This narrow stretch of land had been her father’s pride and joy, the place where he’d come to be alone with his thoughts, to remember his wife, who was buried beside the tree. The battlements were packed with mourners, and more stood in the courtyard below. Word of her father’s death had spread rapidly through the community, and Samara was gratified by the sense of shock that gripped the place. People recognised that they owed much to the man who had founded the colony and ruled it, with the nominal aid of the council, for almost sixty years. Without him, they knew, the colony would have long ago succumbed to either anarchy or invasion. Doctor Mortenson had come to her chambers shortly before the funeral ceremony. He’d made a short speech, stating that now was the time to look ahead, plan for the future, continue where her father had left off and gain the backing of the people with an announcement about her father’s proposed expedition to Spain.
