“Isn’t this convenient?” he said, and dismounted. “Of all the people in the world-I was just coming to see you, old man.”

The leader was tall and held his side gingerly, moving stiffly. His piercing eyes glared out from under his hood, his nose and mouth shrouded by a crimson scarf.

“Out for an early stroll in a snowstorm?” he asked, closing the distance between them.

“Hardly,” Arcadius replied. “We’re in flight.”

“I’m sure you are. Clearly if I had waited even a day, I would have missed you, and you might have slipped away. Coming to the palace was a foolish mistake. You exposed too much. And for what? You should have known better. But age must bring with it a degree of desperation.” He looked at Mercy. “Is this the girl?”

“Guy,” Arcadius said, “Sheridan is burning. The elves have crossed the Nidwalden. The elves have attacked!”

Guy! Miranda knew him, or at least his reputation. Arcadius had taught her the names of all the church sentinels. From the professor’s viewpoint, Luis Guy was the most dangerous. All sentinels were obsessed, all chosen for their rabid orthodoxy, but Guy had a legacy. His mother’s maiden name was Evone. She had been a pious girl who had married Lord Jarred Seret, a direct descendant of the original Lord Darius Seret, who had been charged by Patriarch Venlin to find the heir of the Old Empire. In the realm of heir hunters, Luis Guy was a fanatic among fanatics.

“Don’t play me for a fool. This is the girl-child you spoke to Saldur and Ethelred about, isn’t it? The one you wanted to groom as the next empress. Why would you do that, old man? Why pick this girl? Is this another ruse? Or were you actually trying to slip her past us? To atone for your mistake.” Guy crouched down to get a better look at Mercy’s face. “Come here, child.”