“Yes,” she repeated, this time turning to me. “I’ve come … that is, I’ve been chosen to come and ask a favor of you.”
I gestured at the clothes she wore. “I don’t understand. You’ve left Verity’s guard?”
She gave a tiny shrug, but I could see the question delighted her. “But not to go far. Queen’s guard. Vixen badge. See?” She tugged the front of the short white jacket she wore to hold the fabric taut. Good sensible woolen homespun, I saw, and saw, too, the embroidered snarling white fox on a purple background. The purple matched the purple of her heavy woolen trousers. The loose pants cuff had been tucked into knee boots. Her partner’s garb matched hers. Queen’s guard. In light of Kettricken’s adventure, the uniform made sense.
“Verity decided she needed a guard of her own?” I asked delightedly.
The smile faded a bit from Whistle’s face. “Not exactly,” she hedged, and then straightened as if reporting to me. “We decided she needed a Queen’s guard. Me and some of the others that rode with her the other day. We got to talking about … everything, later. About how she handled herself out there. And back here. And how she came here, all alone. We talked about it then, that someone should get permission to form up a guard for her. But none of us really knew how to approach it. We knew it was needed, but no one else seemed to be paying much attention … but then last week, at the gate, I heard you got pretty hot about how she’d gone out, on foot and alone, and no one at her back. Well, you did! I was in the other room, and I heard!”