Keeping up his side of the agreement, he turned his full attention on Ysmay and flirted outrageously with her until she quivered in his arms.

Alec was midway through his second dance with Kylith when Micum laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Forgive me, lady, I must borrow your partner for a moment," he said, bowing to Kylith. "Alec, a word?"

Trouble?

Alec signed as Micum walked him toward the front entrance of the hall. The big man's grim sidelong glance was answer enough.

In the small entrance chamber at the front of the house they found Seregil boxed in by four bluecoats. Another was binding his hands in front of him. Seregil's old manservant, Runcer, stood wringing his hands and weeping nearby.

An officer wearing the chain of a Queen's Bailiff rolled up a black-ribboned scroll as Micum and Alec approached. Seregil's stony expression revealed nothing.

"What's going on here?" Micum demanded.

"And who might you be, sir?" replied the bailiff.

"Sir Micum Cavish of Watermead, friend of Lord Seregil. This boy is his ward, Sir Alec of Ivywell. Why are you arresting this man?"

The bailiff consulted another scroll and took a second look at the two of them. "Lord Seregil of Rhнminee stands accused of treason. I am also charged to instruct Sir Alec not to attempt to leave the city."

Eyeing the man with chilly dignity, Micum asked quietly, "Am I to understand he is under suspicion as well?"

"Not at present, Sir Micum. But those are my instructions."

"Seregil, what's happening?" asked Alec, finding his voice at last.

Seregil gave a grim shrug. "Some sort of misunderstanding, apparently. Make my apologies to the guests, would you?"

Alec nodded numbly. Glancing down at Seregil's bound hands, he saw him give the sign of Nysander's name, one long forefinger curled tightly over his thumb.

"Come along, my lord," said the bailiff, grasping Seregil's elbow.

"Where are you taking him?" Alec demanded, following as the guards led Seregil out to an enclosed black cart.

"That's not for me to say sir. Good evening."

Climbing in behind Seregil, the bailiff motioned to the driver and the cart rumbled off down the cobbled street.

"Seregil said to go to Nysander," Alec whispered, feeling Micum beside him.

"I saw. We'd better go."

"But what about the guests?"

"I'll have a quick word with Kylith. She'll manage things."

Alec watched miserably as the cart disappeared into the night. "Where do you think they're taking him?"

"It's a Queen's Warrant arrest, so it'll be Red Tower Prison," Micum said, looking bleak. "And that's one place not even Seregil can get out of on his own."

26 Plans at the Cockerel

Alec and Micum were halfway to the Orлska House when a tiny message sphere winked into being in front of them.

"Alec, Micum, come to the Cockerel at once!"

Alec blinked in surprise. "That was Thero."

"Bilairy's Balls!" muttered Micum, changing direction.

At the Cockerel they found Thero waiting for them, but not his master.

"Where's Nysander?" Alec asked, somewhat taken aback that Thero also knew how to enter Seregil's closely warded rooms.

"With the Queen," the young wizard replied, looking stiffly out of place in the midst of SeregiFs mess. "He sent me to meet you. He'll join us here as soon as he's able."

"I take it he was as surprised by the arrest as we were?" asked Micum, tossing Seregil's sword belt onto the table.

"Events have moved more rapidly than any of us anticipated. Nysander is quite worried over the fact that Idrilain did not consult with him before ordering the arrest."

"But what happened?" fretted Alec, pacing in frustration. "Nysander stopped the letter! Seregil said they'd never dare to send another without knowing what happened to the first."

"I have no idea. The Queen sent word that he'd been taken to the Red Tower, nothing more. Was the arrest carried out discreetly?"

"If it hadn't been for Runcer, we might have missed it altogether," glowered Micum.

Thero rubbed his chin pensively. "That's a hopeful sign, anyway."

For the first time in their brief acquaintance, it occurred to Alec that Thero must be a Watcher, too. With this revelation came the certainty that it was this fact, rather than any personal feelings for Seregil, which engaged his interest now.

"Do you think they'll—"

Memories tightened coldly in Alec's chest. "Do you think they'd torture him?"

Thero arched an eyebrow, considering. "That would depend on the severity of the charge, I suppose."

"The bailiff said treason."

"Ah. Yes, I'd say it was quite likely."

"Damn it, Thero, show some sense!"

Micum growled, catching at Alec's arm as the boy went pale. "Steady now, there's no use thinking like that. Nysander would never allow it."

"I doubt Nysander could interfere," Thero countered, oblivious to Alec's distress. "The Red Tower is protected by magic as well as bars; Nysander and I did some work in there ourselves. Not only that, but given Nysander's close association with Seregil, he can't afford any suggestion of interference with the law."

"What are we going to do?" asked Alec.

"We're going to sit here and wait for Nysander, as ordered," Micum said calmly. Giving Thero a dark look, he added, "Meanwhile, there's no use wasting time in idle speculation."

Nysander felt a certain relief when the royal messenger led him to the Queen's private audience chamber rather than the Great Hall. There had always been little need for ceremony between them; he had known Idrilain since infancy, and though he had always afforded her the respect due her station, their ties of mutual affection generally allowed them to drop formality in private. Something in her cool greeting, however, conveyed a warning.

Even in her evening robe, greying hair free over her shoulders, Idrilain looked like the warrior she was.

Joining her at the small wine table, Nysander did his best to mask his rising uneasiness. Neither spoke until they had saluted each other with their wine cups and taken the ritual sip, signifying their pledge to speak honestly.

"You have arrested Seregil," Nysander said, getting directly to the point. "On what charge?"

"Treason."

The wizard's heart sank; somehow, their enemies had outflanked them. He must proceed with caution and respect. "Upon what evidence is he being charged?"

"Lord Barien received this earlier today." Idrilain pushed a rolled document across to him.

He recognized the opening lines; it was based on one of the half-finished letters Seregil had sold to Ghemella. Like the last, it had every mark of being authentic except its contents. Handwriting, signature, ink-all were consistent.

"It appears genuine, I admit," Nysander said at last. "And yet I do not believe that it was composed by Seregil. May I inquire as to your opinion?"

"My opinion is irrelevant. It's my duty to deal in facts," she replied. "So far no evidence of tampering, magical or otherwise, has been discovered on that parchment."

"And yet you must have doubts or I would not be sitting here with you now," Nysander suggested gently.

The regal mask slipped just a bit at that. "I don't know Seregil well, Nysander, but I know you. I know

that you've been worthy of my trust, and that of the three queens before me. It's difficult for me to believe that anyone you hold in such esteem could be a traitor. If you know anything about this, you'd better tell me now."

Nysander drew the forged letter he'd intercepted from his coat and handed it to her. "I came into possession of this a week ago. Believe me when I tell you that I would have spoken to you at once if I had the slightest doubt as to Seregil's innocence. The initial content is based on a letter Seregil did in fact write, but the damning lines were added by the forger. I have spoken with Seregil about it and have every reason to believe that he speaks the truth."