Thum winced. “What—”

“The king is leaving Savroix!” Dain whispered. A shout warned him, and he jumped back just in time to avoid being trampled by a feisty warhorse. A groom dangled at the end of the animal’s tether, swearing and trying to calm his charge.  Dain retreated, pushing Thum ahead of him. “You heard them. Tomorrow!”

“When will you have your audience?” Thum asked.

“Thod knows. The chamberlain promised me as soon as the festivities were ended.”

Dain scowled. “He lied to me, and I didn’t even realize it.”

“How could you?” Thum said.

Frowning and bitterly disappointed, Dain held his tongue before he betrayed the fact that he could read truth and lies inside men-minds.  “After all,” Thum said, “the king is known for acting impulsively. Perhaps he only decided to go this morning.”

Dain grimaced. “It does not matter. What’s important is that he’s going. And I must talk to him first.”

“You can’t.”

“I must.” Dain set his jaw in determination. “And I will.” “Don’t be rash,” Thum said worriedly. “Every minute of his majesty’s day is planned. As soon as the tourney ends this afternoon, there is to be the choosing of the king’s new sword. And then the banquet feast, and Prince Gavril’s investiture. You can’t even hope to get close to his majesty. You’ll just have to wait until he comes back.”

Dain felt despair. “And how long will that be? Kings spend weeks hunting, do they not?”

“They can,” Thum said unhappily. “I’m sorry, Dain. There’s nothing you can do but wait here.”

“I could spend the winter, ‘waiting here.’ That’s what the old duc was trying to warn me. I thought him unkind, but now I see his advice was true.”