Lowan Vigeles raised an eyebrow. “Which half?”
An hour later Lowan greeted his daughter again with another hug and a goblet of
hearth-warmed wine. She accepted both gratefully, sipped the drink, and took one
of the two massive wooden chairs before the fireplace. She had hastily bathed
and changed into a gown of soft blue linen. The traveling leathers she had lived
in for months were even now being buried by one of her men.
“I really tried to keep my promise. Father.” She set her wine on the chair arm
and stretched wearily. “I tried to get back.” She gazed into the fire, finding a
measure of tranquility in the dancing flames, and she took another drink. The
liquor warmed her thoroughly.
“It’s all right, child,” Lowan soothed. “So long as you’re safe. I just worry
too much.” He sipped his own wine and regarded her. “Where did you find Daphne?
Did you leam of anyone else?”
Chenaya shook her head slowly. Memories of her journey flooded her head,
overpowering her emotions. “No one else,” she said at last. “Either the rest of
the Royal Family is dead, or they’re hidden too damn well in fear of Theron.”
She looked up at him. “In fact, I was on my way home when I happened through
Azehur. That’s just the other side of the Gray Wastes.”
She told him of the tavern she had stopped at. There had been a high-stakes game
of dice. She wasn’t playing for once, just watching with interest, especially
when one of the players pulled a ring from a pouch on his belt.
“It was a Royal Sigil,” she said, holding up one hand to show the ring she wore,