The morning found them better rested than they had been for days, despite the stone floor. The kitchen was full of bustle as soldiers ate, changed bandages, and helped each other dress or wash or head out of the door. Two overflowing laundry baskets stood by the far wall. Fiona was at the range stirring a big pot of porridge, but when Kite and Saryth emerged from the stairwell she sent Lyra over with bowls and instructions.

"The commander wants to see you," said the girl as she handed over their breakfast. "Mum said you should have breakfast first but then you have to go."

"Thank you," Kite said, and blew on the porridge. Saryth, less careful, hissed as his spoonful burned his mouth. They ate standing by the far wall as the soldiers bustled around them, too busy now to do much more than sneer at the white-haired boy who had handed out food last night.

The guard who led them to the command tent was the same one who had opened the door to them upon arrival. He was having difficulty stopping himself yawning as he marched over the trampled mud that had once been a field, following and adding to the marks of many muddy boots that formed a rough sort of path. The command tent was much like the other tents, visible now in the watery morning sunlight; dull, grubby, tough cloth stretched over a thin pole frame, looking like it wouldn't stand up to a light breeze. Their looks were deceptive, Kite knew; they had been up all through last night.

The guard stopped by a pole sticking out of the ground near the door flap, and rapped it with his dagger, making a sharp, metallic noise.

"Come in," called a voice from within. The guard poked his head inside.

"Sir, the visitors from last night are here."

"Send them in, please. You may remain outside."

The guard withdrew and jerked his head at the waiting visitors, managing to sneer at Saryth while hardly moving his face.

Inside, the tent was surprisingly warm and dry. A rug covered most of the planked wooden floor, with a desk at one end, occupied by a man who had to be the commander. He was young and tired-looking, black hair sticking up from his head and circles under his eyes. For all that, he measured them keenly, and Kite felt a chill run up her spine, suddenly uncertain of how easy it would be to bluff her way through this. She didn't dare look at Saryth, but she could almost feel the tension in him.

"Kite... and Saryth. Our interesting visitors from last night." The commander waved at two camp stools that stood near the entrance. "Please, have a seat. Where did you come from?"

"Westleshire. We came south over the mountain pass," Kite said, struggling to hide her difficulty balancing on the rickety stool.

"Mmhmm. Who ruled at the time?"

"Lord King Kerain, when we left." This is a test, then. "He succeeded the Excellent Duke Ecgbert, who was in control when we entered." Even to her own ears, that sounded like a joke, not the sudden, violent reality she had heard about from the people there. Kite hoped devoutly that this commander was familiar with Westleshire.

"Ah, yes. Ever an unstable country." That's an understatement. "Before that?"

"Um, I think Grand Duke Marliforth," Kite started, but the commander interrupted.

"No, my apologies. I meant, where were you?"

"Oh - in the western ranges. The Barren Hills." Beside her, Saryth's tension eased slightly at the innocuous questions. Don't relax yet!

"Why were you there?"

"We were travelling from Corwaith." Please don't ask where we were before then...

"I see. Are you spies?" The abrupt turn almost caught Kite out, but she had partly been expecting it.

"For whom would we spy?"

"Why, the Eskandians, of course." The commander picked up one of the sheaves of paper that swamped his desk, flicking through it, apparently not concentrating on his visitors. "Or didn't you know we were at war?"

"Honestly?" Kite felt more in control now. "No, commander, I didn't. Although it's blatantly clear in daylight."

"And you say you saw no guards last night?" The commander put his papers down and leaned his chin on his interlocked hands, gazing directly at Kite.

"We saw no one."

"You are on Quest?"

"Yes, I am." Kite felt a slight twinge of discomfort at the less-than-honest admission, but it was as good a way as any to describe her mission.

"What is your goal?"

"I'm looking for the sun."

"Well, that seems impossible - about ridiculous enough." He relaxed, turning away slightly, then looked back again.

"One more thing."

He stood up, seeming in that motion to dominate the tent. Kite felt her control of the situation slip from her grasp as he walked over to where she sat. Without their getting up, which could be construed as a threat, or at least being obstructive, he would tower over them. He stopped in front of Saryth.

"You. Saryth. You haven't said much." The commander raised his sword hilt and used it to pull aside the loose bangs that Saryth habitually hid his face behind. With difficulty, Saryth held still beneath the commander's scrutiny.

"Your hair is very... white. Are you a mage?"

Saryth sat silently; Kite guessed he didn't think he could pull off a lie. She stood up.

"Commander. Judging by hair colour doesn't work." She moved to stand behind her companion. "Saryth is as much a mage as I am."

The commander eyed them both dispassionately. It's the truth. In the dim light in the tent, her blonde hair was dulled, but still distinctly not white. They bore up under his doubtful gaze for a full minute, but then the commander abruptly sighed, and turned back to his table.

"Very well. I choose to trust your words." He ran his hands over the table surface, snagging documents, making a pile, now looking like he really was thinking about the next task. "Mistress Fiona welcomed you to her house. This, however, is our camp." He looked back towards them. "Do not outstay your welcome."

Kite left the tent feeling as though she'd been put through an intensive exam rather than a short interrogation.

Back in the house, the soldiers had been cleared from the ground floor, presumably back to their now-dry tents. Kite forced lightness into her voice as they came through the door.

"We are officially not spies!" Fiona turned round from the sink where she was scrubbing the porridge pot and smiled. "So," Kite continued, "I claim the laundry."

"Are you -" Fiona started, but Kite had already grabbed one of the full baskets and was heading out the door, accompanied by Lyra.

"We'll be back for the next lot," she called cheerfully, and made her getaway, following her guide to the river.

Saryth hovered for an instant by the door, then gathered his nerve. Fiona had been kind to him.

"Can I help in any way?" he asked.

"Well, no," Fiona replied, somewhat nonplussed by Kite's absconding with the soiled linens and her daughter. "Oh, well, there's the bread..."

"I can help with that," Saryth said, brightening. Bread-baking was something he did know, thanks to a tender-hearted assistant cook who had served in the Duke's kitchen for a few years when he was younger. Fiona made to protest again, then laughed a little helplessly and stood aside from the table to let him get on with it.