Beyond those gates was her answer to what had happened to Rowan. But she didn’t know whether that answer would be a happy one or an alarming one. A late afternoon rainstorm was blowing in; the wind lifted her hair off her neck and promised her only cold. She spurred her horse forwards, deaf to the greetings the gatehouse guards called to her, deaf to the considerate questions of the stable hands, hearing only her own pulse hammering in her ears. She walked up to the bower — her bower, the one she shared with Rowan — and pushed open the door. Her eyes were prepared to see Rowan and Nurse, playing on the floor with Rowan’s wooden dolls. But her ears already told her Rowan wasn’t here. It was too quiet. The door swung in on a tidy room. Ivy sat in a chair by the bed, working on an embroidery ring. Ivy looked up, then scrambled to her feet, dropping the embroidery ring. Her face was pale, and Rose feared the worst. ‘Where is Rowan?’ she said. Her words sounded as though they were coming from outside her.
