I asked the same question of the Prince.

I do not know. She merely told Chade there had been a change in plans, and that she left it up to him to be certain that no one followed us. I do not like this.

Nor do I.

I watched as the Prince said something to his mother. She only shook her head at him. Her lips were firmly closed. Laurel rode looking straight ahead. My brief glimpse of her had shown me that there were new lines in her brow, and less flesh to her face. So, she had been the Queen’s emissary to the Witted. Was that how she fought the Piebalds? Trying to win more political power for a more temperate group? It made sense, but it could not have been an easy task for her, or a safe one. I wondered when she had last slept soundly.

The melting slush gave way unevenly beneath our horses’ hooves. We left by the west gate. Ostensibly, only the Prince and Marshcroft knew our destination. The bird with the message had arrived yesterday. In reality, I shared that knowledge. There had been mutterings and discontent about the Queen’s consenting to meet with emissaries of Old Blood. It had been judged wiser to keep our rendezvous location a secret lest any of the more intractable nobles sabotage our plans.

The wind promised either rain or wet snow to come. Sap had flushed the leafless trees to life. We did not take the fork of the road that led down to the river but instead took the branch that led into the forested hills behind Buckkeep Castle. A lone hawk patrolled the sky, perhaps in search of venturesome mice. Or perhaps not, I thought to myself. As the trees drew closer to the road, Marshcroft gave us the order to re-form so that the Prince and the Queen rode now in our midst instead of before us. My dread grew. Not by any word or sign had Dutiful indicated that he was aware that I rode at his back, but I was glad of the tight Skill awareness that hung between us.

We rode on through the morning, and at each fork in the road, we took the less trafficked one. I was not pleased that the narrowing passage through the trees forced us into a long and straggling line. Myblack detested keeping a steady pace following the horse in front of her. I had a constant battle to keep her from moving up on him. Her willfulness was an unwelcome distraction as I tried to expand my Wit awareness of the forest around us. Given the men and horses around me, it was a near impossible task to be aware of anything beyond them, much like trying to listen for the squeaking of a mouse while surrounded by barking dogs. Nonetheless, I cursed myself and sent a sharp Skill warning to the Prince when I first became aware of the outriders flanking us. They had done a wonderful job. I was suddenly aware of two of them, and before I could draw breath, noticed three more ghosting alongside us through the trees. They were on foot, their faces hooded against recognition. They carried bows.

This is not where we were told they’d await us, Dutiful Skilled anxiously as Marshcroft called an abrupt halt. We formed up as well as we could around the Prince. The Witted I could see had arrows nocked, but the bows were not drawn.

Then, “Old Blood greets you!” a voice rang through the forest.

“Dutiful Farseer returns greeting,” Dutiful replied clearly when the Queen kept silent. He sounded very calm, but I could almost feel the hammering of his heart.

A short, dark woman came striding through her archers to stand before us. Unlike the others, she was unarmed and her face uncovered. She looked up at the Prince. Then she turned her gaze to the Queen. Her eyes widened and a tenuous smile came to her face. Then, “FitzChivalry,” she said clearly. I stiffened but Dutiful relaxed.

He nodded to Marshcroft as he said, “That was the agreed-upon password. These are the folk we promised to meet and escort.” He turned back to the woman. “But why are you here rather than at our arranged rendezvous?”

She laughed lightly, but bitterly. “We have learned a measure of caution in the past, my lord, in dealing with Farseers. You will forgive us if we still employ it. It has saved many a life here.”

“You have not always been fairly dealt with, so I will excuse your suspicion. I am here, as you requested, to assure you that we offer the emissaries safe passage to Buckkeep Castle.”

The woman nodded. “And have you brought for us a hostage, one nobly born, as we requested?”

For the first time, the Queen spoke. “He is here. I give you my son.”

Dutiful went white. Marshcroft burst out, “My queen, I beg you, no!” He turned back to the Old Blood woman. “Lady, if it please you, I was told nothing of a hostage. Do not take my prince from my protection. Take me instead!”

Did you know of this? I demanded of Dutiful.

No. But I understand her reasoning. His response was oddly calm. He spoke his next words aloud, but they were for me as much as for the guard. “Peace, Marshcroft. This is my mother’s decision, and I will obey it. No one will fault you for following your queen’s will. For in this, I am Sacrifice for my people.” He turned to look at his mother. His face was still pale, but his voice was firm. He was proud of this moment, I suddenly knew. Proud to serve in this way, proud that she had thought him mature enough to face this challenge. “If it is my queen’s will, then I put my life in your hands. And if any of your folk are harmed, then I am willing forfeit.”