Paiva, a third-year fosterling and the newest addition to Carroway's inner circle burst through the door. "They've shut her up in the guard house. It's too cold in there for an old woman. She'll freeze before she gets the chance to plead her case."
Carroway turned toward the fire, rubbing his hand across his forehead.
"Zachar. Malae. Bian. What if it's not a coincidence? The king leaves the palace-the only Summoner who could question the spirits and know for certain how they died-and within a few weeks, three of the most trusted retainers either die or are sent away."
"You said Zachar had a brain bleed," Macaria said.
"Maybe he did. But we weren't looking for poison before Malae died. We assumed the poisoned cakes were for Kiara, but anyone who's watched knows Kiara hasn't eaten much at all this last month."
"She's spent most of the time throwing up in the garderobe, that's the truth," Paiva declared.
"It was Malae who asked for the cakes. What if Malae was the target?" Carroway said, his eyes wide. "How better to get rid of Bian, who's been our eyes and ears? Crevan's on the edge of losing his mind with the preparations for Zachar's funeral. The king is gone to war, the new queen is vulnerable, we've got a half-competent vice seneschal in charge, and three of our inner circle are either dead or under suspicion. If they can peel away the queen's friends, then the queen will be exposed. We'd better find out quickly who's behind this. Kiara's not the only one in danger. So are we."
LORD CURANE SHOULDERED through the crowded corridors of Lochlanimar. Since the siege began, the tension within the keep had grown daily. Some of it was due to the plague now raging in parts of the village, a plague created by his own blood mages as a weapon against the invaders. Some of the tension could be attributed to the feel of the locked-down keep. And some was certainly due to the army outside that was visibly engaged in building siege engines to bombard Lochlanimar.
He climbed the stairs to the tower and withdrew a key from where it hung on a chain around his neck. Locked within the tower was the war's greatest prize-his granddaughter and her infant son.
Curane squinted as he entered the room. The only light came from the fireplace and from the five slitted windows high on the wall. Lanterns sat unlit on a reading desk along the far wall, and candles were dark in their sconces. The room had been made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, outfitted as a noble's bedroom, complete with a small crib. On the bed, he saw a huddled shape.