“Does not it seem to you that there were too many Outislanders here? More than five ships’ worth?”

Burrich halted. He looked back to the scattered bodies. “Perhaps those other ships had left them here, and then gone out on patrol….”

“That is not their way. I suspect a larger ship, transporting a sizable force of men.”

“Where?”

“Gone now. I think I glimpsed it, going into that fog bank.”

We fell silent. Burrich showed me to where he had tethered Ruddy and Sooty and we rode together up to Bayguard. The great doors of the Keep stood wide open, and a combination of Buckkeep soldiers and Bayguard folk mingled there. We were greeted with a shout of welcome, and offered brimming cups of mead before we were even dismounted. Boys begged to take our horses for us, and to my surprise, Burrich let them. Within the hall was genuine rejoicing that would have put any of Regal’s revels to shame. All of Bayguard had been thrown open for us. Ewers and basins of warm scented water had been set out in the Great Hall for us to refresh ourselves, and tables were heavy with food, none of it hard bread or salt fish.

We remained three days at Neatbay. During this time our dead were buried, and the bodies of the Outislanders burned. Buckkeep soldiers and Queen’s guard fell in alongside the people of Neatbay to assist in the repairs to Bayguard’s fortifications and in salvaging what was left of Neatbay Town. I made a few quiet inquiries. I found that the watchtower signal had been lit as soon as the ships were sighted, but that the Red-Ships had made extinguishing it one of their first goals. What of their coterie member? I asked. Kelvar looked at me in surprise. Burl had been recalled weeks ago, for some essential duty inland. He had gone to Tradeford, Kelvar believed.

The day after the battle, reinforcements arrived from South Cove. They had not seen the signal fire, but the messengers sent out on horse had gotten through to them. I was present when Kettricken commended Duke Kelvar for his foresight in setting up a relay of horse for such messages, and sent her thanks also to Duke Shemshy of Shoaks for his response. She suggested they divide the captured ships, that they need no longer wait for warships to arrive, but could dispatch their own, for mutual defense. This was a sumptuous gift, and it was received in an awed silence. When Duke Kelvar recovered himself, he rose to offer a toast to his queen and to the unborn Farseer heir. So swiftly had the rumor become general knowledge. Queen Kettricken colored prettily, but managed her thanks well.

Those brief days of victory were a healing balm to us all. We had fought, and fought well. Neatbay would rebuild, and the Outislanders had no hold in Bayguard. For a brief time it seemed possible that we could win free of them entirely.

Before we had left Neatbay, the songs were already being sung, about a Queen with her skirts bundled up standing bold against the Red-Ships, and of the child in her womb who was a warrior before birth. That the Queen would risk not only herself but the heir to the throne for Rippon Duchy was not lost upon any of them. First Duke Brawndy of Bearns, and now Kelvar of Rippon, I thought to myself. Kettricken was doing well at winning the Duchies’ loyalty.

I had my moments at Neatbay, both warming and chilling. For Lady Grace, on seeing me in the Great Hall, recognized me and came to speak to me. “So,” she had said after greeting me quietly, “my kitchen dog boy has the blood of kings in him. No wonder you advised me so well, those years ago.” She had grown well into being a lady and a Duchess. Her feist dog still went everywhere with her, but now he ran about at her heels, and this change pleased me almost as much as her easy carriage of her title and her obvious affection for her duke.

“We have both changed much, Lady Grace,” I replied, and she accepted the compliment I intended. The last time I had seen her had been when I had traveled here with Verity. She had not then been so comfortable being a Duchess. I had met her in the kitchens, when her dog had been choking on a bone. I had persuaded her then that her duke’s coin was better spent on watchtowers than jewelry for her. Back then, she had been very new to being a Duchess. Now she seemed never to have been anything else.

“Not a dog boy anymore?” she asked with a wry smile.

“Dog boy? Man wolf!” observed someone. I turned to see who had spoken, but the hall was crowded and no face seemed turned to watch us. I shrugged as if the remark were of no consequence, and Lady Grace appeared not to have even heard it. She presented me with a token of her favor before I left. It still makes me smile to think on it: a tiny pin in the shape of a fish’s bones. “I had this made, to remind me … I should like you to have it now.” She herself seldom wore jewelry anymore, she told me. She handed it to me on a balcony, on a dark evening when the lights of Duke Kelvar’s watchtowers glittered like diamonds against the black sky.