“The Tenders of the Creator are in turmoil over your painted friend,” Araine went on. “Half of them think he’s the Deliverer himself, and the other half think he’s worse than the mother of all demons. Neither side seems to trust your young Tender Jona, though he seems to be leaning toward the former category. They wish to inquisit him. I’ve exchanged missives with my advisors on the Council of Tenders, and have agreed that a replacement, Tender Hayes, will be sent to tend the faithful in the Hollow while Jona is called here to give testimony before the council. Hayes is a good man, not crazed with zealotry and no fool. He will gauge the Hollowers’ beliefs about the Painted Man even as the council gauges Jona’s.”

Leesha cleared her throat. “Your pardon, Your Grace, but the Hollow isn’t a city with dozens of Tenders. The people trust Jona to guide them because he has earned that trust over many years. They won’t just follow any man in a brown robe, and they won’t take well to the idea of your dragging Jona off to an inquisition.”

“If Jona is loyal to his order, he ’ll go willingly and quell any doubts,” Araine said. “If not…well, I wish to know where his loyalties lie as much as the council.”

“And if the council’s inquisition ends unfavorably?” Leesha asked.

“It’s been a while since the Tenders burned a heretic,” Araine said, “but I expect they still know the recipe.”

“Then Tender Jona will not be going,” Leesha said, putting down her cup and meeting the duchess mum’s eyes, “unless you intend to test your Wooden Soldiers against men who cut trees by day and wood demons by night.”

Araine’s eyebrows raised, and her nostrils flared. The serene veil returned in an instant, so quickly that Leesha thought she might have imagined the flash of vexation. Araine turned to regard Wonda.

“Is that true, girl?” she asked. “Will you take arms against your duke, if the Wooden Soldiers come for your Tender?”

“I’ll fight whoever Leesha tells me to fight,” Wonda said, sitting up to her full height for the first time since meeting the tiny duchess mum.

Even at fifteen summers, Wonda Cutter was taller than most men in Deliverer’s Hollow, men known to be the tallest in the duchy. She towered over the diminutive old woman, but Araine seemed more amused by her than cowed. The duchess mum nodded as if to dismiss Wonda back to her previous state and looked at Leesha, tapping a nail on her delicate teacup.

“Very well,” she said at last. “I will personally vouch for Tender Jona’s safety and return to the Hollow, though he may return stripped of his robes.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Leesha said, bowing her head in acceptance of the terms.

Araine smiled and raised her teacup. “You may be Bruna’s heir after all.” Leesha smiled, and they drank together.

“The Painted Man,” Araine said, after a moment, “will go alone to Miln, to carry his story about the Krasians to Euchor and make our plea for aid.”

“Why the Painted Man and not your herald?” Leesha asked.

Araine snorted. “Janson’s fop nephew? Euchor would eat the boy alive. If you haven’t heard, Euchor and my son despise each other.”

Leesha looked at her, but the duchess waved the look away. “Don’t try to meddle with those wards, girl. The ivy throne and the metal one have been at odds long before the current occupants sat their overweight bottoms down on them, and will be long after they’re gone. It’s the way of men to glower at their rivals.”

“That doesn’t explain why it should be the Painted Man and not a Royal Messenger,” Leesha said. “I assure you, if he even agrees to go—and you may find him harder to steer than you think—he will go with his own agenda, and not yours.”

“Of course he will,” Araine said, “which is precisely why I want that man as far from my city as possible. Whether he means it or not, his very presence will incite people to mad zealotry, and that’s no way for a state to run. Let him go and cause a stir in Miln; Euchor may agree to whatever we want, just to be rid of him.”

“And what, exactly, do ‘we ’ want?” Leesha asked.

Araine eyed, her, and Leesha could not tell if she was more amused or annoyed at her audacity. “An alliance against the Krasians, of course,” the duchess mum said at last. “It’s one thing to bicker over some carts of wood and minerals, but quite another for the sheepdogs to keep nipping at one another when there are wolves at the pen.”

Leesha looked at the woman, wanting to argue, but she found herself agreeing. Part of her felt so safe when Arlen was around, she never wanted him to leave the Hollow. But there was another part of her, a growing part, that found his presence…stifling. Just as he had feared, the Hollowers and refugees were looking to him to save them rather than saving themselves, and hadn’t Leesha done the same? Perhaps it was best for all that he go for a short while.

When the moment for Leesha to reply had passed with no word spoken, Araine nodded and turned back to her tea. “I have yet to decide what to do with Arrick’s boy. His so-called fiddle magic bears closer examination, but I have no designs on it as yet.”

“It’s not magic,” Leesha said. “Not as we know it, anyway. He just…charms the corelings, like a Jongleur works a crowd’s mood. It’s a useful skill, but it works only so long as he continues to play, and he hasn’t been able to teach the trick to others.”

“He might make a good herald,” Araine mused. “Better than Janson’s fop nephew, at any rate, though that says little.”

“I would prefer that Rojer stay with me, Your Grace,” Leesha said.

“Oho! Would you?” Araine asked, amused. She reached over the table and pinched Leesha’s cheek. “I like you, girl. Not afraid to speak your mind.” She sat back, looking at Leesha a moment, and then shrugged. “I’m feeling generous,” she said, refilling their teacups. “Keep him. Now, for this ‘Deliverer’ business.”

“The Painted Man does not claim to be the Deliverer, Your Grace,” Leesha said. She snorted. “Night, he’ll bite the head from any that suggest it.”

“Whatever he claims, folk believe it,” Araine said, “as evidenced by the sudden change of your hamlet’s name…without royal permission, I might add.”

Leesha shrugged. “That was the town council’s decision and none of mine.”

“But you did not oppose it,” Araine noted.

Leesha shrugged again.

“Do you believe it?” Araine asked, meeting her eyes. “Is he the Deliverer come again?”

Leesha looked at the duchess mum for a long time. “No,” she said at last. Wonda gasped out loud, and Leesha scowled.

“It appears your bodyguard does not agree,” Araine said.

“It’s not my place to tell people what or what not to believe,” Leesha said.

Araine nodded. “Just so. Nor is it your town council’s. Janson has already penned a royal condemnation of the name change. If your council is wise, they will repaint their signs in a hurry.”

“I’ll inform them, Your Grace,” Leesha said. Araine narrowed her eyes at the vague response, but said nothing.

“And the refugees?” Leesha asked.

“What about them?” Araine asked.

“Will you take them in?” Leesha asked.

The duchess mum snorted. “And put them where? Feed them what? Use your head, girl. Angiers accepts them, but the fort cannot hold so many. Let them swell the hamlets like yours. The Warders and soldiers I send the Hollow will show the duke’s full support for our neighbors in this time of need, and we’ll forgive the lumber shipments the Hollow has failed to make.”

Leesha pursed her lips. “We need more than that, Your Grace. We have groups of three sharing blankets, and children running about in rags. If you have no food to spare, then send clothing. Or wool from Shepherd’s Dale, that we might make our own. It’s their shearing season, is it not?”

Araine thought a moment. “I’ll have a few carts of raw wool sent, and drive a hundred head of sheep, as well.”