It had been years – no, decades – since Jhessail had traveled far from the city. She had taken care to preserve the gear she had used as a wizard’s apprentice, wrapping it with a pomander of herbs and storing it in a chest. It had served her well before and it would do so again. And for the other items that were necessary, there were servants. She wrote a list and gave it to her lady’s maid, and soon thereafter they were delivered to her chambers.<br/><br/>When her preparations were complete, Jhessail walked the winding path that led to the King’s Garden, leading her black mare, Haereleth. The horse’s name meant Distant Star, a traditional name for dark horses.<br/><br/>In place of her mourning dress Jhessail wore a dark green tunic embroidered with leaves, a matching long skirt divided for riding, and a cream-colored blouse. A grey-green cloak and a bright silver circlet with glimmering chains wound into her hair completed her wardrobe. At her belt was a sheathed dagger and a quiver of arrows, and on her back she carried a short bow. And in the leather satchel slung over her shoulder were her spellbook and spell components.<br/><br/>She had not been to the garden since before the king’s death. Her thoughts turned to her grandfather as she strolled along the path in pensive silence. How many times had she walked this same path, alone or with others, on the way to meet the king? She could vividly recall visiting the gardens as a child, clinging to the king’s hand; and later, walking arm in arm with him. Bittersweet memories.<br/><br/>Jhessail rounded a bend, and there, near the entrance to the garden proper, stood an ancient beech tree. The king had often waited for visitors beneath the deep shade of its sprawling branches. Stepping forward into its shadow, she opened the vial she’d had delivered to her from the temple of Sehanine, perfume made from the blossoms of night-blooming flowers. A heady, spicy floral aroma filled the air as she poured it at the base of the tree, a libation in remembrance of the king. She bowed her head and clasped her hands as she prayed silently, a moment of private sorrow in a world full of it.<br/><br/>When she was done she returned to the path to wait for the others, the scent of jasmine and moonflowers clinging to her.