall. If I have need of you, I shall let you know. This I promise you. But for now, let me do this thing she has entrusted to me.

By then our emissaries were trickling in from the forest in twos and threes. Some brought their Wit-beasts. I heard the high cry of a hawk overhead, and knew that I had guessed correctly earlier that day. Another man rode with a spotted dog at his stirrup. One woman came towards us leading a milk-cow heavy with calf. But of the dozen folk, faces swathed and variously mounted, who came to join us, most were alone. I wondered if they had left their animals behind or were currently unpaired.

One man immediately caught my attention. He was probably about fifty, but he wore his years well as some active men do. He walked with a sailor's roll, leading a horse that he obviously mistrusted. Both the hair of his head and his short-trimmed beard were steely grey, and his eyes the same but with a hint of blue. Other than the woman who had first greeted us, he was the only Old Blood who went unmasked. Yet it was not his appearance that struck me so much as the deference the other Old Bloods accorded him. They stepped back for him as if he were either holy or mad. The Old Blood woman who had first greeted us indicated him with a flourish.