"So what do we do about it?" Soterius asked, his words muffled by a bite of venison.

Tris paused. "I want to get a look at what's going on in Arontala's workshop."

Soterius choked on his meat, and the servant behind him had to pound on his back. "You want to do what?" he rasped after he took a sip of wine. "Are you crazy?"

Tris did not reply for a moment, mindful that Jared's eyes were on them. When Jared resumed his conversation with the red-robed mage, Tris glanced again at Soterius. "If Jared's up to something, you can bet Arontala's behind it. And we won't know what it is until we get a look in that workshop." Although he was not prepared to recount the ghost's warning, Tris already concluded that if such a thing as a "soulcatcher" posed a threat, then the first place to go looking for it was the library of the Fireclan mage.

"You know I'm not much for magic," Soterius retorted under his breath. "But I believe my guards when they tell me that the doors to Arontala's rooms are spelled tight. No one comes or goes without him."

Tris chewed thoughtfully on a leg of mutton. "Then let's try the window."

Soterius bit into his bread. "No. Uh huh. Not a good idea. Besides, I thought you hated heights." "I do," Tris admitted. "But it's for a good cause. Come on, you've been dying to get me back up in your climbing rig ever since last year. And you know you always like to try some stunt on Haunts, just to give Zachar a few more gray hairs." He chuckled. "One year you decided we should rappel from the tower and we nearly got shot by the guards. The next year you decided to try to swing from the sleeping rooms to the other side of the courtyard, but you landed in the stable instead."

"Thank the Mother and Childe it was hay and not manure," Soterius replied dryly. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

Tris nodded. "Too many things aren't what they should be. "We'll get our chance when dinner is over and the festival moves down into the town."

The rest of the long feast went uneventfully, with a series of jugglers, acrobats and magicians that even lifted even Tris's mood. Carroway, the mastermind behind the evening's festivities, looked quite pleased with himself as he fussed over his actor friends, adjusting the elaborate costumes and makeup in the far corner of the feast hall and watching with pride as one group of performers after another strove to outdo themselves before the king. As Carroway finished a long, haunting ballad, which was among Serae's favorites, Bricen, showing the same gusto in his feasting for which he was legendary on the hunt, clapped and roared his approval, prompting even louder accolades from the guests. But Tris thought his mother looked distracted, as if she might be marking time until she could make her exit to the private rooms. That was unusual, he thought with concern, for his mother—though never as boisterous as Bricen—was known for her graciousness as a hostess and was usually quite partial to Carroway's ballads.

As the bells in the tower tolled midnight, the outer doors to the greatroom swung open. A black-robed figure, its face shrouded by a deep cowl, stood in the doorway bearing a glittering chalice. Soundlessly, the figure bowed in deference to Bricen, who stood, playing his role in the drama.

"Greetings, Grandmother Spirit," the king intoned. "We are ready for the march." From behind the robed figure of the Crone emerged three costumed actors, each in one of the other faces of the quartern Goddess: Mother, Childe and Lover. Four faces of one goddess, the light aspects of a single deity. The king offered his arm to Serae, and together they led the procession down the aisle toward the waiting players, the tables emptying as the other guests filed in behind them. Tris saw Soterius catch Carroway's eye and make a slight gesture; the minstrel nodded in acknowledgment as the procession left the feast hall.

Tris pulled Soterius into a side corridor, letting the rowdy supper guests push past. Carroway dodged into the hallway a few minutes later. "What's going on?" the bard asked as the last of the revelers passed. The three friends moved further into the shadows, and Tris cast an anxious glance toward the torchlit main hall to make sure they were alone.

"Father and the rest of the family will take leave of the guests at the main gates," he hissed. "As late as it is, they should all head up to bed. Once it's quiet, we can head for the tower and climb down from there."

Soterius looked askance at Tris. "Let's be clear about royal prerogative here," he objected. "Tris has a hare-brained idea that's likely to get us all charred into bits or turned into frogs," the guard complained, his expression resigned as Tris explained the night's work to Carroway.

"I'm game," the minstrel chimed in when Tris was finished. "We bards are quite accepting of magic," he said with mock snootiness aimed at Soterius, who scowled. "Unlike those plebeian military types who only believe in what they see. Count me in."

"What I see worries me enough," Soterius groused. "Wait here. I'll go get my gear."

Soterius retrieved A large bag from his quarters, and together, the three made their way through the passageways of Shekerishet. It was already the wee hours of the morning and the night's revelry was winding down inside the castle. Most of the partygoers had departed. A few costumed stragglers made their way across the courtyards as Tris and his friends climbed the steps to the upper chambers.

They headed for the section above the audience rooms of the king. Tris tried his best to push aside his earlier foreboding. Despite the warnings of the ghost, and his grandmother's apparition, no danger presented itself. Under other circumstances, tonight's adventure might have been fun, harking back to the escapades he and the others had shared when they returned from fostering. They had been high-spirited boys back then, Zachar's private curse, the seneschal was fond of telling them. Tris might be the second son of the king, but it didn't exempt him from a tongue-lashing if things got out of hand. "You're quiet," Soterius prompted. Tris shrugged. "Maybe I'm festivalled out. It's been a long week." He paused. "Carroway," he said, turning to the bard, "have you seen any of the palace spirits since the fortune-teller?"

Carroway shook his head. "Now that you mention it, no. Funny, especially on Haunts. I've seen lots of people dressed as spirits, but the real ghosts are nowhere to be seen."

Tris nodded, uneasy. "There's something wrong. Did you see the way the fortune-teller disappeared, how she seemed pulled away? And where are the rest of the ghosts? There're always as many ghosts as mortals at the festival. The palace ghosts are always most visible on Haunts."

"Could that be why it bears the name, do you think?" Carroway smiled. "It's strange, I'll give you that." He shrugged. "Maybe they're all entertaining the guests in the courtyard. Or maybe even they celebrated a little too much and they've gone back to wherever ghosts go to rest."

"Maybe," Tris said, unconvinced.

Carroway sobered. "That's one more thing that's got you thinking there's trouble?" he asked, with a look that Tris knew read more into the statement. While Tris always self-consciously downplayed what magic talent he possessed to Soterius, Carroway was a willing helper when Bava K'aa would ask the boys to help her with a minor working. Carroway was also comfortable with Tris's odd ability to speak to spirits at any time of the year—not just on Haunts—and drew some of his best tales and songs from the stories of these long-dead courtiers. It was a talent Tris had learned early to hide from nearly everyone else, although Kait and Bava K'aa quietly encouraged him. Instinctively, Tris knew not to let Jared suspect that he had any magic talent. He was glad to avoid another reason for the palace wags to talk.