Within a luxurious carriage moving north of the High Roads, Altair stared at the young Lordling curiously as she slept, resting on Liana's lap, thumb in mouth, and a sliver of drool streaming down her lips.
"There she goes again," Liana said, grinning, not daring to wake her.
It would be a fortnight to the City of Forwind and three days since that slaughter that had killed seven of the Silvermane Guardsman, injuring ten. Ren had yet to wake, but Altair had commanded she be brought to him when she woke. He'd trusted his shadows to do that much.
"She's still young," The Young Lord said, smiling. "She's nearly six, right?" He could still remember himself doing the same on his mother's lap.
Liana nodded, gently brushing her cheeks with the tenderness of a mother. She looked up at Altair. "Why did you change your mind?" She finally asked him. "Surely it's not because I offered to pay you."
