It was late when she worked up enough courage to ask Greta to locate him, and her handmaid was a quarter hour in securing the information. It took them a few minutes to find a heavy enough coat for her to wear, and the blade-thin moon was high overhead by the time she found herself walking the western battlements. Whenever the guards recognized her they would give her looks ranging from awe to surprise to nervousness, though she was too busy scanning their shapes in the dark for him to care.
She spent several minutes in the chill night, clutching the heavy, sheepskin jacket to herself, before she spotted him: a tall, solid shape with long hair clubbed back into a queue and a knee-length leather coat. He had a large apple in one hand and a knife in the other, and was working his way through it one finger-thick chunk at a time; his cloak flapped in the ocean breeze.
She approached him with no stealth, that he might not be surprised, and just as she was drawing into range of quiet conversation he said, "I've not heard of any queens who walk their walls in the middle of the night."
"In Ulrich's history of the outlands, he says the first Queen of the Western March was part of her castle's watch, and trained with her captains every day. Since her rule, every monarch of their line has been expected to be as capable in a fight as any soldier."
He arched an eyebrow. "You intend to stand a watch?"
She straightened her back in defiance at the doubt in his voice, and he gave a soft laugh. "That will be a conversation to behold, when you lay out your plans to the Duke."
"He is my advisor, not my regent."
He nodded with equanimity and otherwise stayed silent, so she chose to change the subject. "I'm not intending to stand a watch just yet. I came to ask you something."
He made an inquiring sound and cut off another slice of the apple, his attention back to the darkness beyond them. The uneven torchlight on his coat and hair made an austere tableau of black and gold out of him.
She turned the medallion in her right pocket one more time for courage, then said, "If you would consider staying, I have a task for you."
He flicked a sideways glance at her and raised his eyebrows.
"Gameskeeper and Master of the Hunt."
It was his turn now to study her through narrow eyes. She schooled herself to patience; eventually, he asked, "Caretaker of the lands?"
"And master of woodland scouts, yes."
"So the work you would give me, should I stay, will see me sent away?"
Panic gripped her throat until she saw the glint of wry amusement in his eyes, and she let out a flustered sigh. She was so relieved he hadn't been serious that she didn't stop herself from saying, "If I could keep you here at all times I would."
An awkward silence followed, in which he looked uncertain and she tried to think of a way to continue. He took the initiative, asking, "What would you have me do? Aside from," he gestured out at the night-dark countryside with his knife, sending a spear of firelight into the shadows, "prevent poaching."
"Help me to know this land. Truly know it-I may have it in my heart and my blood, but that won't be enough to undo what Ravenna has left in her wake. We must be sure that all hunting is done fairly, that the landed nobles do not ruin what they hold, that the game is not stolen from the people by the greedy and is allowed to flourish when it needs to." She walked to the edge of the battlement and looked out over the starlit cliffs, breathing in the salty air of the sea. "I must know every rock and tree and boar. For this I defeated Ravenna: to bring this land back into harmony with itself."
As she spoke she felt his eyes on her, but when she looked back it was to find him regarding the knife and apple. "A heavy task."
"You will have your Hunt. The Duke is to be my Chancellor, and William the Captain of the Guard. They will aid you in whatever way is needed."
He made a low sound and turned the knife in his hand. She thought she saw resolve in his expression, though, and her heart lightened. "Why me?" he asked without looking at her.
"This is a task I can only entrust to you. You and the dwarves are the only ones who come close to understanding the land as I do."
That got her a sharp look, under which she didn't flinch or squirm. He sighed and nodded. "I'll do it."
She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and offered the necklace to him. He eyed it, then juggled apple and knife in the same hand to accept it.
"I can't give lavish ceremonies for everyone-not that you'd agree to one," she added that hastily at the warning frown he gave her, and he relaxed. "Ravenna has destroyed more than the countryside. We're not destitute, but it's a near thing. There's the mark of your office on this necklace, and I can have a cloak made. We've plenty of materials to sew with, and people who can do it."
He was only half-listening to her; his focus was on the necklace. Duir had worked hard to clean and polish it, and it shown like quicksilver in the wavering firelight. It was hundreds of years old, and she counted it a miracle Ravenna hadn't found it and melted it down. On one side was an animal knotwork of boar, raven, hound, deer, hare, and hawk, as intricate as kneedlework, and on the other, the apple tree of her family's line, the roots wrapping round into the branches in the form of the Tree of Life. (She had plans to use all of that, and the White Stag, on the cloak.)
She held out her hands to him, and he gave the necklace back and ducked so she could put it over his head. "I give the protection of the land itself and its animals into your care," she said, trying for the formal tone her mother would use in even the most casual of settings. It seemed to have some effect on him, because when he straightened his head remained ducked down just so.
"Their well-being will be my first and last thought."
"Thank you." Her voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible. He look up and started to say something, stopped himself, and just nodded. After another glance down at the medallion he resumed eating his apple.
She remained, watching the fresh, spring-chilled night with him in silence until exhaustion from the long day threatened to close her eyes where she stood. She prepared to take her leave with a murmured excuse, but he walked with her as far as the second to last hall before her quarters (no doubt so the guards in the final hall wouldn't see him), where he bid her goodnight in a low voice. When the door leading to the castle's interior had shut behind him, she took herself to bed, and slept dreamlessly.