Two days later, Tris gathered his heavy cloak against the bitter late autumn chill. Assembled in the courtyard was a delegation of the Scirranish, the families of those who had vanished under Jared's reign. More than two dozen family members gathered, on horseback, in wagons, and on foot, waiting silently for the march to begin.

"The guards are ready," Soterius said, riding close to where Tris waited while his horse was saddled. Tris was just as glad that protocol meant someone else saddled and readied his horse for him. With healing from Esme and Taru, his arm was mending quickly, but he had no desire to test it with a heavy saddle.

Tris glanced at the guardsmen outside the stable. "You can vouch for them?"

Soterius nodded. "I only took guards who lost family to Jared. Believe me, there was no shortage of possibilities."

Tris swung up into his saddle. He fidgeted, knowing that the ring mail he wore beneath his cloak was going' to make his shoulder sore by the end of the day.

"Lovely weather," Soterius said, riding beside him. After the assassination attempt, the generals insisted that Tris take a troop of twenty armed men with him whenever he left Shekerishet. "What do you expect? It's only a week before Haunts."

The Scirranish waited respectfully, bowing as Tris's entourage passed. Tris promised the group of survivors that he would go out to yet another of the killing fields, to a clearing a day's ride from the palace in the farmland around Huntwood. There, half-buried bones and quickly-dug mass graves were grisly evidence of a massacre.

Soterius gave the signal to move out, and the soldiers fell into place. Tris and Soterius rode in the middle, with Coalan behind them. They rode in silence until they were outside the palace gates and on the road headed north.

"Do I need to mention that Zachar didn't think this was a good idea?"

"Should I be surprised?"

"Twenty guards isn't a lot."

"It seems ridiculous to march a regiment out here just to turn around and go back home again."

Soterius shrugged. "Army training is full of pointless maneuvers. Dig a hole and fill it in. Build a wall and knock it down. Marching out and back is one of the saner things we do."

Tris watched his friend. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Soterius did not answer immediately. "I don't think I'll ever be ready," he said finally. "But I have to give them their rest." His voice caught. "Danne said that father died thinking me a traitor. I would give anything to set that straight." Coalan's expression was stony, but his eyes were painfully unguarded. "Danne and Anyon will meet us there. They've been trying to get some crops in. I sent them all of my share in the reward money from King Staden to rebuild, but it's been hard. Barely any men left around there to help with the farming, let alone to rebuild the house. Some of Mikhail's brood have been doing what they can—Jared slaughtered their kin as well."

With an early start, they would reach the killing fields by twilight, when the line between the realms of living and dead stretched thin. The soldiers carried provisions for a night in the field, and the Scirranish had brought their own supplies.

"I actually feel safer now than in Shekerishet."

"Oh?"

Tris inclined his head toward the rag-tag band that followed the soldiers. "The Scirran-ish are as close as kin. They found each other while they searched through fields looking for bodies. They support each other—food, clothing, looking after orphans. By losing a family member to Jared they gained a new family— the family of the disappeared ones. A stranger among them would be noticed as quickly as an outsider in a hill country village."

"Which would be when they were a day's ride away."

"Exactly. No one in the kingdom has more reason to keep me alive and keep Jared's supporters off the throne."

"I've heard rumors that some of the kitchen staff actually tried to poison Jared, he took so many of their daughters."

Tris nodded. "Carroway told me that, too. You know he always has the below-stairs news, and the kitchen staff love him like a son."

"So do the dowagers. Now that you're almost married, I think more than a few of the court matrons have an eye on Carroway as a prize for their daughters."

Tris grinned. "And what about you? I'd think being a general would make you all the more marriageable."

Soterius rolled his eyes. "I'll pick for myself, thank you. You know," he said, "I did finally find a girl who caught my eye, while Mikhail and I were out rounding up rebels. She was a bar maid up in the high country, but she could throw a knife as well as Carroway. She and the bar owner were helping bards get out of Mar-golan before Jared could arrest them."

"And?"

"I sent someone to find her, but she disappeared. Maybe it's for the best," he sighed. "I don't imagine the court would be kind to her."

The roads were nearly deserted, and the weather turned cold as they made their way north. Their horses picked their way through the wagon ruts and mud, while bare trees on either side of the roadway shivered in the wind. Tris saw the soldiers flinch with every click of branches, scanning for danger.

We can't stay on knife-edge forever.

They rode without incident, reaching the killing fields as the sun was low in the sky. Although the soldiers rode much better mounts than the Scirranish who followed them, the Scirranish managed to keep up. The delegation had grown as they traveled, and now numbered well over one hundred people. Tris admired their determination. On the outskirts of the fields, Soterius gave the signal and the procession stopped. Tris and Soterius dismounted. Sahila, the Scirranisb leader, slipped down from his plough horse and ambled toward them.

Sahila bowed awkwardly. "Your Majesty," he said. "When you're ready, we'll show you where the graves are."

"Let me prepare."

Looking out over the land, Tris- could see where the muddy ground had been trampled. Mounds and sunken places marred the field. In the distance he could make out the ruined shadow of Huntwood. There will be time to feel later, he told himself. But not now.

If the families of the dead seemed unperturbed to have a Summoner as king, the men of Margolan's army were still coming to terms with the idea. Tris had. no doubt that Soterius had chosen soldiers as much for their openness toward magic as for their unquestioned loyalty. It wasn't that military men doubted the existence of magic—any fool who'd been to war and faced an enemy mage knew that magic was real. Healing magic and charms for luck or love were common enough. But few had seen high magic worked up close, and fewer still had been in the presence of a true sorcerer-caliber mage.

Tris had done his best to prepare himself during the long ride. Candles would be difficult with the autumn wind, so Tris decided upon a token element instead to set the wardings, with handfire as a focus.

The soldiers drew back to permit Tris to pass among them. He directed the guards to make a small pile of rocks. On this rough altar, Tris set out honey cakes and a flask of ale to honor the Goddess. When Tris reached the edge of the field, he drew his sword as an athame and made the sign of the Lady.

Tris felt power gathering around him as the wardings rose. He set a warding over the soldiers and the audience, and called a second warding around himself. When the wardings were in place, Tris called hand fire and focused on the pure, cold, blue flame that rested in his palm. He closed his eyes. As his concentration grew deeper, he extended his mage sense, inviting the spirits of the dead to come from their exile and join him. Tris could feel their energy all around him. As they began to manifest, the intensity of their feelings grew.