Darion left before sunrise.
The castle was quiet when he came downstairs, the perspective glass box in his saddlebag alongside a wrapped bundle of food Maret had left on the table without being asked.
He didn't wake anyone. Garren knew he was leaving, they had said everything that needed saying the night before, and the knights on the early watch nodded at him as he led his horse through the gate and said nothing about the dark clothing or the hour.
The attire had been Garren's suggestion, simple stuff: dark wool, nothing that caught light, nothing that made noise when he moved. Not elaborate. Just the absence of anything that would announce him in the dark.
He rode.
