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Pole waved him off. “The Queen of Galland,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Queen Erida.”

“I can’t say I know much of her.” It was the truth. Ridha had not traveled far from Iona in twenty years, never riding west of the Monadhrion. The mortal lands changed so quickly, even in two decades. It was not worth recalling what she remembered of them.

The two men scoffed in unison. Now Pole really did think her stupid, an overly tall woman playing at knighthood in borrowed armor. “She’s been queen of this here kingdom for four years yet—you certainly should,” he sputtered.

A heartbeat in Elder time,Ridha thought. “I am sorry, but no,” she answered, dropping her eyes. “No idea who she might be marrying.”And no interest either.

The innkeeper’s wife bustled out from behind the bar, wiping her hands on her apron. She put herself between Ridha and the men, smiling at them as she cleared their table. It was no small reprieve when she took up the conversation.

“Must be a great prince. Or another king,” the woman said, balancing plates. “That’s how it works, don’t it? That lot always keep to each other. Keep things in the family, so to speak.”

While the men blustered between themselves over subjects they had no knowledge of, Ridha sat back in her chair. She felt oddly warm in her skin, though the fire was barely lit, and the room was cool and dim. All this talk of royalty and marriage put her off balance, for she was a princess herself, with a duty to a throne and an enclave like any other royal woman. Elders might live long, seemingly endless years, but there was still a need for heirs. Isibel Beldane and Cadrigan of the Dawn had not wed for love, but for strength, and for a child to keep the enclave when the Monarch could not.At least I have time, where mortals don’t. At least my mother does not force me into choices I don’t want to make.She felt warm again, a cloying heat at her collar. She frowned, fingers pulling at her tunic.Or does she? Is that not what this is? The rule of another driving me forward, in acquiescence or opposition?

She gritted her teeth, feeling the now all too familiar surge of anger in her chest.Cowards,she thought again. In Sirandel and Iona, where Elder warriors would rather sit and hide than fight.Dooming us with their fear.

The flow of ale did not stop. The innkeeper’s wife filled the men’s tankards with a bright smile, then Ridha’s, though she had no intention of drinking any more of the poorly made crop water. Still, she nodded in thanks all the same.

“So how about this proposition of Old Joe’s?” Pole was whispering again, raising a hand to hide his mouth. It did nothing to stop Ridha from hearing, though she wished she could not.

“Joeld Bramble is a loon,” Rye said, dismissive. “It’ll come to nothing. Don’t bother.”

Pole leaned forward on his elbows, too eager. He glanced around the room warily, as if the walls had suddenly grown ears. “Joeld Bramble has family on the coast. They said the Watchful’s been awfully quiet for this time of year. No Jydi, no raids. Not a single longboat spotted since last season.”

Ridha kept her eyes low, on the table carved with crude initials and cruder words. But her focus homed in on the men. The marriage of a mortal queen did not interest her, but this was different. Odd. The hairs on her neck stood up.

“So he thinks he can take their place, can he?” Rye sputtered. “In what, a canoe?”

“I’m only saying. If the Jydi raiders aren’t raiding, someone else can do it. Make itseemlike raiders. Smash up a shrine, rob a few churches, maybe take some goats. Disappear back across the Castlewood and none’s the wiser.” Pole ticked off each step of the poor and foolish plan on his fingers. But it was not the scheme that interested the immortal. She furrowed her brows, trying to think. “Raiders blamed, we come home rich.”

Rye remained silent and pressed his lips together, looking over at his companion. Pole grimaced, preparing himself for another rebuke, but it never came. “Maybe Old Joe has an idea,” Rye finally murmured, winking an eye.

Her chair scraped across the floor, shocking in the quiet. Both men jumped in their seats, looking up at Ridha as she stood. She wagered she was taller than both, in boots or bare feet.

“Does your Old Joe have any idea why the Jydi have stopped raiding?” she said clearly, looking between them. They both gaped; then Rye turned sour, his face crinkling.

“You listening to our private conversation?” he sneered.

Ridha fished out a penny for the ale and left it on the tabletop. “I find it difficult not to.”

Pole was less offended. In fact, he seemed enamored by the attention. “No, he didn’t say,” he replied.

Ridha did not miss him shuffling in his seat, making room for her in the corner, should she feel so inclined.I’d rather sidle up to a troll than to scabby, bald Pole.

“Didn’t know, you mean,” she sighed.

Pole shrugged. “Same thing.”

“What’s it matter to you, lady knight?” Rye spat, trying to insult her with a compliment.

Though she had little cause to explain, Ridha heard herself do it anyway. Even the barmaid listened, leaning forward as she pretended to clean a glass with a dirty rag.

“Jydi raiders are fine sailors and finer fighters,” the Elder said. “Cutthroats, warrior pirates, borne of summer snow and winter storms. They’re hard people. If they aren’t raiding, there’s a reason. A good one.”

Even immortals knew the sting of a raider blade, or they had in centuries past. The Jydi were not afraid of the Vederan nor had they forgotten them like the other mortal kingdoms. The lure of their riches was too great. Ridha herself had fought a raiding party with her kin, on the northern shores of Calidon some decades ago. She had not forgotten it.

“I suggest you tell your friend that,” she warned, heading for the stairs.

Though the sun was still high outside, with dusk hours away, Ridha shut herself up for the evening, for there was work to do and plans to be laid out.