Came a morning when I was jolted awake to someone pounding on my door and yelling my name. I stumbled from my bed and jerked the door open. A white-faced stable boy stood shaking on my doorstep. “Hands says come to the stables. Right now!”
He gave me no time to reply to his urgent message, but raced off as if seven kinds of demons were after him.
I pulled on yesterday’s clothes. I thought of splashing my face with water, or smoothing my hair back into its tail afresh, but those thoughts occurred to me halfway down the stairs. As I raced across the courtyard I could already hear the raised voices of a quarrel in the stable. I knew Hands would not have called me for a simple squabble among stable hands. I could not imagine what he would call me for. I pushed open the stable doors, then shoved my way past a gaggle of stable boys and grooms to get to the center of the commotion.
It was Burrich. He was no longer shouting. Travel worn and weary, he now stood silent. Hands was beside him, white-faced but standing firm. “I had no choice,” he said quietly in answer to something Burrich had said. “You would have had to do the same.”
Burrich’s face looked ravaged. His eyes were unbelieving, empty with shock. “I know,” he said after a moment. “I know.” He turned to look at me. “Fitz. My horses are gone.” He swayed slightly on his feet.
“It wasn’t Hands’s doing,” I said quietly. Then I asked, “Where is Prince Verity?”
His brows knit and he looked at me oddly. “You did not expect me?” He paused, said more loudly, “Messages were sent ahead of me. Didn’t you get them?”