Head pounding, Tris took a step toward the door and stumbled, falling hard against a work table. He caught himself and mumbled the words to lower his wardings. He grabbed for the door and opened it, holding on to the door post for support.

The guards reached out to steady him. Tris found the strength to wave them away. "Get me back to my rooms," he rasped. One guard led the way while the other followed. The midnight bells tolled in the tower outside as Tris reached his rooms. When the door was shut behind him, he leaned back against it, closed his eyes, and tried to remember if he had ever felt quite so weary in his life. Sure, he told himself, pushing a sweat-soaked strand of white-blond hair back from his eyes. Last week, when you cleansed the other cell. Then there was the time you got captured by slavers. And those weeks of tent rigging for the caravan when you were trying to stay out of sight. And don't forget the training at the citadel in Principality. It might be easier, he thought, to recall a time when he didn't feel exhausted. Before Jared's coup. Those days seemed like another life, although the anniversary of his family's deaths had not yet passed.

The servants had set a pot of water on the hearth to boil. Gratefully, Tris made himself a cup of tea, mixing in the last of the headache potion his healer left for him. By now, the guards and the healers expected that every cleansing in the tainted areas of the castle would come at great cost to their king. Neither he nor they were surprised when he returned barely able to climb the stairs. But even when expected, the consequences of working strong magic were painful.

As he stirred the tea, Tris found himself staring at the painting of his father, King Bricen. Jared had destroyed all of the paintings of the royal family in Shekerishet. One -of the first things Tris did when he regained the throne was to gather any paintings that were hidden in noble houses of his father, his mother Queen Serae, and his sister Kait. The paintings helped, just a little, ease how much he missed his murdered family.

Tris studied the portrait of Bricen as if his father might speak. There was no denying the family resemblance. From Bricen, Tris received the king's high cheekbones, angular features, and tall build. From Serae, Tris took his white-blond hair and green eyes. His shoulder-length hair was a wild cloud around his face, still tangled from his encounter with the ghost. The last time he'd looked at his own reflection he had barely recognized himself, thinking that in just the few months since he had taken the crown, he had grown gaunt and strained. It's why they say a crown is the heaviest load to bear, he thought. There are too many things to worry about—things that even a king, or a sorcerer, can't fully control.

At Tris's feet, basking in the warmth of the fire, three dogs looked up. The two wolfhounds, like rangy long-tufted carpets, stretched languorously and wagged tiredly. The third, a bull mastiff, shuffled to his feet and padded over to nuzzle Tris's hand. Absently, Tris patted the big dog's head. During his exile, Tris had feared for the dogs' safety, knowing that Jared's cruelty extended to the palace animals. Tris had gone to the hunting lodge where he'd kept the dogs, expecting the worst. To his surprise and relief, the dogs had survived, having been turned out into the woods for their own protection by the lodge keeper. Dirty and underfed, ribs jutting, the dogs had come to him. Tris saw to it that they received plenty of food and a healer's care. Just a few months later, the dogs were nearly back to their former weights, happy to be home and with him.

Tris put his empty cup aside and fell across the bed fully dressed. One of the wolfhounds licked his hand while the mastiff nudged at his ear. The other wolfhound padded up and sat down at the end of the bed protectively, as if on vigil. Safe at last, Tris gave in to exhaustion and let sleep take him, sure his dreams would be restless.

A knock at the door startled Tris. The sun was already shining through the windows; he had slept through the night. His dogs woofed warily. Cautiously, Tris went to the door. Master Bard Carroway stood in the doorway carrying a tray with a pot of tea, cups, and a heaped plate of cakes.

"Isn't this early for you?" Tris waved his friend inside.

Carroway, resplendent in the jewel-toned silks he favored, chuckled and took a seat near the fire. The dogs wagged sleepily and returned to their places. "I could ask the same of you. Begging your royal pardon, but you look like hell."

Tris chuckled. He offered the tea to Carroway, who accepted, then sank into another chair beside the fire and cradled his cup in his hands. "More ghosts."

"The poltergeist?" Carroway asked.

"Another one of Arontala's victims."

"By the Lady! How many people did he have time to kill? There wouldn't have been a kingdom left if Jared had had the crown a full year."

"There almost isn't anyhow," Tris said wearily. "Now that Zachar's come out of hiding, we've gone over the accounts. Father ran the kingdom well. Before he died, the treasury was more than ample. There were stockpiles of food and equipment. Now.... Whether Jared squandered it, Arontala used it to buy troops, or it just got looted, there's not nearly as much as there should be," Tris said. "This year's harvest isn't going to replace it, either. All the farmers ran for the border once Jared took over. The soldiers burned so many crops and villages trying to extort taxes that there'd be a famine before springtime if I hadn't managed to buy and barter grain from Dhasson and Principality. There still might be. And now, with war coming—"

"Is that certain?"

Tris sighed and nodded. "There's no getting around it, I'm afraid. Sweet Chenne, I wish there were. Father never trusted Lord Curane. He always thought Curane was too friendly with Trevath." Trevath, Margolan's neighbor to the south, had a long and bitter history of border disputes and attempts to meddle in Margolan's affairs. That it shared the kingdom of Nargi's affection for the Crone, one of the Lady's dark Aspects, made Trevath even more suspect.

"You think he's getting support from Trevath? Would Trevath be that bold?"

"Don't forget—Jared was father's son with Eldra, and Eldra was from Trevath. Arranged marriage to keep the peace." Tris made a face.

"You can see how well that worked. So while we don't have any evidence that Trevath supported Jared's coup, he might have been able to create an alliance that benefited Trevath through Eldra's family.

"The generals are suspicious," Tris said. "That's their job. We already know Jared tried to ally with Nargi. The only thing Nargi and Trevath hate more than each other is Mar-golan. We can't afford to have them team up against us. And it would be like Trevath to take advantage by backing Curane." He looked into the fire. "What we know for sure is that some of Jared's top generals—the ones who ordered the village massacres—are being harbored by Curane. The. Sisterhood believes he's giving shelter to dark mages. And then there's Jared's bastard to worry about." "Damn."

Jared had been notorious for his promiscuity. Many of the nobles' daughters had been among his willing paramours. But Lord Curane had seen a way to profit from Jared's lusts, and had willingly supplied his own granddaughter, a girl barely of marriageable age, for Jared's pleasures. Even before Tris had battled Jared for the throne, rumor had it that Curane had whisked his granddaughter—pregnant with Jared's child—into hiding. The girl and her newborn son were said to be in Curane's holdings. That alone was reason enough for war.

"Although I don't mind being confessor to the king," Carroway said with a sly grin, "it really isn't why I came. You're hard to catch, and your royal wedding planner has a few questions." Now that he was back in his role as court minstrel, Carroway had lost no opportunity to dress in the sumptuous style that had always been his signature. With Carroway's blue-black long hair and long lashes over light blue eyes, the minstrel was handsome almost to the point of beauty. Since Tris was now betrothed, Carroway remained one of the court's most eligible bachelors.