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“This is true, not some trick?”

“I am locked in here, just as Your Majesty is. I have no more freedom than you, for Robert would never risk even the possibility that we might grow friendly.”

“If what you say is genuine,” Muriele said, “if you really have determined to help me, then why are you here? You might have done me more good outside.”

“I considered that, Your Majesty, but out there I can’t protect you. If you are murdered, any intelligence I gather will be worthless. Here there are a thousand subtle ways they might kill you. I can detect and counteract at least some of them. And who knows, perhaps I will be granted some limited movement, if we act the part of raging hatred when the guards are within earshot.”

“I asked you to protect my son,” Muriele reminded her.

“He has protectors,” Berrye explained. “You do not.”

Muriele sighed. “You’re as willful as Erren was,” she half complained, “and it’s done now. I don’t suppose you know if there are any hidden passages in this tower?”

“I think there are not,” Berrye said. “It shouldn’t prevent us from searching, but I don’t remember any from the diagrams.” She paused. “By the by, I think it must have been Prince Robert himself in your chambers that night.”

“From what do you conclude that?”

“Why didn’t he just put you in your own chambers?” she asked. “He could just as easily have kept you guarded there, and it is the more usual way of the doing these things. Why put you all the way over here, farther from his sight and control?”

“It’s a symbol,” Muriele said. “The last Reiksbaurg to rule Crotheny built this place.”

“I think he knows about the passages,” Berrye disagreed. “I think he knows you could escape your own rooms. And that is very peculiar, Your Majesty. Very peculiar indeed.”

“I don’t see why,” Muriele said. “It’s a wonder everyone doesn’t know about them by now.”

Berrye laughed. “It is a wonder, Your Majesty, and more specifically a glamour. Men cannot remember the passages.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they can be shown them, they can even walk in them—but a day later they will have forgotten them. Most women, too, for that matter. Only those with the mark of Saint Cer, or the lady I serve, can remember them for any length of time—we and those we choose to give the sight. Erren must have chosen you—but she could not have chosen a man.”

“Then Sir Fail won’t remember how he escaped the castle?” Muriele asked.

“No, he won’t. Nor will his men, or Charles. It is a very old and very powerful charm.”

“But you think Robert remembers?”

“It is one explanation for why he moved you. The only one I can presently discern.”

“Robert is a highly suspicious man, as you recently pointed out,” Muriele said. “He may have merely feared that I would have some way to escape.”

Berrye shook her head. “There’s more. The key—who else would want the key to the chamber of the Kept? And the cruelty done the Keeper very much suggests Robert.”

“That’s two good points,” Muriele admitted. “But if you’re right, then he’s somehow immune to the spell.”

Berrye nodded. Her face drew up almost with a look of pain, as if she had bitten her tongue.

“He isn’t normal,” Berrye said. “There’s something unnatural about him.”

“This I know,” Muriele said. “I have known it for a long time.”

“No,” Berrye averred, “this is something new. Some quality about him that was not there before. My coven-sight aches when I look at him. And the smell—like something that is rotting.”

“I didn’t notice a smell,” Muriele said, “and I was near him.”

“The scent is there.” She folded her hands together and gripped them into a fist. “You said the Kept gave you a curse—a curse against whomever killed your husband and children.”

“Yes.”

Berrye nodded. “And you carried it through.”

“Yes. Do you think Robert is cursed?”

“Oh, certainly,” Berrye responded. “That is part of what I sense, though not the whole of it. But what sort of curse was it? What was it supposed to do?”

“I’m not sure,” Muriele admitted. “The Kept told me what to write, but the cantation was in a language I did not recognize. I wrote it on a lead sheet and put it in a sarcophagus below the horz in Eslen-of-Shadows.”

“Below the horz?”

“Underneath it, actually. It was very peculiar—I don’t think anyone knew it was there. The entrance to it was far in the back, where the growth is thickest. I was forced to crawl on hands and knees to find it.”

Berrye leaned forward and spoke urgently. “Do you know whose tomb it was?”

“No, I’ve no idea,” Muriele said.

“The cantation—do you remember any of the words? Do you know what saint they were addressed to?”

“The words themselves were too strange. The saint was one I’ve never heard of, Mary-something.”

Berry’s lips parted, and then she put one hand to her mouth.

Marhirehben?” she said, and her voice quavered.

“That sounds right,” Muriele said. “There were several h’s in the name, I remember. I remember wondering how it could be pronounced.”

“Holy saints,” Berrye said weakly.

“What did I do?”

“I—” she trailed off. She seemed terrified.

“What did I do?” Muriele insisted.

“I can’t be sure,” she said. “But nothing can prevent that curse, do you understand? Nothing at all.”

“I don’t understand,” Muriele said. “You say Robert is cursed. From my point of view there’s nothing wrong with that—it’s precisely what I wanted.”

“If you cursed a man in Her name, Majesty, nothing could save him from it, not even death. And if he was already dead when you cursed him . . .” She looked down at the floor.

“It would bring him back?” Muriele asked, unbelieving.

“It would bring him back,” she confirmed. “And there is something about the prince that feels—dead.”

Muriele put her forehead in her palms. “These things, they are not real,” she said. “They cannot be.”

“Oh, they are very real, Majesty,” Berrye assured her.

Muriele looked back up at her. “But why do you suspect that Robert died? After all, it was his plan to assassinate William.”

“Plans go wrong. William had faithful men with him, and there was a fight. In any case, there were plenty of people who hated Robert enough to kill him—and he was absent from the court for an awfully long time.”

“This is still conjecture,” Muriele said.

“It is,” Berrye said. “But it would explain other things I have heard about. Terrible, unnatural things that ought not to be.”

“I only cursed Robert—”

Berrye shook her head violently. “Majesty, if he came back from the dead, you have done more than curse one man. You have broken the law of death itself, and that is a very bad thing indeed.”

7

A Change of Patrons

“Please,” Leoff begged the soldier, “can’t you tell me what’s happened, what I’m supposed to have done?”

“Don’t know,” the soldier said. He was a short fellow with a puffy red face and an unpleasant nasal voice. “Word was left at the gate to grab you if you turned up—and you turned up. That’s all I know. So just keep moving and don’t make my life difficult with a lot of questions I can’t answer.”

Leoff swallowed, but resigned himself to waiting.

They were in a part of the castle he hadn’t been in before—not that that was a surprise, because he hadn’t seen most of the castle. They’d already passed the court, so they weren’t going there. They went down a long hall with high arches and a red marble floor, then into a large room of alabaster. Light streamed in from broad windows trimmed with pale green and gold drapes. The rugs and tapestries were done in similar colors.