CARROWAY WAITED RESTLESSLY in the cold night air for the carriage. When it arrived, he glanced up at the driver.
"Yes, m'lord?"
"Take me to Dragon's Rage Inn."
"As you wish, m'lord."
Carroway watched the winter landscape slip by as the carriage made its way from the palace down into the town. With the lengthening winter nights, his mood had grown pensive. Spending so much time near Macaria of late only made it worse.
Goddess! I should get it over with. Tell her how I feel. At least maybe then it wouldn't gnaw at me. Maybe I'd get some sleep. He closed his eyes as the familiar internal battle raged on. I can't tell her. How could I ever believe her response? She'll always think of me as her patron, the one who sponsored her at court. If she doesn't share my feelings, she won't feel free to turn me down. She'd be afraid I'd have her sent away. She'd lose her livelihood. And if she said she loved me, how would I know it's love and not just gratitude? He sighed. I know better than anyone what it feels like to be pressured by a patron. By the Dark Lady! I won't ever do that to someone else. Never. It's hopeless. I've gotten that through my head. But when does my heart catch on?
The patrons of the Inn recognized him as he entered, and cheered at the sight of his lute. The regulars remembered him from the early days, when he played for drinks and food. The innkeeper remembered also and, though he knew his bard was now court musician to the king, came out with a tankard of ale and a plate of cheese and sausage that Carroway accepted graciously.
"C'mon Carroway. A song or two for your old mates!"
The tavern patrons moved to clear a seat for him and Carroway settled in, tuning his lute quickly. His first song was one he had written for the royal wedding, and the crowd cheered when he finished.
"One more! Give us something new!"
Carroway considered for a moment, and then, on impulse, strummed a minor chord. He closed his eyes and began to sing. It was one of the songs he'd written last year, when they'd been at the Library of Westmarch. It told of a girl whose music was so pure that it moved the ghosts to tears, and of the ghost who loved her, forever separated from her by death. He did not open his eyes until he was finished, letting the music fill him completely. When the song was over, there was an instant of silence, and then the crowd roared its approval. Carroway looked up just in time to see Macaria in the doorway watching him, but she slipped away before he could meet her eyes.
Carroway ended the impromptu concert to a round of hearty applause and slipped up the back steps, carrying the plate of food.
"We thought that must be you downstairs," Halik greeted him, slapping him on the back as he entered. In return for the regular services of Carroway's troupe of bards, the innkeeper at the Dragon's Rage kept this small room for them. It was over the kitchen, so it remained warm without a fireplace. The bards used it to store their instruments and music, gather in privacy, and often, bed down for the night.
Halik and Macaria were there as well as Paiva, who was tuning her lute. Tadhg, a barrel-chested man whose skill on the fiddle defied the size of his large hands, lounged nearest the food, picking at the sausage on a large tray. He laughed often and loudly, and was first always with the newest ribald rhyme. Bandele, a waifish woman with long, strawberry-blond hair, leaned against the wall, seated on the floor at the warmest part of the room, clearly lost in her own thoughts, her harp by her side.
They were the regulars, although at least a dozen more might come and go on any night. The bard's room was an open secret, though not all musicians were welcome. Some, whom Carroway knew to be aligned with nobility of questionable allegiance to the king, were never invited. Others, whom the group knew to be too free with their gossip or too enmeshed in court politics, were equally unwelcome. This group had remained constant since Carroway's fostering, with the addition of Paiva a year before. Paiva was the sole survivor of a family killed by Jared's raiders, and when she sang of those times, she didn't realize that she wept as she sang.
A large pitcher of ale and tankards all round attested to the innkeeper's generosity. The Dragon's Rage was one of the few places commoners could hear such accomplished musicians. And if they were the practice audience for a new song or a ballad not yet completely polished, they did not seem to mind. It was also the best place to hear what the people outside the palace thought important enough to gossip about, which gave Carroway the pulse of the kingdom.
"What brings you out in the storm, dressed like a prize rooster?" Halik said.
"I keep telling you," Macaria said, stretching. "He's too tall for a rooster. Peacock perhaps, but not a rooster."
"Paiva was just about to sing us a ditty she heard in the drawing room at Lady Jadzia's," Halik said. "Have a seat." Carroway settled down on a bench next to Macaria. She slid down to make room, leaving more space between them than Carroway would have preferred. "Go ahead, Paiva," Halik encouraged. "Play for us."
Paiva grinned widely. "I'm afraid it's more of a tavern song than any fine music," she disavowed. "But it had a lively tune, and it's hummable, so I suspect it will catch on quickly."
In the lands to the north they breed them tall, and the lads of the north are the tallest of all
And the lasses they say like to pass their days with a sword and a lance and hey! Hey! Hey!
Oh the men up north are not farmers bred and the likes of their lasses they'd rather not bed
So they pack them off for the south to wed with a sword and lance and hey! Hey! Hey!
Now the men up north are not fighters brave, in a battle fierce their own skins they save
Then they'll send their lasses for the neighbor's ale with a sword and lance and hey! Hey! Hey!
Now the moral of my story is sad but true—the men of the north are a motley crew
And they send their lasses for the work to do with a sword and a lance and a hey! Hey! Hey!
In the lands up north—
"That's enough!" Carroway snapped, rising to his feet. Paiva nearly dropped her lute in astonishment before fleeing into the hallway. The other bards regarded Carroway as if he had suddenly gone mad. Bandele jumped to her feet and headed toward the door.
"I'll go after her." Bandele gave Carroway a sour look. "In the meantime, calm yourself."
"And exactly what was that about?" Macaria demanded, hands on hips. "You're not usually a surly drunk."
"I'm not drunk. But I am worried. Don't you get it? That song is about Kiara."
Macaria shrugged. "Tavern songs are often at the expense of the nobles—even the king. That's why drunk soldiers like them so much. So?"
Carroway ran his hands through his long, black hair and began to pace. "It's not just a tavern song," he said. "You've seen how much has been happening—Zachar dead, Malae poisoned, Mikhail imprisoned. Eadoin's been hearing talk among the nobles. Instead of realizing that we've got a traitor among us and taking Kiara's side, some of the nobles are blaming Kiara for bringing misfortune on the court. It's hard enough to be a foreign queen and have the king gone for months to war. But if the court turns against her—"
"I've heard some of the same talk," Halik confessed. "I didn't want to say anything until I was sure it was more than a couple of hotheads with too much ale."
"So have I," Tadhg said.
"But why? The marriage is official. And if it hadn't been Kiara from Isencroft, it would have been a princess from Trevath to keep the peace." Macaria wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"Whoever's behind the attacks on Kiara might not even be from Margolan," Carroway said. "What if the rebels in Isencroft are desperate enough to try to kill Kiara in order to start a war between Tris and Donelan?"
"No queen, no heir, no joint throne," Tadhg summed up with a grim expression.
"Could they?" Macaria asked. "Start a war, I mean?"
Carroway shrugged. "If King Donelan gave his daughter into Tris's protection and she was murdered, that's provocation enough for war, I'd say."
"And a war with Isencroft on the northern border might be just the excuse Trevath needs to attack," Halik said. "They'd put Jared's bastard on the throne with a Curane as regent."
"For a bard, you think like a damn soldier," Tadhg said.
"You travel with a company of soldiers for a year and see if it doesn't rub off a little, along with the lice."
"But I thought they arrested one of Lord Guarov's men for sending that awful shroud," Macaria said. "Lord and Lady Guarov left court very suddenly after that."
"Do you really think Guarov's behind everything that's happened?" Tadhg asked with a snort. "He's not smart enough to dream up a scheme like this—or connected enough to make it happen."
"Or there's more than one scheme going on," Macaria said. "And more than one schemer."
"Tris hasn't had time to undo all Jared's damage," Carroway said. "If someone tapped into that anger, channeled it against something—like a foreign queen—it could be like a tinderbox."
The door opened and Bandele and Paiva entered. The young girl was red-eyed from crying, and Bandele fixed Carroway with an accusing gaze.
Carroway walked over and knelt before Paiva. He took the girl's hand and kissed the back of it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been sharp with you. Can you please forgive me?"
Paiva smiled at the extravagant show of remorse. "Oh Carroway, you know I will." She threw her arms around the bard's neck.
"Carroway thinks there may be a plot to turn Margolan against the new queen," Macaria said, looking at Bandele. "Paiva, you have a gift with remaking folk songs. What if you used the same tune and came up some new lyrics—lyrics that say something good about the queen." She laughed. "By the Dark Lady! I don't even think it would hurt if you said all the Northern lasses are lusty, as long as they're not running our men through with their swords and stealing our ale!"
Paiva sniffled and wiped her hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I can do that. And if I teach it to all of you, maybe we could get out to the other taverns before the first ditty catches on." She smiled, thinking about how to turn the tide. "If I add a little bounce to my version, pick up the tempo, and get the drinkers to thump their mugs on the 'Hey! Hey!' it might just overtake the first version."
"Some of the traveling companies that came for the wedding have stayed because of the weather," Halik added. "Macaria and I can offer them our welcome. And, if in the process, we get down to swapping tales and songs, well, that's what bards do, isn't it?"
Carroway stood and grinned. "That's my girl," he said, clapping her on the shoulder. "I'm willing to make a round of ale houses myself for the cause. If we made a tour of the inns in the palace city and a day's ride beyond, we might get ahead of it."
"How can I break this to you—you just don't blend in," Bandele said with a meaningful look that swept from Carroway's long sable hair down his ruby silk flounced shirt to his brocade trews.
Carroway rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "It's a curse." Macaria elbowed him in the ribs.
"She's right," Halik agreed. "Everyone knows you're the King's Bard—and his friend beside. And everyone at court knows you're close to the queen. Coming from you, it might look like an effort by the palace to stop an embarrassing song—"
"—which would just make the old song more popular," Macaria finished. "But .we can be your eyes and ears. Maybe we can even find out where the other songs are coming from."
"We're going to need the luck of the Dark Lady on our side," Tadhg said.
Carroway clapped Tadhg on the shoulder. "I know, my friend. I know."
In the salle, Kiara wheeled and landed a solid Eastmark kick against the quintain. Once the worst of the morning sickness was over, Kiara found that a good workout just before dawn helped her calm her nerves. The quintain was the opponent of last resort. Until his imprisonment, Mikhail had been a challenging partner. While he lacked Jonmarc's skill with the East-mark fighting style, Mikhail's strength and speed as a vayasb moru created other challenges. But Mikhail was locked in the dungeon. And while Carroway was a dead aim with throwing knives, even by his own admission, his swordsmanship was lacking. There was no one else Kiara trusted as a sparring partner, and so she took out her loneliness and frustration on the wooden quintain.
It felt good to move. She was alone, with the guards on the outside of the salle doors. No one could accuse her of impropriety. Here in the salle, she was free of the cumbersome dresses required at court. A simple dress lay to one side, along with her amulet necklace and her other jewelry. She wore an Isencroft-made tunic and trews, dyed in the colors of flame. As she danced through the fighting forms, Kiara felt her spirits lift for the first time in many days. Jae dived at the quintain, easily dodging Kiara's sword strikes, scoring with his talons against the wooden practice dummy. When he tired of the game, the gyregon retreated to a perch high in the salle rafters.
Focused on technique, Kiara could escape the thoughts that haunted her nights and nagged at her days. It was a relief not to think, to worry, to wonder what was happening with the army. Here, there was only the freedom of movement and the joy of performance.
Without warning, the temperature in the salle plummeted. A gust of wind snuffed out the torches. Still too early for daylight, the windows at the top of the walls were dark. The salle was pitch black. Before Kiara could react, the quintain spun on its own accord, catching Kiara hard across the belly with the broad side of its lance. The force of the blow knocked her to the ground. And just as quickly, a stabbing pain doubled her up. She tried to call out for the guards, but there was no reply. Jae landed beside her, his head turning watchfully.
The air around her swirled with a faint green glow. The glow grew brighter, and Kiara heard voices in the darkness.
"It's too early—"
"Not ensouled yet—"
"Then the time is right. We must determine which of us—"
"We had agreed—"
"No agreement yet—"
Kiara tried to climb to her feet, gritting her teeth to ignore the pain. The quintain began to spin wildly and she ducked down, fearing that another blow from its lance could easily knock her out or worse. The green glow grew closer, and she could hear the voices more clearly.
"Not an easy thing to do—"
"Still, not impossible—"
"One of us will surely be a match—"
A wind rose around Kiara, hard enough that she heard swords clatter down from the walls of the salle. "Guards!" she shouted above the wind.
Laughter rose from the green glow. "They can't hear you. We made sure of that. We've locked the doors, just in case. We've been watching you. Waiting."
"What do you want?"
"To be reborn."
The green glow closed in around Kiara, and she shielded herself, drawing on the regent magic. Laughter answered her.
"You're not a Summoner. We're not mages. Your shields have no power over us." The glowing miasma swirled around her and Kiara was shivering hard, in cold and fear. She struggled to her feet, wincing at the pain in her midsection. She held her sword two-handed, knowing that it would do no good against these opponents. Kiara could see shapes in the glow now, faces emerging. A woman, not much older than herself. A man in his middle years. A young man with cold, determined eyes.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
The hard-eyed young man spoke. "We died in this castle at the hands of the Usurper and his mage. We were robbed of our lives. We want to live again."
"How? I'm not a Summoner. You know that."
"The soul is not yet fixed in your child. There's room for one of us in its place."
Kiara's grip tightened on her sword as she realized the ghost's meaning. "Get away from me! I won't allow you—"
The green glow streaked toward her. Jae leapt for the glowing shapes, only to pass through them without effect. Kiara felt the glow envelop her, felt the coldness slip through her with a chill so complete that she began shivering violently, dropping to her knees. Unlike when the Obsidian King forced himself through her shields, the spirits paid no heed at all to her magic or her shielding. Her heart was thudding hard. It wasn't her mind or body the spirits wanted. It was the child she carried, whose soul would not be fixed until quickening. An empty vessel, yet to be filled. And if one of the spirits could take possession before the soul fated for the child by the Lady fixed itself in the babe.
The large mirror on the salle wall suddenly fell to the floor, shattering in the darkness. The wind rose again, from the opposite corner of the room. Just as quickly as the glow had surrounded Kiara, it jerked free, pulling out of her so abruptly that she nearly blacked out. She looked up to see the dim form of a man in the uniform of the king's army standing in front of her, his eyes resolute. Beside him stood Seanna's ghost and the spirit of a woman dressed as a nursemaid. Kiara guessed her to be Ula, long-dead guardian of the heirs of Margolan.
"In the name of the king, leave her alone!" the ghostly soldier said. "Her steel can't touch you, but mine will burn."
From the outside, Kiara heard footsteps. Guards pounded on the locked doors, shouting to her. The green glow wavered and then streaked forward, filling the salle with a hideous wail. Seanna dived to cover Kiara with her own ghostly form, while the soldier set about with his sword. Ula blocked the glow from one direction, while the soldier-wraith slashed his sword through the green mist. The revenant sword sliced through the green glow and a deafening shriek filled the room. Jae dived at the glow, but flew through it without connecting. Outside, the guards began to ram the heavy doors. The ghost soldier took the offensive. Ula knocked the amulet from where it lay on the bench and sent it skidding across the floor. Kiara clasped it in her fist. Ula added her defense to Seanna's, blocking the attack. The soldier's sword sliced through the glow once more and with a final scream, the glow winked out.
The pain in her belly had grown worse. Kiara was curled in a ball, shivering violently.
"Who are you?" she managed to ask the ghostly soldier who knelt beside her in concern.
"Comar Hassad, liegeman to Bricen," the soldier said. "I was unable to protect Bricen. I am sworn to the defense of his heirs."
"Did the ghosts...take the soul?" The room swam around her, and Kiara struggled to remain conscious. She could hear the wood of the doors splintering.
The spirits around her began to fade. "No. We'll watch over you until the living come." Hassad's voice grew faint. Jae flew down to land beside Kiara and nuzzled her hand.
Kiara heard the doors crash open and saw torchlight. Through the windows, the faint glow of dawn began to light the room. "Get the healer!" a guardsman shouted. One of the guards went to do as he was bid as the other two ran for Kiara.
"We saw something in the corridor and went to investigate. M'lady, who did this?"
"Ghosts," Kiara managed. She fought the urge to cry out as another wave of pain swept over her. "Gone now."
Kiara heard running footsteps and the guards moved aside. Cerise and Alle knelt beside her. "Macaria went to get a stretcher. What happened?" Cerise gentled Kiara onto her back, noting with concern as Kiara winced trying to lie flat.
"Let's give the queen some privacy," Alle said, taking control of the situation. "You— bring a pitcher of cold water and a pot of hot water. And you—get rid of the broken glass." With the guards occupied, Alle knelt beside Cerise.
"Tell me what you need and I'll do it."
Cerise worked silently while Kiara haltingly told of the attack and her ghostly defenders. "Is it true? Could they take the soul?"
"The old stories say so. I always thought they were just the prattling of old women. But out in the midlands, I've heard the hedge witches tell of ghosts that possessed a babe before its soul was fixed. A changeling. It takes blood magic or a Summoner's power to do such a thing after birth, but there are tales of that as well."
"Hassad didn't think they had succeeded. Can you tell for certain?"
Cerise closed her eyes and laid her hands on Kiara's belly. After a few moments, she shook her head. "Only one life thread for both of you. The soul is not yet fixed."
Kiara let out a deep breath and relaxed. "Thank you." Just as quickly, a spasm caused her to grit her teeth and wince.
"I don't know whether it was the blow to the stomach or the stress of the attack—or whether you were pushing yourself too hard in practice. But we've got to get those contractions stopped before you lose the baby."
"My rooms—"
Cerise shook her head. "I'm sorry, Kiara. There's no time. We'll have to make do."
Macaria arrived with the rest of Cerise's healer's satchels and a stretcher. From the hot water the guard brought, Cerise made both tea and a poultice and began to work. Alle shooed the guards from the room, and they took up their places outside the broken doors. Macaria found a sailcloth tarp in a storage chest and rigged it to shield Kiara from the view of passers by. Alle dabbed Kiara's face with a cool, wet cloth, and Macaria held her hand. For a candlemark Cerise worked, digging through her satchels for herbs and dried mixtures and applying them to ease the muscle spasms. Kiara clutched the agate amulet in her left hand. Finally, Cerise straightened.
"You're going to be all right," Cerise said with a tired smile. "You're both safe. Let's get you somewhere more comfortable."
Alle signaled the guards, who gently lifted Kiara onto the stretcher. Carefully, they made their way up to the queen's quarters. Tris's dogs, sensing something amiss, stayed close. The gray wolfhound, Kiara's favorite, lay down alongside the couch. The mastiff took up a watch at the head of the couch, and the black wolfhound lay at the foot. Jae settled himself on the back of the couch. In the shadows, Kiara saw the dim outlines of Seanna and Ula, standing watch.
"I'm sorry, my dear," Cerise said, taking Kiara's hand. "We've had so many other worries, I never thought to warn you about the spirits."
Kiara leaned back against her pillow. "I knew Tris wasn't sure whether he'd laid all of the ghosts of Jared's victims to rest before he left. He tried but—Goddess!—there were so many."
A knock sounded at the door. Alle opened it cautiously, her hand near the knife hidden in the folds of her skirt. Carroway stood in the doorway, and Kiara waved for him to enter.
"I came as soon as I heard. Are you all right?"
Kiara nodded. "If I remember Tris's story about the night of the coup, I think I met one of your old friends. He said his name was Comar Hassad."
"Hassad was one of Bricen's most loyal guardsmen—and one of the first to die in the coup. He guided us through the forest to that burned out inn, only when we stayed there the first time, it looked solid and quite safe—not a charred shell!"
"If you see him again, tell him 'thank you' for me."
Carroway smiled. "Me, personally, I don't go looking for ghosts. But since Tris left with the army, Hassad's been busy. I've heard tell that the guardsmen have seen him all around the castle. Scared a couple of minstrels out of their wits down on the road by the bridge."
"Seanna and Ula seem to have taken a personal interest in you and the baby," Macaria added.
"I was never so glad to see a ghost," Kiara said, managing a smile. "Jae tried to protect me, but he flew right through the spirits." She shivered at the memory.
"I'd hoped that you'd avoid the problems your mother had," Cerise said. "And I think in many ways, you have. But you've got to be careful." She held up a hand to stay Kiara's protest. "I know that many of our soldiers train almost up to when they give birth. I know the battle healers say such training is safe. But if you have Viata's constitution, you must take care. Your mother was just as excellent a fighter as you are, but she had to be very careful when she was pregnant with you—and even so, it was a difficult and dangerous birth. If you want to continue to train in the salle, you'll have to take it easy—perhaps work on form and stretching instead of whacking our your frustrations on the quintain," she added with a smile.
"Paiva and Bandele have some new songs," Carroway said, standing. "I'll have them come up to give you a private audience once you've had a chance to rest. If you need anything, Macaria can find me." He bowed and left.
Macaria followed him into the hallway, closing the door.
"I'm afraid for her," Macaria said.
Carroway took her hand, and was surprised that she did not draw away. "So am I. When I promised Tris we'd look after her, I wasn't expecting anything like this. I'm starting to wonder where the real war is—out there, or in here."
"We're still no closer to knowing whether it's Curane's people or the Isencroft separatists who've been behind most of the incidents. Now, with the ghosts—"
"Maybe the other minstrels will hear something. Whoever's behind this may overplay his hand. You've got to help keep an eye on Kiara—and an ear open to the palace gossip. I can't do it—I don't dare. People will talk."
"What I said about your reputation with your patronesses, that was a joke."
"The reputation is real even though I didn't earn it. I can't stay close enough to make sure she hears the court gossip. But you can. Paiva's too young. Bandele doesn't have the nose for politics you do. There's no one else I trust to be that close to her. Alle only hears the noble's talk. You hear what's said below stairs, what people in the crowd say when they think no one important is listening."
Macaria smiled. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and he returned the pressure. "I will," she said. "But stay as close as you can— all right?"
Carroway made a deep courtly bow. "I live to serve, m'lady."
Kiara and Alle looked up when Macaria came back into the room. "How's your bard?" Kiara asked.
Macaria looked away. "My bard? He's just worried about you. That's all."
Kiara gave a tired smile but did not argue. She could hear Cerise moving about her room, putting her satchels and medicines away.
Alle sat down in a chair beside Kiara. "I know you don't want to worry Cerise. How are you—really?"
Kiara pulled herself into a sitting position. "In Isencroft, I understood the rules. When I went on my journey, I was sure of my ability to fight—and I had a war steed as well as Jae. On the road last year, heading to Westmarch and then on the way back to confront Jared, I knew I could hold my own, even in a battle. Now— everything's different. We still don't know who's trying to kill me—or whether it's more than one person for different reasons. Tris is at war, and we don't know anything about how that's going. I've never felt this helpless in my life—and I hate it. I couldn't protect Mikhail or Make, and I failed today to keep the baby safe. I've let Tris down—I've let everyone down."
"Now, you sound like Viata," Cerise said, joining them. "Your mother was merciless with herself when she made a mistake, but she never recognized her successes. You've gotten used to relying on yourself since Viata died. That's made you strong. But it takes courage to admit when you need help. We won't think less of you." She paused. "What of your regent magic, Kiara? Is it of any help?"
"We found out last year how dangerous it could be for me to scry," Kiara said. "It worked too well. Arontala nearly killed me. I can shield against magic, although a sorcerer of power can break through. I learned that the hard way," she said ruefully. "Father said his magic let him sense the weather—helpful for battle, not much use for me at the moment. If anything, perhaps the regent magic makes our child even more likely to be a mage. But I'm not counting on it for protection."
"We need a plan," Alle said. "We've got to figure out a way to keep you safe without making you a prisoner—and still have the court see enough of you that the gossips don't spread too many rumors."
Macaria flinched. "Speaking of rumors... Carroway says he needs to keep his distance from Kiara because of his 'reputation.' I've always heard comments, but I figured it was his looks—there's no denying the boy's handsome. I can't figure it out—in the years I've been at court, I've never known him to take a lover, but he's got a reputation for bedding his patronesses. I'm afraid for Carroway. Someone's been peeling away Kiara's supporters. What happens if they go after him?"
Macaria looked at Alle. "You and your aunt Eadoin know everything that goes on at court. What's behind the rumors? He won't tell me. I've asked."
Alle fingered her bracelet. "I can understand why he doesn't want to talk about it. I'm not sure—"
Kiara looked from Macaria to Alle. "Macaria's right. Whoever's behind this seems to know all about court secrets. Carroway's vulnerable, and if we're the only ones who don't know, we can't do anything to help. He's a dear friend, Alle. Tris owes him his life. "He's doing everything he can to protect us. We need to know."
Alle nodded. "I heard Aunt Eadoin talk about it once, about how Carroway's family died in the plague. He was only thirteen when it happened. Bricen and Serae took him in, gave him a home at Shekerishet. Even then, he was quite a rising star among the minstrels, and his looks didn't hurt.
"From what Aunt Eadoin said, the trouble started about five years ago, when Carroway was sixteen. Lady Nadine took a liking to him. She asked him to play at her manor any time he was free from court. At first, it was all right. Then she started asking him to stay longer and longer. Finally, she propositioned him, even though she was twice his age. She wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. He felt trapped, but without a family, he was afraid."
Anger tightened Alle's voice. "That went on for a year. No one knew. Then Aunt Eadoin found out. She was just about to go to the king when Carroway took matters into his own hands. He tried to poison himself. He left a note, saying that he didn't know how to escape and never wanted the affair in the first place. Tris found him; Esme healed him. Bricen was so angry that he summoned Lady Nadine and banished her from court forever. Still, the damage was done. You know how the court loves a good story."
Macaria looked away. "That explains a lot."
Kiara squeezed Alle's hand. "I know all about that kind of gossip. Mother fought it all her life, and I saw the toll it took on her. Carroway's right to be cautious. And since he has to keep his distance, that makes you," she said with a nod toward Macaria, "all the more important. There aren't many people we can trust completely. You and the bards are the best source for what's going on at court, what people are saying."
Kiara shook her head. "I wish we knew who father's spy was. He—or she—would be another ally"
Macaria looked up. "We think we know who all the other spies are—except for Isencroft's. Whoever your father sent is keeping a very low profile."
"It worries me what's being reported back to father," Kiara said. "Malae's death. The murders Mikhail was blamed for. Everything else that's happened. Father has enough on his hands trying to break the divisionist rebellion. News like that doesn't help."
"Maybe that's part of the plan," Alle mused. "Maybe whoever's behind the attacks wants the news to cause problems with Isencroft. We've been assuming they're in league with Curane. Maybe they really support the Isencroft rebels."
"Or maybe there's more than one group," Macaria said. "Right now, we just don't know. We've got to be careful."
Kiara fastened the agate charm around her neck. "For starters, Fm never taking off the amulet again. I don't know whether it would have helped today—but it couldn't have hurt."
"And just having guards outside wasn't enough. We're going to need to have one or two people with you at all times—inside the room." Macaria added.
Kiara grimaced. "Fm afraid you're right. We've got a battle of our own—only we don't even know where the lines are drawn. Every time we leave these rooms, we need to have a defense, and we need to be armed. We need to know where the doors are and where the guards will be. I don't understand Margolan, but I do understand war. This is war."