They left Tarrish in mid-morning, after the initial rush of incoming farmers and tradesman had already cleared. Sherat moved her horse to the front of their line, I’har falling in next to her, leaving Toinet trailing behind with the guards and servants. The elven archer behind her waited until the city had disappeared behind a curve of road before speaking. “We could yet go back,” I’har told her, “and you could see her-”

“No.” She stopped, jaw clenching, making herself take several slow breaths before continuing. “No, I cannot. We cannot risk going to the jail directly. Erqua will either figure out a way to save herself, or she will hang.” She said it as flatly as she could manage, kept her eyes trained straight ahead at the road before them. “Besides, we have to move now – we have lost the girl already, we cannot tarry and risk losing the Robiane.”

I’har was silent for a few more miles before he said softly, “I know how you feel, Sherat.”

No, you do not, she thought to herself. After all, I’loz’s death on that beach was more a matter of family pride to him. I’har might be insulted at the thought of his brother falling to the humans who came in search of the Freeman, but there would be no grief. Surema had been more … even Erqua, half-blooded and debt-marked, had been more. Three sisters, Sherat thought. The middle one dead, and the oldest riding north to leave the youngest to hang.

Sherat watched Zachary as he stood a hundred yards away, one hand on the reins of his horse, talking to the farmer who had been traveling south on the road. But she also watched Toinet, the way the younger woman’s eyes lingered on her personal guard. Zachary shook the farmer’s hands and turned back, leading his horse. His gaze sought out Toinet, and one corner of his mouth curved upwards. There it is, Sherat thought.

“There was some sort of incident at the WayStation Zachary reported. “That farmer just passed this morning, and said the usual attendant, this Father Hilaire, was away when bandits broke in.” He handed the reins of his horse to Edward, the younger of the two human servants who had been brought to tend to their mounts. “Some passers-by, though, cleared them out. It’s now surrounded by people from the nearby community, until the Father returns.”

“Then there should be no problem,” I’har broke in impatiently. “We only need to see the map.” Sherat shot a look in his direction, to shut him up – there was more, if he would only give the segnato the chance to finish.

“One of them is a Jotunn,” Zachary continued after a moment. “And another, a priest of Hamal. Athron Dolmen.”

Sherat’s laugh was so sudden, it surprised even her, and she had to clamp one hand over her mouth to stop another. I’har’s anger was just as quick, and when she saw him slap one hand to the hilt of his sword, she almost laughed again. “I do not suppose they have a 12-year-old girl with them, do they?” she asked, already knowing the answer. No, something else had brought them here, something they had found among the Archmater’s belongings, something Surema and Junpart had overlooked. Not that either Toinet or Zachary would figure that out, so besotted with each other as they were.

“You cannot go,” Sherat said, turning to Toinet. Stupid git, Sherat thought, but did not say aloud. “This Dolmen knows you.” She was already removing anything bearing the Antazos insignia. “Take your sword off,” she told I’har, “and leave it here.” He seemed ready to argue, but knew that the symbol – the same as his brother had born – would be recognized. And perhaps he knew that he did not want him to go in armed. “Ride off the road, to the east. We will meet you on the north side, no later than tomorrow noon.”

It was near sunset by the time they reached the WayStation, riding in silence. The closer they drew, the more giddy Sherat felt, and when she finally dismounted within the courtyard, she had to pause a moment to hold onto the saddle, to steady her legs. The Jotunn sat outside, against one wall to the side of the steps. Was it you? she wondered, and then saw the dark-eyed Middle Redding archer on the top stoop. Or you?

I’har might have been thinking the same thing from the way his fist clenched and unclenched. Sherat reached out and took his hand, tilting her chin up to look her haughtiest as she climbed the steps, ignoring both of them. Or pretending to ignore them. Her own fingers itched to call fire from the earth under them. Not yet, she told herself. Her lord had always told them to think of the slow vengeance, the long planning. There were greater things to achieve, and risking her own death (all three sisters dead) here among humans was not one of them.

So focused on the two by the steps, she was not expecting the priest to greet them in the front hall. I’har’s hand squeezed hers, and she drew herself up to her full height – at least two inches above the top of the half-Shal’s curly blonde hair – to say that they were seeking rooms for the night. But then her eyes saw the mural covered in flickering light, inlaid in gold and silver, the curve of ancient forests long ago cut down, and the sigil of the Robiane, marking where it had been held centuries before.

Sherat stopped, a hand on I’har’s arm, staring at the map, memorizing it. Then she turned abruptly on her heel, a patently false smile on her mouth, to announce that they would not need rooms after all.

Think always of the long plan, she told herself, as they rode northwards into darkness.