The boy's name was Rook, and Della had made him memorize her message twice.
They brought him up to the warden's quarters the next morning, because I asked, and because Alaric had apparently given the whole Keep to understand that what I asked for happened. Rook came in with his cap crushed in both fists, sixteen years old, still grey around the eyes from the bridge and the death and the burning we'd given her at moonset, warden's honors, silver fire, the whole fortress standing silent for a southern den mother, which is a thing I will hold to Alaric's account until the end of whatever I get.
He stopped three steps inside the door and looked around the warden's quarters, the books, the scarred table, the king of the north standing at the window, and then at me, and I watched him decide so
