When at last the Quentin of the story won his bride’s hand and made peace with his enemy, a resounding cheer went up throughout the hall.

“Well done!” they cried. “More! More! Sing it again!” Everyone shouted their praise and cried for more, though the evening was growing late. But Larksong took off his hat and made a sweeping bow to all assembled.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, one and all!” He bowed to the King. “My songs are finished this night. Perhaps I may come again.”

“Yes, come again!” they cried. “Come tomorrow!”

Larksong looked inquiringly at the King. Quentin nodded his approval, and all his guests added theirs. And then reluctantly-for it had been a wonderful night-the people began to leave.

Quentin rose. “Oh, my sides are sore for laughing! What a night! What a night.” He peered around. “Now where has Toli gone? I would speak with him.”

“I think he is occupied at present,” replied Bria. “Come along. Speak with him tomorrow.”

“Esme?”

“Who did you think? Come along.” Bria tugged on his arm and led him away. They left the hall and the servants began dousing the torches, giving the great room over to the night.

No sooner had they reached their chambers when a knock sounded upon the door. “Who can that be?” asked Quentin. He opened the door to see Esme’s companion, Chloe, wringing her hands and tugging at her apron.

“Sire, I-” She stared past him to Bria. “My Lady, I do not know what to do.”

Bria stepped forward. “What is it, Chloe? What is wrong?”

“My Lady,” she curtsied. “I… could you come?”

“What is it?” demanded Quentin.

“My Lord,” said Bria, “go and see to the children. Tell them good night. I will look in a little later. Go on now. I will take care of this.” She eased past Quentin and closed the door behind her.

“Where is she?”

“In her rooms. She returned some time ago and has been weeping ever since. I can do nothing for her. Oh, my Lady! I have never seen her this way. Even when my lord-Lord Rathnor-was angry with her, she did not carry on so. I am afraid-”