“Is the prince here?” Ingrey murmured to him.

“Aye.”

“When did you arrive?”

“We reached the Kingstown gate about two hours ago. The prince left his baggage train in the mire near Newtemple. We rode all night.” Symark hitched his shoulders, dislodging a few small lumps of drying mud from his coat.

“Is that you, Ingrey?” Hetwar’s voice called from within. “Enter.”

Symark raised a brow at him; Ingrey slipped inside. Hetwar, seated at his desk, motioned him to close the door behind him.

Ingrey made his bow to the prince-marshal, seated with his booted legs stretched out before him in a chair opposite Hetwar, then to the sealmaster. Both men returned acknowledging nods, and Ingrey stood with his hands clasped behind his back to await his next cue.

Biast looked as mud-flecked and road-weary as his bannerman. Prince Biast was a little shorter than his younger brother Boleso, and not quite as broadly built, but still shared the Stagthorne athleticism, brown hair, and long jaw, resolutely shaved. His eyes were a touch shrewder, and if he shared Boleso’s sensuality and temper, they were rather better controlled. Biast had become heir presumptive only three years ago, on the untimely death through illness of the eldest Stagthorne brother, Byza. Prior to those expectations falling so heavily upon him, the middle prince had been guided toward a military career, the rigors of which had left him little time to match either Byza’s reputation for courtly diplomacy or Boleso’s notoriety for self-indulgence.

Hetwar was already dressed for the day not in his usual sober simplicity, but in full court mourning, his chains of office lying heavy on his fur-trimmed tunic. Presumably, he meant to depart soon to join Boleso’s funeral procession on its last leg into Easthome this afternoon. The sealmaster was of middle height, middle age, middle build; indulgences of the flesh were not among Hetwar’s temptations, surrounded by opportunities though he might be here at the high court. It struck Ingrey that Learned Lewko shared something of the same deceptive mild manner Hetwar routinely bore, concealing complex mastery, which was a curious and unsettling thought.

What neither sealmaster nor prince-marshal bore was any smell of the uncanny, to Ingrey’s newly awakened inner senses. The perception did not ease him much. Magical powers worked sometimes; material powers worked all the time, and this chamber, these two men, fairly resonated with the latter.

Hetwar ran a hand through his thinning hair and favored Ingrey with a glower. “About time you showed up.”

“Sir,” said Ingrey neutrally.

Hetwar’s brows rose at his tone, and his attention sharpened. “Where were you last night?”

“What have you heard so far, sir?”

Hetwar’s lips curved a little at the cautious riposte. “An extraordinarily garbled tale from my manservant this morning. I trust that you did not actually enspell a giant rampaging ice bear in the temple court yesterday evening. What really happened?”

“I had gone up there for a brief errand on my way here, sir. Indeed, an acolyte had lost his hold on a new sacred animal, which had injured him. I, um, helped them regain control of the beast. When the Temple returned it to its donor, Learned Lewko requested me to accompany it back through town, for safety’s sake, which I did.”

Hetwar’s eyes flashed up at Lewko’s name. So, Hetwar knew who Lewko was, even if Ingrey had not.

Ingrey continued, “The owner, Jokol, proclaimed himself as a prince from the southern islands, and it seemed to me undiplomatic to refuse the hospitality of his ship, which he pressed upon me. The islanders’ drinks proved deadly and their poetry, very lengthy. When Gesca rescued me, it was too late to attend upon you.”

A small snort from Biast, with a renewed look at Ingrey’s pallor, testified to the prince-marshal’s amusement. Good. Better to be the butt of a tale of drunken foolishness than the nexus of out-of-control illegal magic, shattering miracle, and worse.

Ingrey added, “Learned Lewko was witness to the whole of the incident with the bear, and the only one I would suggest that you regard as reliable.”

“He is peculiarly qualified.”

“So I understood, sir.”

A passing stillness of Hetwar’s hands was all that revealed his reaction to this. He frowned and went on. “Enough of last night. I am told your journey with Prince Boleso’s coffin was more eventful than your letters to me revealed.”

Ingrey ducked his head. “What did your letters from Gesca say?”

“Letters from Gesca?”

“He was not reporting to you?”

“He reported to me yesterday evening.”

“Not before?”

“No. Why?”

“I suspected he was penning reports. I assumed it was to you.”

“Did you see this?”

“No,” Ingrey admitted.

The eyebrows climbed again.

Ingrey took a breath. “There are some things that happened on the journey even Gesca does not know.”

“For example…?”

“Were you aware, sir, that Prince Boleso was experimenting with spirit magic? Animal sacrifice?”

Biast jerked in surprise at this; Hetwar grimaced, and said, “Rider Ulkra apprised me of some dabblings. Leaving a young man with that much energy too idle may have been a mistake. I trust you removed any unfortunate traces, as I requested; there is no point in besmirching the dead.”

“They were not idle dabblings. They were serious and successful attempts, if ill controlled and ill-advised, that led directly to a state of mind I can only name violent madness. Which also leads me to wonder, for obvious reasons, how long they had been going on. Wen—it is suspected the prince had the aid of an illicit sorcerer at one point or another. Lady Ijada testifies Boleso had some garbled theory that the rites were going to give him an uncanny power over the kin of the Weald. He strangled a leopard the night he tried to rape her, and she killed him trying to defend herself.”

Hetwar glanced worriedly at Biast, who was now sitting up listening with a darkening frown. Hetwar said, “Lady Ijada testifies? I trust you see the problem with that.”

“I saw the leopard, the strangling cord, the paint traces on Boleso’s body, and the chamber. Ulkra and several others among the prince’s household can confirm this. I believe her without reservation. I believed her from the first, but later, another incident confirmed my conviction.”

Hetwar opened a hand, inviting Ingrey to go on. His expression was anything but happy.

“It became apparent to me… it was revealed that… “ This was harder than Ingrey had expected. “Someone, in Easthome or elsewhere, had undertaken a plot to murder my prisoner. It is not clear to me who, or why.” He kept half an eye on Biast as he said this; the prince looked startled. “It became clear how.”

“So who was this assassin?”

“Me.”

Hetwar blinked. “Ingrey… “ he began warningly.

“It was revealed to me, through four failed attempts on my prisoner’s life and the help of a Temple sorcerer we met in Red Dike, one Learned Hallana—who was once a pupil of Learned Lewko’s, by the by—that a compulsion or geas had been placed upon me by magical means. Hallana says it was not common demon magic, not something related to the white god’s powers.”

Hetwar stared his swordsman up and down. “Understand, Ingrey, I do not—yet—accuse you of raving, but I fail to see how anyone, let alone an ordinary young woman, could survive any sort of single combat with you.”

Ingrey grimaced. “It turned out she could swim. Among other talents. The sorceress broke the geas in Red Dike, fortunately for us all.” Close enough to the truth, for his current purposes. “The event was extremely peculiar, from my point of view.”

“Gesca’s, too, it seems,” muttered Hetwar.

In a perfectly calm, level voice, Ingrey said, “I am infuriated beyond bearing to have been so used.”