Nevan
After I left the infirmary, I made it halfway down the west gallery before Clyde intercepted me.
He fell into step beside me without greeting, matching my stride, a folded letter in his hand and the tense, clipped expression he wore when the news was bad.
"Dispatch from Wellspring," he said. "The barghests have been spotted again—three sightings in the past week, all within two miles of the estate boundary. Mr Alistair has moved the displaced families from the eastern road encampment further inland, but the livestock won't settle. Two horses bolted the stable fences last night." He glanced at me sideways. "Tiara is fine."
I heard the words. I knew what they meant. It was about my estate, my people, my responsibilities, but they bounced off whatever had replaced the inside of my head since I'd walked out of the infirmary.
"Nevan."
Clyde's voice sharpened. I realised I'd stopped walking.
"Did you hear what I just said?"
