The man from the road — she still did not know his name — moved ahead of her and spoke to an older woman near the well, gesturing back at Elara. The woman looked at her. Then she straightened, with the dignity of someone who has been dealing with something terrible and has not yet surrendered it, and walked toward her.
"Your Majesty," she said. Her voice was steady. The steadiness of someone who had made a decision to be steady because the alternative was not useful. "Thank you for coming."
"Tell me what happened," Elara said. "From the beginning. Accurately."
The woman looked at her for a moment — assessing, which Elara noted and respected. Then she said: "It began six weeks ago. The garrison."
"Which garrison."
