"Your Grace," came the collective address from everyone within his immediate vicinity.
He acknowledged them with a nod and then ordered a nearby arcanite to go inquire as to the nature of the holdup up ahead, the middle-aged man dismounting from his horse and disappearing into the congested procession after assuring that he would do so in a timely fashion. Ignoring Arienne's discreet glances—the female knight that Vestach had sent to keep an eye on him—he walked around to the head of the carriage where a sharp-eyed woman with handsome, finger-length strands of black hair sat quietly at the driver's side, her thin frame leaning back in her seat in an aloof manner.
"Deena," he said, meeting her sharp, dissecting gaze with a stern look. "Don't forget your task."
