The river wind of Rushmarsh carried a damp chill as it blew across Roslyn and his companions' faces.
It was so cold and harsh, yet so full of life.
They were worn from travel. Ever since receiving Suleiman's orders, they had ridden nonstop from the Lion's Den.
This was Rushmarsh, the temporary seat of the Governor of the Riverlands.
Roslyn's heart pounded in his chest, filled with both the exhaustion of the journey and excitement at the thought of seeing Master Suleiman.
Behind him, the beggar Bana, the fat Hubbard, and Olivier were in an entirely different state of mind.
All along the way, they had been trying to process the news: their lord, Lord Suleiman, had become the adopted son of Lymond Lychester, Governor of the Riverlands.
Second only to one man, above tens of thousands throughout the Riverlands.
The matter was too shocking, like a boulder weighing upon their hearts, leaving them speechless for a long while.
A knight in full plate armor led men to stop them, his gaze beneath the helmet as sharp as an eagle's.
He carefully inspected their identification, confirmed who they were, and said in a muffled voice, "Follow me."
The knight led them through the enormous outer bailey. Soldiers and servants hurried back and forth, while the clamor of newly built barracks filled the air.
They entered the inner keep and arrived at a Council Chamber that had only just been cleared out.
Stubborn black scorch marks still clung to the walls, as if recounting the brutal battle not long ago.
Fresh carpets covered the floor, and a brazier burned fiercely in the center. Its orange-red glow drove away the room's damp, bone-deep chill.
Suleiman stood before a vast map of the Riverlands, his back to the door.
His figure appeared especially