The road to northeastern Arven was narrow and uneven, cutting through low fields where frost remained in the shadows even after the sun rose. The carriage advanced at a controlled pace, fast enough not to waste time, but without looking like an escape or a military mission. Elizabeth had chosen a simple carriage, without the crest of Mirath or Arven, only good enough not to raise suspicions of poverty and discreet enough not to attract unnecessary interest.
Damon spent most of the journey in silence, watching the landscape through the window. The dark hood kept part of his white hair hidden, but not all of it. A few strands escaped near his face, reflecting the pale morning light. Ester sat across from him, with the medical case beside her and an expression of constant vigilance. Elizabeth read the papers prepared by Aria with elegant attention, as if she were going to a business meeting and not to visit a woman perhaps marked by a geological root of living cold.
