Prince Rainhart toed around in the dirt of the clearing, found a rock, and kicked it. Briga lifted her head from her paws, considered him, considered the direction of the projectile, and went back to sleep.

Marching across to the pavilion the servants had set up, Rainhart flopped down on a cushion, stole a peach from the platter, and used his hunting knife to peel the skin.

Princess Holle regarded him with raised eyebrows. "We will get there soon enough, brother," she said. "Fretting won't make the road shorter or the journey faster."

"It might if I could convince you to take shorter breaks," said Rainhart.

"I've been mewed up in a seminary for four years. I do apologise I am no longer sturdy enough to sit on a horse for ten hours a day. If I had been sent off to be fostered with a marcher lord and you to the seminary, you would have the same complaint."

"I brought a carriage."

"Which has come in very handy for my luggage, thank you."

"Aren't priestesses in training supposed to eschew worldly goods?" said Rainhart, lying back on the blanket.

He underestimated his opponent. "I donated all my worldly belongings to a very kind and deserving family in the village on the strict understanding that when the time came for me to leave, I would donate them a purse of coins in return for all of it back again," said Holle with perfect serenity.

"Great and lesser gods," said Rainhart, impressed.

"Brother, don't blaspheme in the presence of a holy woman."

"In training."

Holle raised the cup of sweet wine she had been drinking. "And may the great gods hear my prayer and save me from my confirmation."

Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Rainhart studied his sister. "You don't want to be a priestess?"

"An accident of birth order, and one of the many joys of our family," said Holle. "Maldwyn to the state, I to the church, you..." She fixed her bright blue eyes on him, "a sacrificial piece in the king our father's plot to hand Deusetats over to Jovan."

Rainhart flopped back down. "Don't remind me. What do you think she's like? Lady Philomena Sylvanus."

"Well, she's the Empress' cousin," said Holle.

"Her father is the Empress' uncle, isn't he?"

"Mm, lord Valentinus Sylvanus. So she's well born on that side. A pity her mother was an Alysine peasant, though. And I hear she's very handy with a mop and bucket," Holle added with a giggle.

"I suppose she speaks three languages at least." Rainhart looked up into the fabric canopy above him.

"Well, so do I," said Holle. "It isn't my fault one of them is Old Teutic--a dead language that would be forgotten in a crypt if the High Priestess of Deusetats weren't so obsessed with it."

Rainhart sucked air into every corner of his lungs, then puffed it out through his nose. "Can we please get back on the road now?"

Draining her cup, Holle held out her hand to Rainhart. "Help me up," she said. When he obliged, she straightened her split riding skirt, patted her hair down and said, "I am ready to go now."

"And thank the great and lesser gods for that," said Rainhart, looking up at the sky.

* * *

Rainhart could feel sweat trickling down his back, between his shoulder blades. What with the sun, the horse and his quilted doublet, it was surprising that he hadn't just melted into a puddle. Of course the day when they were riding out of the forest onto the cleared fields around Breg would end up being unseasonably warm for the spring.

Holle rode beside him. Her gown was as heavy and ornate as his doublet, and she was using a chicken skin fan to keep herself cool. "Only a little further," she said.

"Thanks be to the great and lesser gods," said Rainhart.

"And there waits your betrothed."

Rainhart felt the double thud of his heart. It was one thing to be betrothed when you were riding around in the border mountains fighting off Wendian skirmishers and rolling about with the hounds; in those circumstances, the idea of marriage was as distant as dimly-remembered Breg Castle, whence he had departed when he was ten. But now, Breg Castle loomed above him, and somewhere in it was Lady Philomena Sylvanus, to whom, in under a month, he would be pledging his heart and his sword.

Briga trotted along beside his horse, her tongue lolling out one side of her mouth. Did Lady Philomena Sylvanus like dogs? Perhaps she preferred terriers like Baron Milos' wife liked to breed. He could accept that.

They rode through the west gate of Breg and into the blessed shade of its stone buildings. Two younger Reuz children who would never ascend the throne were of only passing interest to the inhabitants of Breg, who went about their business, pushing carts, chickens and children out of the way of the carriage and shading their faces with scraps of homespun. The scents of the town assailed Rainhart's nostrils: excrement was prominent, mixing with the smell of butchered animals, baking bread, and a waft of incense.

"Briga, to heel," he called sharply when the hound went dashing off after a chicken.

Holle had swapped her fan for a scented handkerchief, which she waved in front of her nose. "Great gods," she murmured. "Was Breg always this dismal?"

"I hardly remember," said Rainhart. "I remember it being big and grey. Now it strikes me as... well, smaller, and grey."

"An astute observation given you have grown two and a half feet in the intervening years."

They turned onto the sloping carriageway that approached the castle. "How long until the Kingmoot?" said Rainhart.

"Three weeks," said Holle.

"And then back to the seminary for you."

Holle was silent for a moment. "I'll wager my necklace against your stiletto knife that I never return to the seminary," she said.

"Oh?" Rainhart looked over his shoulder at his sister. Her chin was up, and there was a look of determination in her eyes that he recognised from the beaten-silver mirror in his own room.

"Do you accept?"

"No." Rainhart turned back to face the castle.

"Come on, big brother. Don't tell me those stern border folk have infected you with their morals."

"What is your plan?"

"I am not sure. I might prevail upon mother to keep me by her. Or perhaps find a nice Teuta baron's son to marry. But I have no intention of becoming a priestess. It doesn't suit me at all. I'm driving the Preceptress to distraction, poor old dove, and she can't say anything because I'm a Reuz and she is from some clothmerchant's family." She paused. "Perhaps you will find me indispensable to your married happiness and ask that I stay in Breg."

"You want me to request you as a wedding gift from father," said Rainhart, swivelling in the saddle, his eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. "Besides, what's to say he isn't planning on shipping me and Lady Philomena back to the marches as soon as the ceremony is over?"

Holle frowned. " 'Tis a good point."

Rainhart looked around. They were about to cross through the barbican and into the castle. "Here we go," he murmured as the shadow of the great gate covered them.

"Keep your chin up, brother," Holle murmured.

Without looking back, Rainhart nodded. They dismounted in the bailey, and a groom led the horses away. When Rainhart hesitated, Holle said, "This way," gesturing to a long cloister.

As they were walking, the Queen emerged from the cloister. "My dear ones," she called. "Oh, look how you've both grown. Maldwyn, come here so I may see all of my children together at last."

Maldwyn, whom Rainhart remembered as a surly fifteen-year-old, was now a louche young man with the same flaxen hair as Holle, which he wore down around his shoulders and covered by a round cap. "Rainhart, upon my words," Maldwyn drawled. "After all these years in the marches, I half-expected you to appear smothered in furs with a belt of rabbit's tails."

"It's a little warm for my bearskin cloak," said Rainhart.

The brothers sized each other up. Rainhart was taller and a little broader than Maldwyn these days, although the court ladies would no doubt prefer Maldwyn's bright hair, soft nails and smooth manners to Rainhart's gruff marcher ways. After a moment, Maldwyn smiled, revealing two gold teeth. "Brother, embrace me," he said. "It has been too long."

They clapped each other on the back. "Do you hunt?" said Maldwyn.

Rainhart nodded. "Different game, I suspect. It's been a while since we saw deer in the high mountains. I think the wolves ate them all."

"Good, you'll be my assistant in organising the hunt for the barons, then. You'll be glad for something to take your mind off nuptials."

Holle, who had been talking to the Queen said, "And speaking of nuptials, where is your wife, Maldwyn?"

"Oh, she's around somewhere, I expect," said Maldwyn without interest.

"And Lady Philomena?" Holle persisted. Rainhart looked quickly at her; he had been wondering the same thing.

The Queen's brows drew down. "I thought it would be nice for us to be together as a family before all those others come in and interfere."

"Where is the King, then, mother?" Maldwyn drawled.

The Queen reached out and drew him to her, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow. "You know he is very busy with matters of state," she said. "If only that--Crown Prince Tancred were any help at all, perhaps things would not fall so heavily on your father's shoulders."

Holle and Rainhart exchanged looks. The Queen batted away the unpleasant topic. "Come along inside and out of this baking sun," she said. "I--"

Whatever the Queen was going to say next was interrupted by a shriek, and then a cacophony of barking. "Oh no," said Rainhart. A quick glance around him confirmed Briga was nowhere to be seen.

He sprinted in the direction of the shriek, through the cloisters and into the castle courtyard. He found a girl, a few years younger than him, backed up against a hedge while Briga yapped and gambolled around her.

"Briga, to heel," he said, and the hound wheeled and trotted over to him, tongue lolling.

Meanwhile, the girl was releasing her breath and dusting off her skirt. The first thing he noticed was her eyes, which were large and dark, and sat under straight, quizzical eyebrows. She was pretty in a petite, small-boned way, with olive skin and black hair. "I'm--I apologise for my dog," he said. "She sometimes forgets how big she is."

"It's no bother," said the girl, putting her hand on her chest. "I'm sorry I shrieked." She gave a rueful smile. "I was startled, that's all."

"Lady Philomena," said the Queen, striding past Rainhart. "Were you the source of that noise fit to wake the lesser gods?" She threw up her hands.

"I do apologise, your majesty," said Philomena.

"And in front of Prince Rainhart, too. No doubt you've given him a disgust of you with that display."

"Prince Rainhart," Philomena echoed, her wide eyes going to Rainhart's face. "Oh."

"Not at all," said Rainhart, stepping forward and taking Philomena's hand in his. "It is, ah, very nice to meet you, Lady Philomena." But he didn't miss the way her hand shook, or the wary eye she kept on Briga.