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Rinaldo mourned for his sister.
She was gone again. And this time it wasn’t in his power to search for her and bring her back.
He had endured an entire day of interrogation at Lord Ganelon’s hands.
And now in the night, Lord Ganelon still confined him to a room deep in the bowels of the palace.
Orlando had come with the servant who brought Rinaldo a meager supper.
Orlando waited for the man to leave before he said anything.
“I made a mistake,” Orlando said. “I’m the one who told a soldier of mine named Taber.”
“But how did you know?” Rinaldo whispered, his lower lip bloody and swollen. Lord Ganelon’s glove was made of soft black leather, but the knuckles underneath it were hard.
“You told me,” said Orlando. “Remember? The night I set your ankle.”
What Rinaldo remembered was d
