We made The Red Stone Inn before the sun set, one of the many inns Papa had sent word ahead to, so they could be prepared for our arrival. The horses were settled into the large stable for the night and Papa purchased adjoining rooms: one for himself, one for myself and Crystal. Gerard and his men would spend the night in the servants' quarters. It was still early, so we had our bags sent upstairs while we took a meal in the common room.

The Red Stone was several centuries old; it had been built, rebuilt and remodeled so many times over those years that little of the original structure was left. What did remain were the red stones that formed the border around the whole inn. They were more brown than red these days, but if you looked closely and if the sun hit just right, they sparkled crimson. The other original piece was the long marble table that dominated the common room. Travelers didn't eat at this table—several black oak tables served this purpose—rather, it was the place where food was laid out. Huge flower centerpieces and baskets of sweet bread and fruit were always available.

While Papa placed our dinner order with the owner, I gravitated towards the table closest to where a bard was setting up. Crystal followed sedately, smiling as the man pulled out our chairs. He was a Royal Bard and his years of service were sown into his shoulder sash. Bards like this one served the Queen and were her mouthpiece throughout the kingdom.

"My ladies," he greeted me with a bow. "On your way to the debutante ball, I presume?" His voice was low and rich.

"Yes," I replied shortly, trying to not sound as grumpy as I felt. Crystal nudged me with the toe of her boot—a reminder to put on my court manners. Gritting my teeth, I forced my lips into a semblance of a polite smile.

If the Bard noticed, his expression betrayed nothing. "Shall my ladies have a song?"

I was in no mood for music, but Crystal was. "Do you know 'Open Fields of Green'?" she inquired, tilting her head to the side.

The Bard smiled. "My lady has excellent taste." With a wink and a bow, he walked back to his stool in the corner to tune his guitar strings. Papa appeared at my elbow and settled into his chair. Not long after, our meals appeared. I dug into the warm beef broth and listened with half an ear to the Royal Bard's opening strumming.

"Good evening, and welcome to The Red Stone Inn," he said, weaving his voice with the notes of the guitar. "I am Nevin, your Royal Bard for the night. Before I begin, I have some announcements from the Queen to pass along." The room grew quiet save for the clinking of glasses and the movements of the bar staff. "Several days ago, Her Majesty received reports that three birds attempted a cattle raid in Mechin."

Papa paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Mechin was to the south of us, meaning that the birds had to fly around Gaelré just to reach it. Usually, the rogues just tried to fly over us, because it took less time and energy. These were either very foolish or very desperate.

"Two young men were injured in the raid," the Bard continued, "but they are said to be recovering. Her Majesty bids that you exercise caution and advise that you do not engage the birds alone, as these men attempted. As you know, one bird has three times the strength of a man."

There was silence, then the whispers started. I caught patrons glancing over their shoulders at us more than once.

"How come we didn't hear of this first?" I whispered to Papa as Nevin continued with more mundane news: the coronation of a new duke in one of the Anghar Proveniences, trade agreements, court gossip. If something slipped through the cracks—it was bound to happen when your enemy was winged—then the villages and towns came to us first, not to the Crown. This was a massive slap to the face; it said to the whole country that Gaelré wasn't up to the task of protecting the border.

"I do not know," Papa replied, scratching at his beard. He glanced over at the Bard, then back to me. "What I do know is that the patrols aren't doing their jobs."

While the twin towers of Gaelré were our main means of defense against the birds, Papa also employed a series of patrols in the area. Their job was to report on the birds' activity near the Fallen Woods—the natural border between Teyvon and their territory of the Fire Mountains.

I sighed. Instead of dealing with this new problem, I was going to a ball. Crystal reached out and patted my hand, giving me a small, tight smile. She gestured to my meal. Before it grew truly cold, I dug in.

Candles were burning low when Nevin finished for the night. He stood to applause and made the tables, collecting coins and other items meant for the Queen. As a Royal Bard, he was paid directly from the treasury, but you always tipped a bard. It was considered in bad taste to ignore them. Nevin stopped at our table, saving it for last. "Baron Gaelré. Might I sit?"

Papa considered this briefly, then nodded. The Bard pulled up a chair and gestured for the maid to bring him wine. No one spoke until the Bard had his glass in hand. He took a sip and looked around. Most patrons were paying their tab and going upstairs—or around the corner if they were low on coin. He glanced at Crystal. "Might we speak privately, Baron? Just yourself and your heir?"

"Yes, we might," my father replied evenly. He looked at Crystal. "Good night, Governess."

She rose in one smooth motion and bowed her head to Papa and me. "I bid you good night, my lord, my lady. Master Bard."

Nevin waited until he had seen my governess clear the staircase. He tugged on his sash and leaned forward. Papa pursed his lips and steepled his fingers. I folded my hands together in my lap and edged my chair closer to the table.

"There are rumors that birds have been sighted near the inner cities," said the Royal Bard, his rich voice pitched to the perfect whisper.

Birds—inside Teyvon? I took a sip of wine to fortify myself and began revising my earlier plans. "What does the Queen suggest we do? Must we return home?"

Papa shot me a censorious look. I willed my tongue to behave and busied myself with the basket full of pastries that sat in the middle of the table. The ones with powdered sugar were a particular favorite. Bard Nevin took notice of the exchange but wisely said nothing on the matter. "No, my lady," he continued. "You are to go on as planned. Her Majesty will meet with you to discuss it further."

"I see," Papa replied, running a hand through his hair. "I must say, Master Bard, your news took myself and my daughter by surprise. The mayor of Mechin did not report this to us."

"Ah." The skin between the Bard's eyebrows twitched. "Well," he said, twirling the wine glass, "my lord, I hate to be the bearer of such news, but ..."

Papa's eyes narrowed a fraction. I glanced between him and the Royal Bard. What sort of news could it be?

The Bard took a deep breath. "I'm sorry to say that the mayor of Mechin reported that he has lost confidence in Gaelré 's ability to protect the border."

Never, ever had Gaelré failed her country! My mouth dropped at the insult. "How dare they—"

"Aisse." Papa's hand slid across the table and his voice took on a low, warning quality. I stiffened and flushed; Papa rarely took that tone with me. I knew then that I had overstepped myself. A nobleman's daughter, even if she were border-born, didn't take such liberties in a public setting. Biting my lip, I sat up straight in the chair and clutched my hands beneath the table.

Papa's hand curled into a fist. "Thank you for letting me know," he said to the Bard. The royal messenger nodded, eyes fixed on Papa's clenched fist. My father was a tall, muscular man who could crank a ballista as well as any soldier—and it showed.

"Could you do me one favor?" Papa continued evenly.

Bard Nevin blinked and tore his eyes from Papa's hands. "How may I be of service, my lord?"

"Would you convey this news to my seneschal?"

The Bard visibly relaxed. "I would be glad to, my lord. Have you any special instructions?"

"He will know what to do."

"Of course." Nevin finished his wine and rose with a deep bow, leaving Papa and me to contemplate his news.

I knew very well what would be happening at home: The men-at-arms would roll out the massive ground-mounted ballistae with their deadly steel barbs. The shafts were tethered by several yards of triple-braided rope to iron rings sunk deep into the ground. Once fired, the ballistae bolts would pierce the intended target and prevent it from flying off, leaving it to the mercy of our archers. Ballistae bolts made a mess, but they were effective. There would also be vats of tar to boil; bolas to coil; nets to prepare; trebuchets to maintain.

"Ai."

Blinking, I looked up from my wine into my father's eyes.

"You'd best turn in for the night, Ai. We rise early."

"Yes, Papa." I stood up slowly, then paused. "Papa?"

"Hm?"

I clenched my hands together. "I'm sorry about my outburst."

Papa sighed and rubbed two fingers against his temples. When he looked up, he was smiling—if only a little. "I know why you did it. I'm not angry at you."

Relief flooded through me, but it wasn't enough to dispel the anger I felt at the mayor of Mechin. We did everything that we could do to prevent the birds from coming over. I started to open my mouth.

Papa noticed my hesitation. "Go on, Ai."

"Yes, Papa." I leaned down, kissed his cheek, and left the dining hall. I paused on the steps in time to see Gerard break away from his men and take a seat opposite my father. With a sigh, I ascended to the upper floor—to my darkened room with only Crystal's light breathing to haunt my ears. Groping blindly, I found my bags and dressed for bed.

Sleep was long in coming. I lay in bed and stared into the blackness of night, thoughts tumbling one after the other in my mind. With a sigh, I rubbed at my eyes and rolled over, pulling the covers over the top of my head and praying for Vaotal to watch over us. Shortly thereafter, I fell asleep.