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Anne nodded. “I sent four men to spread the word. I thought I would test the theory that I have their support.” She turned to her friend and smiled. “It appears that I do, at least some of them.”

“And why shouldn’t you?” Austra excitedly replied. “You’re their queen!”

At sundown Anne stood at the window of Saint Ceasel’s Tower on the Fastness. It was a beautiful afternoon; the sun’s great belly was impaled on the distant towers of Thornrath, making a red mirror of the Ensae, which she could just make out between the great paps of Tom Woth and Tom Cast. She could see the Sleeve, already velvety with shadow, and far below that the vine-covered dwellings of the dead in Eslen-of-Shadows and farther out on the misty rinns. The wind was from the sea, and it smelled strong and good.

This was her home; these were the sights and smells of her childhood. And yet it was strange now. Until a year ago this frame she looked upon—Thornrath, the rinns—contained most of the world she knew. Oh, she’d been east as far as Loiyes, but she knew now that that was a small distance. Today, in her mind’s far gaze she could see beyond the rinns to the hills and forest, across the strands and plains of Hornladh and Tero Gallé, to the South Lierish Sea, to the white hills and red roofs of Vitellio.

Every sight, every sound, every league traveled had made her something different, and home no longer fit the way it once had.

She turned her attention to the north, to the city. There was the palace, of course, the only thing that really stood above her now, and below was her little kingdom of Gobelin Court. Volunteers continued to arrive, and Leafton and the other Craftsmen were working quickly to make them useful. The redoubt was infinitely more secure than it had been during the first attack, and all the natural walls were now well manned.

Robert’s men hadn’t been idle, of course. She could see them all around, a few streets away from her perimeter, building their own camps, trying to cut off aid from the outside. She’d even seen a few small siege engines rumbling down the hill, but most of the streets approaching the quarter weren’t wide enough for them.

“Do you think they’ll attack again tonight?” she asked Leafton.

“I doubt it. Nor, I think, will they fight in the morning. A siege is what I imagine. He’ll try and keep us contained here until we’re out of supplies.”

“Good,” Anne said.

“Your pardon, Majesty.”

“I have something to do tonight,” she told him. “In the Sefry house. I will be unavailable all night, possibly into tomorrow. I am not to be disturbed, and I leave the defense of this place entirely to you.”

“Of course, you must have your rest,” Leafton said. “But in case of an emergency—”

“I won’t be available,” she asserted. “I’ll take four men of your choosing to guard me, but other than that, do not send anyone into the house after me. Do you understand?”

“I don’t understand, Majesty, no.”

“What I meant was, ‘Will you obey?’” Anne clarified.

“Of course, Majesty.”

“Very good. Austra, Cazio—it’s time we were going.” She laid her hand on Leafton’s arm. “You’re a capable man,” she said. “I trust you. Keep my men safe. Please.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

Anne wasn’t sure what she’d thought the entrance to the Crepling passage would look like, but she’d imagined it would be hidden, an invisible wall panel of some sort, a rotating bookcase, a hatch beneath a rug.

It was, at least, located in the cold cellar of the building, behind racks of wine and hanging meats. But the entrance itself was just a little door set into the living rock into which the Sefry house was built. It was made of some sort of dark metal, with hinges and hasps of polished brass. Mother Uun produced a rather large key. She turned it in the lock, and the door opened almost noiselessly, revealing a descending stairway.

Anne allowed herself a wisp of a smile. Artwair and others in her command had assured her that the city and castle of Eslen were nearly impregnable, that its poellands and massive walls could frustrate nearly any