"I do not," Glines said, looking far too comfortable.
Then again, he didn't have a damned blade in his pack, singing loudly and distracting him.
"How do you know? "
"I have been here before," Glines said. "With my father." He smiled. "I was shown about by one whose task that is."
"Surely not," she said.
"Surely, aye. They show visiting nobility about the palace to impress and intimidate them. I'll pretend to be one of the servants now and show you about."
"But I'm already intimidated," Morgan protested.
"I'm not," Miach said, "so you can show me the palace. What can you tell us now?"
"Well," Glines said importantly as they rode along through the outer bailey that looked as if it might have housed an entire country in a pinch, "Tor Neroche was actually Yngerame of Wychweald's hunting lodge. This was several generations ago."
"Several," Morgan repeated reverently.
"Aye," Glines said. "When Yngerame crowned his son Symon, he gave him his hunting lodge to use for a palace and Neroche to use for a country."
"But it wasn't this grand," Morgan said.
"I daresay not," Glines agreed. "So when Symon wed with Iolaire of Ainneamh, he simply could not have brought an elven princess to such a mean hall, so he built her the palace of Chagailt."
Morgan looked at Miach with raised eyebrows. "That was a handsome gift."
He nodded in response and Morgan suspected he was thinking of Queen Iolaire's gardens they had run through so heedlessly.
"Aye, well, Chagailt was beautiful, but it was vulnerable to attack. It has been destroyed and rebuilt a time or two. When Gilraehen the Fey was king, he decided that for the safety of his family and the crown, he needed somewhere more defensible. He retreated here. Over the years it has been strengthened until it became the palace you see today. Tor Neroche; Neroche of the Mountains."
"I think I like Chagailt better," Morgan murmured.
"You haven't seen the inside," Glines said. "Wait until you've seen the great hall before you pass judgment. For now, let us see if we can at least get ourselves inside the front doors." He looked at Morgan. "Are you going to tell us now why we are here?"
"I am not," Morgan said.
Glines shrugged. "Very well. Off we go then. There are the front doors. I suppose we'll see it Adhémar was able to talk his way inside and gain us entrance as well. "
Morgan nodded, though she had acquired a knot in the pit of her stomach that seemed determined to remain there despite her best efforts to make it disperse. She kept her head down and followed the horses in front of her until they stopped. Then she looked up.
Well, those must have been the front doors. Morgan sat in her saddle, clutching her reins, and wondered what to do now. Miach dismounted, then looked up at her.
"Coming?"
"Of course," she croaked. She swung down out of the saddle with as much grace as possible. Her knees came close to knocking together. She credited that with the great amount of hard riding she'd done recently. It surely had nothing to do with trepidation over where she was.
A servant approached. Morgan wasn't one to hide, or to shrink back, but she found herself gladly standing behind Glines as he discussed their situation with the servant. Fletcher had tucked in behind her. Even Miach had pulled his hood up over his face and appeared to be trying to be un-noticed. Only Paien and Camid looked the same as they always did: alert and watchful, but not afraid.
Morgan was terrified.
There, she had admitted it. It hadn't been all that hard.
Shameful, but not hard.
" 'Tis big," Fletcher whispered.
"Very," Morgan agreed quietly.
