Jenia asked when she and Roarke were in the corridor outside Garit’s chamber. To her surprise, Roarke hadn’t remained there for very long. He’d looked hard at Garit, apparently taking note of the exhaustion written so clearly on his friend’s face, then had contented himself with a comradely clasp of Garit’s shoulder and a promise to be at his side during the meeting with King Henryk early the next morning. “This way.” Roarke led her along the corridor and up a steep flight of steps. “The castle is full to overflowing.” “Then, where am I to sleep?” “In my room. I can find a place in the great hall, among the pages and the squires. Elwin will probably save a place for me.” “You could stay with Garit,” she suggested. “I’m sure he has space for a guest.” “Garit needs to be alone for a time. Don’t worry; Anders will see to him. He knows his master well. Here we are.” They had reached one of the upper levels of the castle. Roarke opened a door and motioned to Jenia to enter.
