Chapter 95

When my father finally answered at last, it was to say that he did not want me to go.

He said it plainly, across the grey rows of papers I had laid out on Merrit’s floor, and then again to Merrit, as though he wanted a witness.

“I want that written down somewhere,” he said. “So that nobody tells you afterward that I was glad.”

“I won’t,” said Merrit, beside him. “I never write down anything a king says. It encourages them.”

My father did not smile. He looked at Vane’s courier docket by my foot.

“I could send forty wardens to Mirefold in plain coats,” he said, “and Isadora would know by the second week. You are right about that.” He was quiet. “It is not why I don’t want you to go.”

“I know why.”

“Your mother went out by the river with yo