I go to the palace only once, following the page Valka sends, and sit with her to compose another letter to my mother. Valka sneers at me but she cannot hide her discomfort with the contempt of my mother’s words. I find myself agreeing with my mother, studying her response carefully, then listening to Valka’s account of her life. Valka is indeed acting foolishly in choosing her companions and setting about her intrigues, yet I am not so sure of my mother’s advice either. She believes Filadon of little importance, never questioning why he met us at the Border. Surely that simple fact deserves her consideration. The letter is not ready until late, Valka cross with having to devote such time to it, but I am grateful to leave it signed and sealed on her desk. I meet no one else while at the castle—even Valka’s attendants are absent—yet I know that that means nothing: the prince will know of my visit and I wonder what he will make of it. Or rather, I fear I know exactly what he will make of it.
