The carriage hit an incline; wheels creaked. In the window's reflection, he caught sight of himself: moonleaf robe glowing faintly, silver bell resting in his lap like a quiet heartbeat. He straightened, smoothing the front of the garment, then traced the charm Serelith had given him still hidden under the first fold. Protection, he thought, or a comfort blanket disguised as jewelry.
A soft rustle. The opposite door opened, and Elowen stepped in, having ridden her own horse alongside until now. She closed the door behind her, breath only slightly quickened from the ride. Silver wisps clung to her temples; sunlight haloed her figure.
"No last-minute catastrophes?" she asked, settling onto the bench beside him.
"Rodion claims statistical perfection," Mikhailis said. "A dangerous boast."
