And then we three aides halted in an anteroom and Nedfar said, “Amuse yourselves for a bur or two.” He strode off, upright, purposeful, his desperate concern for his daughter thrust aside in his concern for his country.
I just stared. I had to close my mouth.
I turned to Trylon Handur, who walked across to a side table for the wine. “Trylon — do we not accompany the prince?”
Handur looked over his shoulder. He was casual. “No. He has gone to the map room. We are not allowed in there.”
Somehow or other I was still standing there, my face politely blank, still the perfect aide. Somehow or other I was not rushing madly after Nedfar, and shouldering past, and hurtling into the room where the secrets of our enemy’s dispositions were revealed. Perhaps they were, perhaps they were not. But I
