Page 57

He knows every horse in this stable. That is not a figure of speech. He could walk this row blindfolded and tell you who was in which stall by the sound of them.

The fourth stall on the left is empty.

It is Morgan's. The bay gelding with the white sock that Bohdi personally saddled for him in this yard less than a week ago. The stall is swept. The water is fresh. The hay net is full and untouched.

Bohdi stands there and looks at it.

Morgan would have ridden through the gate at dawn yesterday. He said so himself, sitting on that horse in the middle of the road with his chin up and his hands not quite steady on the reins. At the gate by dawn. That was a day and a half ago. That was a day and a half, and the horse is not in its stall, and nobody in this yard has said a single word to Bohdi about the prince coming home.

He walks down the row and puts his hand on the door of the stall, as though that is going to change anything.

He is about to lose his gods damned mind.

"Bohdi."

He turns. Eskil has got Indrie down off the horse and has an arm around him, and Indrie is swaying a little on his feet and is being extremely patient about the arm. Eskil is looking at Bohdi over the top of his head with an expression that is firm and unyielding.

He is not looking at the stall. He has not looked at a single stall. He has not looked at anything in the last six hours except the man currently leaning on him, and Bohdi has never in his life been so grateful to the gods for making his king an idiot about something.

"The council can wait," Eskil says. He does not bother lowering his voice. "I know they're going to be crawling up the walls. I don't care. I don't want to hear one fucking whisper about the Jakadi or the Wolfe or the border or the price of grain until he's been in a bath and eaten something and slept. Not one. You understand me?"

"As you say, my king," Bohdi says.

Eskil gives him a look. It is quick and it is tired and it is enormously grateful, and it lands square in the middle of Bohdi, and he has to stand there and take it and smile about it.

Then Eskil puts his palm on the back of Indrie's neck, where the hair should be, and steers him out of the yard and up toward the keep. Indrie goes, and does not look back.

Bohdi waits.

He waits until they are across the courtyard. He waits until they are up the steps and the door has closed behind them, and he counts to twenty after that for good measure. He turns around and goes into what he would describe in a report as damage control and what he would describe honestly as the opening movement of a complete dismantling of his emotional wellbeing.

He finds the stablemaster first. Gudrun has been in this yard since Eskil's father was king, has never in all that time been visibly impressed by anything, and does not need a single thing explained to her twice.

"The prince's horse," Bohdi says, low.

"Not back."

"Not back at all? Not back and taken out again?"

"Not back." She looks at him from under her brows. "I'd have heard. Nobody's said a word about the prince since the day he rode out with you. I thought he was with you."

"He was," Bohdi says. "Say nothing. To anyone. If he comes in, you send a boy for me, not for the king. Me."

Gudrun looks at him for a long moment, and whatever she finds in his face makes her nod once and go back to her horses without another word, which is the single greatest act of friendship anyone has performed for Bohdi in a decade.

Dagny is at the far end of the yard trying to get her own horse into its stall. The horse, which she has ridden to within an inch of its life, is refusing on principle. Ingrid has gone. Bohdi crosses to her and takes her by the elbow and turns her away from the grooms.

"I need you to do something for me," he says.

Dagny looks at his hand on her elbow. Then she looks at his face, and her eyes narrow.

"I need you to get Garrik and Fenris settled," Bohdi tells her, keeping his voice low enough that the warriors milling through the yard will not catch it. "Call Ermin, because I'm fairly certain the Wolfe ward is bleeding out. Put them in adjacent rooms and get a guard there just to be paranoid. Make sure someone brings them food and water and clean clothes, and tell the council I'm convening with the prince and will brief them very, very shortly."

Dagny raises both eyebrows at him. She has a talent for making her eyebrows communicate entire paragraphs of skepticism and at this moment they are composing a novel.

"All right," she says. "I can do that." She abandons the girth strap, and the horse takes this as a personal victory. "How long is very shortly? Because you know they are going to ask for an actual approximation of time and not your hand-waving estimate."

Bohdi lowers his voice further. He glances over his shoulder, checks the yard, and says, "Morgan is not back yet."