“Don’t hang me, my lord!” the thin man squealed as Pasevalles finally reached them. “I only found it—I never did nothing!”

Pasevalles could see the unmistakable shape of a human body half-buried in the leaves at their feet. He turned to the man with the feather. “Your name, Forester? Then tell me what has happened here.”

The forester had the lean, weathered look of one who, had he not been given this post, might have been poaching with the man begging for his life. “Natan am I, Lord Chancellor. My lad and I were on our rounds when this fellow ran out, screaming like the White Foxes had come back. Said there was a dead ‘un in the woods. A woman.”

“Was he carrying anything? Any game?”

“I weren’t!” cried the ragged man, bursting into tears. “I were only lost!”

Pasevalles knew better, but he waited for the forester’s reply.

“No, lord. His hands were empty. His bag, too.”

The steward turned to the weeping man. “And what is your name? Be truthful or I will know it, and things will go hard for you.”

“Dregan, lord, but I done nothing wrong! I swear on St. Sutrin’s holy name!”

Pasevalles shook his head. “You may go. But I hope I never hear your name again, Dregan. And if you are caught in the royal forest again—well, you may wish we had hanged you.”

The ragged man got to his feet with many cries of gratitude, then ran back up the hill toward Erchester. The Erkynguards watched him go with the sulky expressions of dogs denied a chase.

“Begging your pardon, lord, but you know he was in these woods for only one thing,” said the forester Natan.

“Of course, but if we’d beaten him, he’d be back in a few nights. As it is, he has told me his name. That will give him pause a bit longer.” Pasevalles stepped closer to the body, then sank to his knees beside it. “So he brought you to see this. Then what happened?”

“I sent my boy to fetch the guards.”

“And we sent a messenger to you, Lord Chancellor,” said one of the Erkynguardsmen, almost proudly.

“Fine. You all did as you should.” He leaned closer, brushing away the damp leaves that clung to the body. He could see a little less than half of the face, but that was strange enough, thin and high-boned and less pale than he would have imagined. What was stranger was that he could see no other sign of decay despite the body likely having been in place for days, at least by the amount of forest debris that covered it. The corpse looked to be a woman’s. “I don’t see any sign of what . . .” he began, then the royal forester jumped and swore behind him.

“That eye!” he said. “It twitched! I saw it!” He took a few stumbling steps back.

“Don’t be foolish,” Pasevalles began, then he saw it too, the faintest tremor in the exposed eyelid. His heart jumped a little in his chest. “Merciful Aedon, I apologize. You are right.”

There was only one thing to do. Pasevalles began to dig away the mulch that covered her. After a moment, the Erkynguards got down beside him to help, although the forester stayed a careful distance away.

When they had uncovered her completely, one of the guardsmen made the sign of the Tree on his breast. The other stared for a moment, then did the same.

“Is it . . . is it a fairy, my lord?” the second guard asked.

“A Sitha, you mean? Or a Norn?” Pasevalles sighed. He had half-anticipated something like this ever since the king and queen had set out for Rimmersgard, some major crisis that would push aside the things he had planned to do during their absence. “I guess that she is Sithi, although I have never met one myself.” He took the soiled cloth of her sleeve in his fingers and felt its smooth weave, slippery as southern island silk. Now that she was uncovered, he could see a shallow movement of her chest. “God save us, she still breathes. Help me.” He rolled her onto her side and sucked in his breath at the sight of three broken arrows that had pierced her, as well as all the dried blood they had let out of her slender body. “Quick,” he told the forester. “Run to the city and find someone with sailcloth or a heavy blanket—something we can use to carry her. And have a cart ready when we get her up to the top.”

“Carry her where, my lord?” asked one of the guards as the forester scrambled away up the slope.

“Back to the Hayholt. It’s our misfortune that Master Tiamak is with the king and queen, but I will find someone to take care of her. Did she say anything, make any sound that you heard?”

“No! We thought she was dead, my lord.”

“And so she should be. Any mortal would have died from those wounds long ago.”

•   •   •

Princess Lillia was waiting for him in the outer throne hall when he pushed through the doors from the Garden Court.

“I heard the noon bell a very long time ago,” the girl said. “You didn’t tell the truth. You said you would tell me a story when noon came, and I’ve been waiting and waiting—”

“I am so very sorry, Highness.” Pasevalles held the door for the guards and their burden. “But we found this woman sick in the forest, and I must help her. Do you know where Lady Thelía might be?”

“She went to the market today,” said Lillia. “I wanted to go but Auntie Rhoner said I couldn’t.”

“Ah. Well, I have a bit of a problem and need some help, Highness. Would you please go and ask Countess Rhona to come to me?”

“I don’t have to do that! I’m a princess!”

Pasevalles took a long breath. “No, you don’t, you’re right,” he said. “My apologies, Princess.” He turned to the guards as they staggered up carrying the blanket with the wounded Sitha. “Put her down there, men,” he told them. “We’ll be taking her somewhere else when we find a clean room.”

“Who’s that?” asked Lillia, eyes wide. “Is she dead?”

“No, but she’s badly hurt.” He turned back to the men. “One of you go find the Mistress of Chambermaids, and the other go fetch Brother Etan, the apothecary. Look for him in the herb garden behind the mews.” He turned back to the princess. “And I promise I’ll tell you that story soon. But you want me to help this poor lady, don’t you?”

Lillia frowned, but kept staring at the indistinct figure in the blanket-sling. “Suppose. Maybe I could go tell Auntie Rhoner for you.” The princess was clearly of two minds, but at last she tucked her hands behind her back and skipped slowly off to find her more-or-less nursemaid, the countess.

•   •   •

“Here you are! What are you doing hiding in one of the guest chambers? I have been searching and searching!” said Rhona. “You are a popular man today, Lord Chancellor—both princesses, mother and daughter, desire your company.” She took a step into the room and stopped, eyes wide, when she saw the figure stretched on the bed. “By the Black Hare, what is this?”

“A Sitha-woman, found nearly dead in the Kynswood,” said Pasevalles. He needed a moment before what she said sank in. “Both princesses? I know Lillia wants a story, but what does her mother want?”

“What Princess Idela wants is a mystery to me, as always.” Countess Rhona was the one who began the joking custom of calling Idela “the Widow,” because she still wore black so many years after Prince John Josua’s death, despite few other signs of actually being in mourning. “But what of this poor woman here?”

“She has arrow wounds—several—and she lay among the trees for days, but still lives. Now you know as much as I do.”

“She still lives?” The countess bent over the motionless body, seeming caught between fascination and pity. “And you are certain she is a Sitha?”

“Look at her. What else could she be?”

“One of the White Foxes, just as easily. By the good gods, are you sure it is wise to bring her into the Hayholt?”

“There is nowhere else we could keep her alive—and safe, too, if she lives. Someone tried to kill her, Countess! And no, she is not one of the White Foxes—no Norn has golden skin like that. She is only paler than usual.”