Chapter 93

RHYS

I asked for Corwin because he had learned their faces.

That was the reason I gave the King, and it was true. On the sixteenth of October, three and a half years gone, Corwin had stood at the gatehouse with his hand on the bar while the prisoners’ cart went out on a walk, and he had not lifted his hand to her. He had looked at the man in the brown cloak, and then at the driver, for as long as it took them to pass, the way a sergeant looks over a draft of recruits he means to remember. I had seen him do it. I had not asked him why. I had been very careful, that autumn, not to ask anybody why.

The other reason I did not give anyone. It was mine, and it was not much of a reason. Only that I had put his head into a set of iron bars on the lower row, and he had not said a word to me since that was not owed to a Beta by the gate watch, and I wanted to stand next to him while we did one thing right.

He came to the stable yard at dawn with his own saddle o