More princely conveyance, Ingrey revised his thought. A former manure wagon seemed to him all too fitting. Closer to Easthome, he decided, he would send a rider ahead to guide a relief cortege to him, and hand off Boleso's body to more gaudy and noble ceremony, provided by those who cared for the prince. Or at least, cared for Boleso's rank and the show they made to each other. Maybe he'd send the rider tonight.
He washed his hands in the spring's outlet and accepted a slab of venison wrapped in bread from his lieutenant, Gesca. Gnawing, he looked around for his prisoner and her attendant. The teamster's wife was busy about the food baskets by the unhitched wagon. Lady Ijada was walking about the clearing-in that costume, she might whisk into the woods and disappear among the tall tree boles in a moment. Instead, she pried up a stone from the crumbled foundation above the spring and picked her way over to where Ingrey rested on a big fallen log.
Ingrey looked. On one side of the stone a spiral pattern was incised into the weathered surface.
“It's the same as one of the symbols Boleso had drawn on his body. In red madder, centered on his navel. Did you see it there?”
“No,” Ingrey admitted. “His body had been washed off already.”
“Oh,” she said, looking a little taken aback. “Well, it was.”
“I do not doubt you.” Though others will be free to. Had she realized this yet?
She stared around the clearing. “Do you think this place was a forest shrine, once?”
“Very possibly.” He followed her glance, studying the stumps and the sizes of the trees. Whatever holy or unholy purposes the original possessors had held, the latest ax work had been done by