Aldwin found me in the war room just after dawn, holding a folded scrap of parchment with the particular care of a man who suspected its contents mattered more than its size suggested.
"Empress," he said, bowing slightly. "One of the substitute doves arrived early from the mountain temple. This was found tucked inside the transport cage. Not from High Priestess Miraya's people — the courier swears he never touched it."
I unfolded it carefully. The handwriting was, once again, unmistakably Aeric's.
You've been busier than I expected. The blade, the doves, Renfrew's convenient reassignment — all sound instincts, all correctly targeted. I'm almost proud, which should concern you more than it apparently does, since pride tends to make me generous with warnings I don't strictly need to give.
