Any day now…
The words were still circling in Micheline's thoughts when the next group stepped out of the mist.
At first glance, it looked like any noble party travelling to a tournament or a wedding feast. A tall, lean knight walked at its head in a heavy cloak dyed a deep, rich indigo, the color so dark and so even that Micheline could see it clearly from a dozen paces away. Beside him walked a pale, slender lady in a fine fur-lined riding cloak, her gloved hand resting lightly in the crook of his arm.
Sir Cynwrig Stormbrook and his wife, Micheline realized. Stormbrook indigo was somewhat famous at least as far away as DuCoumont, and she'd even seen it turn up in Gaalen once or twice, though it struggled to command the price its quality deserved once people learned it had been spun and dyed in the frontier rather than the large mills of Keating or Trevarthen.
It was the two people walking behind the Stormbrooks, however, who made her look again.
