"No," Hanatha said. "Not right now, at any rate. You two have already said all that needs saying. Whether you've both heard exactly what the other one was really saying may be another matter, but until her emotions-and yours, sweetheart-have had some time to settle down, you're not going to be able to make things any clearer. Best to give her some time to herself. Let her cope with it on her own terms."
"You're probably right," he conceded thoughtfully. He bit into the biscuit and chewed slowly, then frowned. "On the other hand, the fact that she isn't here for breakfast might seem to indicate she isn't coping with it very well yet," he observed.
"I don't expect her to cope with it for at least a day or so," his wife said. "In fact, before she went to bed last night she told me she intended to take Boots out for a ride early this morning. A long ride."
"How long a ride?" Tellian looked up again, his expression concerned, and Hanatha shrugged.
"Probably all day," she said frankly. "That's why I'm not surprised she didn't join us for breakfast. She intended to make an early start, so she probably dropped by the kitchen when the servants were having breakfast and wheedled something out of Cook, like she used to do when she was a baby."
"What about the Mayor's banquet?" Tellian frowned. "You know we'll have to leave for it by midafternoon."
"I told her she didn't have to attend," Hanatha said. "It's not as if there'll be anyone else there her age, you know. You and I may have to suffer through it, but there's no real reason she ought to be forced to do the same thing. Besides, I know what it's like to need to spend some time away from parties and banquets."
"Still . . ." he said slowly.
"She said she wanted time to think, and she thinks best in the saddle. Like someone else I know." She smiled, and despite his manifold worries, Tellian chuckled.
"At any rate," she continued, "I didn't really have the heart to tell her no. I did ask her if she intended to take her armsmen along. I didn't come right out and tell her that if she didn't, she wasn't going anywhere, but she's not exactly a dummy, your daughter. She only made a face and said she knew perfectly well that she wasn't going riding unless Tarith did, too."
"Tarith, all by himself, isn't exactly her armsmen," Tellian observed.
"I thought about pointing that out to her," Hanatha agreed. "On the other hand, you didn't pick Tarith as her armsman when she was two whole years old because of how incompetent he is. As long as they stay on our lands, he should be able to look after her just fine. And," for just an instant all of her own loving concern for her daughter put a quiver into her voice, "I wanted to give her at least that much, Tellian. It's not all that much of a victory over tradition and convention, but at least we can let her have that much."
The baron looked at his wife and started to speak. Then he stopped, his own eyes just a bit misty, and nodded.
He sat there for a moment, then drew a deep breath, shook himself, and smiled at Hanatha.
"You're right, of course, love," he said. "On the other hand, this is Leeana we're talking about. You know-the daughter who broke her arm when she tried to walk all the way around the north tower across the battlements? The one who took her pony across a three-rail fence when she was nine? The one who-"
"All right. All right!" Hanatha laughed and threw a balled-up napkin at him. "And your point is?"
"That as soon as I finish eating, I'm personally going down to the stable to make sure Tarith's horse is gone, too."
"Milady Baroness! Milady Baroness!"
Hanatha Bowmaster came awake almost instantly in response to the imploring whisper. It was dark, without even a trace of gray dawn glimmering through her window. She sat up, and Marthya stepped back from the edge of her bed.
"What is it?" Her voice was husky with sleep, but she kept it low enough not to disturb her husband.
"It's-it's Lady Leeana," the maid said wretchedly, her lamp quivering in her hand. "Her bed's not been slept in, Milady!"
"What do you mean?" Hanatha demanded, not because she'd misunderstood Marthya, but because her mind refused to grapple with what the maid had just said.
"I mean she never came in at all last night, Milady," Marthya said even more wretchedly. "I know you said she had permission to stay out all day with Tarith, but I should have suspected something when she wasn't back in time for supper. But I didn't-truly, I didn't, Milady! I lay down, just to nap until she came in, and then, somehow . . ."
The maid shook her head, and a bright flash of panic flared through Hanatha.
"What's the hour?" she demanded.
"Barely three hours till dawn," Marthya admitted. "I just woke up, Milady, and the instant I did-"
"I understand, Marthya," Hanatha said. She wanted to be furious with the maid, but she couldn't. Not when she hadn't made a point of going to Leeana's room to check on her herself when she and Tellian finally returned from the mayor's banquet. She should have. She'd known at the time that she should have. Yet she'd decided not to-decided to respect her daughter's need for privacy.
"Let me get this straight," she said after a moment. "You're saying no one in Hill Guard has seen her at all since breakfast yesterday?"
"Breakfast, Milady?" Marthya looked at Hanatha in obvious confusion.
"Yes, breakfast-before she went riding with Tarith!" Hanatha's frightened worry sharpened her tone, but Marthya shook her head.
"Milady, she told me she and Tarith would be leaving before breakfast. She said they were getting an early start because she planned to ride over to Lord Farith's in time for dinner. She said she could dress herself and there was no need for me to be up even earlier than usual. And she said Cook had already packed sandwiches for an early lunch, so they wouldn't need breakfast."
"Lord Farith's?" Hanatha looked at the maid blankly. Farith was Lord of Maldahowe, almost a full half-day's ride north of Balthar. She'd never agreed Leeana could ride that far from home with only Tarith for an escort! Which meant-
The Baroness of Balthar went paper-white and reached for her husband's shoulder.
"There's no question about it," Tellian Bowmaster said harshly. The sun was perhaps an hour above the horizon as he stood staring out a window at the city of Balthar, his face haggard. "I've ordered a door-to-door search through the city, but it's not going to find her. Damn the girl! How could she do something like this?!"
Love and fear made him furious, and he slammed a fist down on the stone windowsill.
"We don't-we don't know for certain what she has done," Hanatha said. He shot a glance at her, and she shook her head. "Well, we don't, Tellian. Not really. I know what it looks like she's done, but there's no way Tarith would help her run away. Wherever she is, he's with her. You know he'd never let her out of his sight once they left Hill Guard!"
"I know. I know!" Tellian drummed on the windowsill with both hands, his shoulders tight and his face clenched with worry. "But no one saw them leaving together, Hanatha. In fact, no one saw Leeana leave at all."
"That's preposterous," his wife protested. "She had to have been seen by the sentries!"
"Well, she wasn't," he said grimly. "And Tarith was seen leaving-by himself."
"What? When?" Hanatha demanded.
"The evening before you gave her permission to stay home from the banquet," he said, and then looked up quickly at her small, choked sound of distress.