in the muddy lane after dancing too drunk at the inn.
At Tenne-Tiras itself, there was an awkward moment when an ostler abortively started first for Mora, despite Hal’s brilliant orange tabard embroidered with a stark white crown, and the Heir’s Score belted at her hip. The man hurriedly corrected his mistake as Hal called out, “Ah, it is so good to see these wretched old walls again. Lady Hotspur, did you know Tenne-Tiras held this valley from a pirate incursion up the river, of all things, some eighty years ago? Our hosts here had brave grandparents, and as with all strong Aremore bloodlines, their courage breeds true.”
“I should like to hear that story,” Hotspur said loudly. “Perhaps with supper the bailiff will tell it.”
They dismounted, Hal last, and though it was Hal’s tradition to care for her own horse, Mora had convinced her they should get the formalities handled immediately: the two of them went with the bailiff, the village reeve, and the keep’s cook for witnesses up into the lord’s office while Hotspur remained to oversee their party’s settling in.
The keep’s entitling charter had been written a hundred years previous, etched into a tile of hardwood. To pass it between Mora and Hal required nothing in actuality, no ritual or even word, for the charter clearly stated the keep’s master would be the same as the heir to the Blood and the Sea for as long as that ring was sovereign over Aremoria. But Hal walked to the tile where it leaned over the plain hearth and pressed her hand flat to it. Her forefinger was encircled by a Bolinbroke ring pressed with entwined bluebells, her middle finger by a thin gold ring her father had given her before he died. Only the sword at her hip marked her as heir, and the shared acknowledgment of those in the room.
Mora sighed shortly, addressing the bailiff, “I would like wine, if you please, Imaros.”
“The lady of knights has plenty of wine in the hall, if you would join her.”
“The who?” Hal asked, turning away from the hearth. She met Mora’s startled gaze.
Imaros, the bailiff, stretched his mouth into a long line. The cook answered, “The lady of knights, Prince. She claimed you told her she might have the use of your keep.”
Hal moved too fast for ceremony, with Mora tight at her heels.
They heard the snoring before they charged through the thick arched doorway and into the keep’s long hall. Whitewashed walls lifted the ceiling a mere fifteen feet, where thick rafters striped the hall like ribs. No banner hung beside the hearth or from either wall, and that would have to change. Three tables lined up before a master table, and there, slumped at the head in a massive chair, was Lady Ianta Oldcastle.
Also asleep, curled on a furry rug at the hearth, were three hunting hounds and a young girl called Essa who’d served as Ianta’s aide for at least two years, despite her youth and tiny stature.
Hal stared for a moment, relief and anger and shock all a-war for her first reaction. Mora crossed her arms over her chest, but before she could speak, Hal laughed.
The laugh barked across the hall, and Ianta snorted as she woke, bleary eyed. Essa leapt to her feet and tripped over a dog. She yelped, caught herself, and then fell to her knees when she saw Mora and Hal. To whom she knelt was impossible to say.
“Get up,” Hal said, stepping forward and offering a hand. “Have you been caring for this great beast by yourself all this time?”
“We—we came last month, sir—my prince!” Essa stood, hand in Hal’s, and glanced over her shoulder at Lady Ianta, who currently was hauling herself out of the chair.
Ianta Oldcastle was nearing sixty, as fat as she was tall, and the strongest knight Hal had ever known. Her hair flopped in her flushed pink face, more silver and gray than the sunlight-yellow it had been in her youth. “Hal!” Ianta exclaimed. “My Mora! I knew you would come eventually. I have kept the hall warm for you.”
“Have you,” Mora drawled. Her elbows were a sharp shield as she hugged herself.
“Naturally, what else would I be doing here?”
“Hiding?” Mora suggested.
Hal released Essa and went to Ianta. “Whatever it is, I’m glad you’re here.” She threw her arms around the wide old knight and squeezed.
Ianta slowly put her own arms up and hugged the breath out of Hal. The old woman smelled of sweet wine and