The Arkwright border checkpoint had no guest chairs.
Vespera Morcant stood beneath the covered inspection lane with one hand against a steel support. Dawn had turned the storm to sleet. Water dripped from the lodge blanket around her shoulders.
Sable Wythe waited two steps behind with the clinic bag.
“You promised the healer ten minutes,” Sable said.
“I promised not to fall.”
“You avoided the word minutes.”
Four Roarke vehicles idled beyond the lowered barrier.
The retrieval men had been ordered out of them. They stood in a line on the southern side, wet coats marked with Roarke insignia. None had crossed the painted border.
Rhydian Arkwright occupied the center of the lane.
He had brought six riders from the road. They stood behind him without touching their weapons.
An Arkwrigh
