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“So you said, but were they present during the attack?”

“I didn’t see them, no.”

He didn’t like to think they might be responsible. He felt sorry for them most of the time. Still, he’d felt the miner’s anger, at the graveyard and at the market.

“You don’t think they had anything to do with it, do you?” he asked.

“I cannot say. We have not been able to send agents among them. They are not quick to trust.”

“I need to go and talk to them some more.”

“You mean as an envoy of the King of Coins?”

Adam winced.

“You know about that?”

She fixed her gaze on the rows of tents and campfires outside the fence.

“I tried to spare you involvement in these matters, but I should have guessed you were incapable of turning your eye from suffering.”

“That was why you pushed for my probation, isn’t it?” He had suspected it, ever since the knight had suggested that Argent had been trying to protect him, but he hadn’t had the chance to ask her about it, not like this, not directly.

He needed to know, needed confirmation.

Adam considered the Queen of Swords a friend, and it had hurt more than he liked to admit that she’d spoken against him, encouraging his probation. It had felt like a betrayal.

“Yes. I was trying to protect you, to keep you from the fire, but you run back into the flames each and every time.”

“What is it?” Adam asked. “What’s coming?”

“There are things even I do not know, but all the realms can hear the music.” Her slight smile was sad. “And I doubt that knowing would stop you.”

“Probably not,” he admitted.

“Come. We must speak with the king.”

“He won’t be happy to see me.”

“I do not believe he has a choice at this point.”

This was one of those moments when being in the spirit realm physically, and not being able to flee back to his body, felt a little extra dangerous. Not that Silver or his people didn’t have Adam’s home address, but at least spirit walking gave him the illusion of an out.

He tried to push down the rising worry in his chest and take in the sights.

This place always made him feel like he’d stepped out of time, into a wonderland of grays and shining lights. There were colors, like the blue, shining fruit of the King’s Blood bushes, but all the other shades were muted by the watchtower’s pale glory. Lined in old-fashioned light bulbs, and lit by a sheer cascade of magic, it was a thing of beauty. It still stood in the mortal world, though time had left gaps in the stucco facade and the lightning rod at its peak had a tilt.

Courtiers of every race along with many elves walked the paths or enjoyed the old-fashioned rides. The silver-leafed trees, transplanted from Alfheimr, whispered to each as he followed Argent beneath their branches.

When he’d first met her, the first time he’d come here, she’d been playful, powerful, and mysterious. None of that had changed, but he knew her better now, at least a little. He’d been hurt and resented being sidelined, but she’d been trying to protect him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For trying to shield me from all this. I’m sorry I screwed it up.”

“No, you’re not.” She smiled at him over her shoulder. “But you cannot help your nature, and it is that of a hero.”