Aksel smiled as he rounded the corner. More than a year since he'd seen Kyra last, and now she seemed somewhat drawn, her jaw set more sharply than before, a new tension in the pull of her shoulders. But her eyes were relaxed, with the old dangerous glittering.
He greeted her with a brief and avuncular hug. "Dear niece," he said fondly. "You look radiant as ever. So the Tyrells are treating you well?" It was not a question. "We've all missed you, back in the Dreadfort." He gave an absent smile to the groom who walked over his big gray gelding, noting the tooled saddle on Kyra's horse as they prepared to mount. He nodded vaguely toward it. "I left Dristan, but Jemni's come down with me. Jorelle too. I'd suggest you visit, but they left for another hunting trip a few days ago." A corner of his mouth tweaked up. "Jemni had half a mind to stay for the tourney. But the game is so very rich around here...of course they left in the end." And that was all he could say until they were safely out in the countryside. For once, even Aksel was finding it hard to wait. And likely she has something to tell me too, or she would have waited until I sought her out. She was with Paegon when he died, Aksel had heard, and then she'd been lost for days in the turmoil afterward--something must have happened then. But the Dreadfort was a long way by crow, and Aksel had not dared make the trip south in person to find out. Too many Starks, and risen too high.