Ingrey lowered his voice. “And do you plan to tell the truth, or lie?”

Ulkra licked his lips. “What would Lord Hetwar desire of me, do you suppose?”

Did he still think Ingrey was Hetwar’s man? So was Ulkra exceptionally shrewd, or just behindhand on capital gossip? “If I were you, I should be more worried about what Hetwar’s future master desires.” He nodded toward Prince Biast, and Ulkra followed his glance, warily. “He is young now, but he won’t stay that way for long.”

“One would think,” Ulkra angled, speaking almost under his breath, “he would desire to shield his sister from reproach and censure.”

“Would one?” said Ingrey vaguely. “Let’s find out.” He beckoned to Biast, who trod over curiously.

“Yes, Ingrey?”

“My lord. Rider Ulkra here cannot decide if you would wish him to tell the exact truth, or shade it to spare your sister chagrin. What that says about your reputation, I must leave you to decide.”

“Sh, Ingrey!” whispered Ulkra in furious embarrassment, with a fearful glance over his shoulder at the table down the room.

Biast looked taken aback. He said cautiously, “I promised Fara that none would shame her here, but certainly no man should violate his oath of truthsaying before the judges and the gods.”

“You set the path for your future court starting even now, prince. If you discourage men from speaking unpalatable truths in front of you, I trust you will develop your skill for sifting through pretty lies, for you will spend the rest of your reign, however short, wading in them.” Ingrey let his mild tone suggest that it was a matter of utter indifference to him which Biast chose; Ingrey would manage just the same.

Biast’s lips twisted. “What was it Hetwar said of you? That you defy whom you choose?”

“Whom I please. I please Hetwar best so. But then, Hetwar is no man’s fool.”

“Verily.” Biast’s eyes narrowed; then he surprised and gratified Ingrey altogether by turning to Ulkra, and saying shortly, “Tell the exact truth.” He inhaled, and added on a sigh, “I’ll deal with Fara as I must.”

Ulkra, eyes wide, bowed and backed away, presumably before Ingrey could wind him into further coils. The chairs arrived; Ingrey gave Biast a slight, sincere bow, rather ironically returned, and took his place on the rear bench where he could watch the whole room, and the door.

A futile speculation crossed his mind: if Boleso had possessed a friend with the backbone to stand up to him at critical junctures, would he still have turned onto the crooked roads that had led to his death? Boleso had always been the most difficult of the princely brood. Maybe nothing would have saved him, at the end.

After a short, whispered consultation among the judges, Ulkra was called up to take his oath and answer the inquirers. Ulkra stood before them with his hands clenched behind his stout back, feet apart, taking some refuge in the soldierlike pose. The questions were to the point; the panel had already, it appeared, acquired some grasp of the outline of events at Boar’s Head.

As nearly as Ingrey could discern, Ulkra did tell the exact truth of the chain of deeds that had led to Boleso’s death, insofar as he was eyewitness. He did not leave out the leopard, nor his suspicions about Boleso’s earlier “dabblings,” though he managed to cloak his own complicity of silence under protestations of the loyalty and discretion due from a senior servant. No, he had not suspected that Boleso’s body servant was the illicit sorcerer Cumril. (So, the judges had heard of Cumril’s existence—from Lewko?) At one point, the scholarly divine on the side bench silently passed a note across to one of the judges, who read it and followed up with a couple of especially penetrating and shrewd questions of the housemaster.

The unsubtle ugliness of Ijada’s sacrifice at Boleso’s bedroom door came through clearly enough to Ingrey’s ear, despite Ulkra’s self-serving phrasing of it. By the stiffening of Fara’s features, this was the first fully objective account she had heard of the consequences at Boar’s Head after she had abandoned her maiden-in-waiting there. She did not weep in whatever shame she swallowed, but her face might have been carved in wood. Good.

When Ulkra was dismissed, to flee from the chamber as swiftly as he decently could, Fara was called up. Ingrey, playing the courtier, made of helping her from her chair the chance to breathe in her ear, “I will know if you lie.”

Her eyes shifted to him, coldly. “Should I care?” she murmured back.

“Would you really want to put such a weapon in my hand, lady?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Good. You begin to think like a princess.”

Her gaze grew startled as he squeezed her arm in encouragement before letting her go. And then, for a moment, thoughtful, as though a new road had opened up before her not previously perceived.

The judges kept their questions to her brief and courteous, as befit equally law and prudence. The truth she spoke was, like Ulkra’s, softened in her own excuse, and the motivation of her jealousy largely left out, which Ingrey thought all to the good. But the most critical elements in his view—that the demand had come from Boleso, been accepted without consultation by Fara, and that Ijada was no seductress nor cheerful volunteer—seemed plain enough, between the lines. Fara was released with diplomatic thanks by the panel; her eyes squeezed shut in bleak relief as she turned away.

With Fara leading the way, her two senior ladies-in-waiting told the truth as well, including a few side incidents not witnessed by Fara that were even more damaging to Boleso. Biast looked decidedly unhappy, but made no move to interfere with the testimony; though there was no doubt the judges were very conscious of the prince-marshal’s presence and expressions. The scholarly divine, Ingrey noticed, also sent sharp if covert glances Biast’s way. If Biast had chosen to cast the right frowns, snort, or shift at the key moments, might he have shaped the questions? Distorted them in his late brother’s favor? Perhaps; but instead he listened in guarded neutrality, as befit a man seeking truth before all other aims. Ingrey hoped that the idea of a blood-price might now be sounding better to him.

Shuffling echoed in the room as the party rose to leave. Ingrey directed the page to go in pursuit of his twin and bring around the princess’s palfrey; the boy bobbed a bow, and replied, “Yes, Lord Ingrey!” in his high, clear voice before scampering out. The scholarly divine’s head swiveled; he stared at Ingrey, frowning, then went to bend over the shoulder of one of the empaneled divines and murmur in his ear. Brows rising, the judge nodded, cast a glance Ingrey’s way, and murmured back. He then raised his hand and his voice, and called, “Lord Ingrey! Would you stay a moment?”

Despite the polite tone, it was clearly a command, not query or invitation. Ingrey returned a nod and stood attentively. Biast, shepherding his sister out the door, frowned in frustration, apparently torn between assuaging Fara’s anxiety to escape and his own desire to hear what was wanted of the wolf-lord now.

“I will catch you up, my lord,” said Ingrey to him. Biast, with an expression that plainly said they would speak together later, nodded and followed his sister out.

Ingrey took up a stance before the judges’ table reminiscent of Ulkra’s, and waited, concealing extreme unease. He had not expected to be questioned today, or possibly at all.

The scholarly divine stood behind his colleague and folded his arms, shoulders hunched and face outthrust in his concentration upon Ingrey. With his beaklike nose and receding chin, he resembled a stork wading in the shallows, intent upon some fish or frog concealed below the water’s surface. “I understand, Lord Ingrey, that you had an experience at Prince Boleso’s funeral very pertinent to these proceedings.”