“That must have been some fall,” the surgeon said, standing over them and gazing down at Paegar’s face.

“What else could it have been?” Gershon asked. “The door was locked from the inside…”

Even as he spoke the words, the swordmaster seemed to falter. Keziah knew why. The words came back to her as well. Lady Brienne of Kentigern had been murdered in a locked room as well, and though her father blamed Tavis of Curgh, Gnnsa had convinced Keziah, Kearney, and Gershon that the boy was innocent, and someone else to blame.

“Could this have been done with magic?” Gershon asked her.

She considered the question for several moments. “I don’t see how.”

Gershon looked up at the surgeon. “Is it possible someone hit him with something, then put him here to make it look like he had fallen?”

The man shook his head and knelt beside Keziah. “Look at the way the blood has splattered here,” he said, pointing to the edge of the hearth. “That’s where his head hit. I’m sure of it. I didn’t mean to say he couldn’t have fallen-I think it likely that he did. I just meant that I’ve rarely seen a simple fall result in such a severe wound.”

Gershon nodded. “I see.” Keziah could tell, though, that he still had his doubts. He took a breath and looked at the archminister again. “I should inform the king. Are you all right?”

She hesitated, surprised by the question. “I will be.”

He glanced at the body once more, then left the room. The guards continued to step around Keziah, and she decided that she should leave as well. There was little she could do here but get in their way.

She returned to her chamber and sat on her bed. She felt that she should have been crying again, but the tears wouldn’t come. She was just cold and terribly tired, though she had slept well the previous night. After a time, she lay down again and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep. She dreamed of Paegar, not bloody and ruined as she had just seen him, but whole and smiling as he had been such a short time before. She saw herself with him, as if she were looking from outside her own body. They were in the castle gardens together, talking and laughing. She strained to hear what they were saying, but the wind was rustling the brown leaves on the shrubs and ivy, and birds were calling from overhead. She couldn’t hear any of it. She called to Paegar and the dream Keziah to wait for her, to let her walk with them, but they ignored her, still laughing.

The minister awoke to pounding on her door, unsure of how long she had slept. Running her hands through her hair, she rose and crossed to the door.

“Who is it?”

“Gershon Trasker.”

She unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Good thing you answered,” the swordmaster said, frowning at her. “I was about to think we had to break in another door.”

“What do you want, swordmaster?”

“The king wants to speak with you. I think he’s called for all his Qirsi.”

“All right.” It almost seemed like she was still dreaming, so fogged was her mind. “What’s the time?” she asked as they started walking toward Kearney’s chambers.

“It’s almost time for the prior’s bells.”

Keziah took a breath. She had slept away much of the day.

The other ministers were already with the king when they arrived. Kearney looked up when Keziah and Gershon walked in, his eyes meeting hers. She read his concern in the furrowing of his brow, and she nodded, as if to say that she was all right.

She sat, as did Gershon, and the king stepped to the center of the room.

“By now you’ve all heard what’s happened,” he began. “Paegar jal Berget, our high minister, fell in his quarters last night, hit his head on the hearth, and died.” He looked at each of the ministers. “I’m not as familiar with Qirsi custom as I should be, and so I’d like to leave it to you who knew him best to plan for his funeral. You shall have the full cooperation of all who live in this castle, the swordmaster, his guards, the kitchenmaster, and everyone else. I’ll also see to it that the prelate makes the cloister available to you, though I realize you’ll probably wish to work with the sanctuaries in the city.” He hesitated. “Did Paegar have any family?”

For a moment no one answered.

“No, Your Majesty,” Keziah said at last. “He had a brother, but he’s long dead, as are his parents.”

The king nodded, looking somber. “Then I’ll leave it to you to see to his quarters, Keziah. I know how close you two had become recently.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She could feel the other ministers staring at her, and she knew what they were thinking. They had known Paegar for years, she for but a few turns. What right did she have to lay sole claim to his friendship? It didn’t matter that she had done nothing, that this had been Kearney’s doing. They hated her. They had never stopped hating her. Paegar’s friendship had only made it seem that way. Without him, she was alone again, an outcast in the king’s court. Kearney didn’t appear to notice. Her eyes stinging, Keziah stared at the floor, refusing to look at any of them. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry, not even today.

After a bit more discussion, Wenda agreed to take charge of the funeral plans, and Dyre said that he would meet with the prior in Bian’s Sanctuary. In another few minutes, the king dismissed them. Keziah knew that he’d want her to stay so that they could speak in private, but she just wanted to be alone. She kept her gaze lowered so that he couldn’t catch her eye and followed the others into the corridor.

She made her way back to Paegar’s room, pushing the door open and peering inside, as if expecting to find someone there. His body was gone and the floor still wet from where servants had mopped up the blood. They had left the window open, probably so that the stone would dry, and the room had grown cold. The soft snow of the day before had given way to a harsh, windy storm, the kind that usually came to the upper Forelands this time of year, Taking a steadying breath, Keziah stepped inside, closing the door behind her.

For a long time, she merely wandered in slow circles. It felt strange to be in another person’s chamber, looking at his belongings. Even with a cold wind stirring the air, it still smelled like Paegar. Keziah had expected the full weight of her grief to fall upon her as soon as she stepped into the chamber, but instead she found it comforting to be among his things, his scent, his home. It felt like a warm blanket on a snowy night. After some time, she stepped to his small writing table where she found a quill and ink, wax and a brass seal, and a number of papers. She stared at them a moment, then stepped away, crossing her arms over her chest. Maybe the others were right, maybe she had no business going through his things.

Thinking that perhaps his clothes would be an easier place to begin, Keziah moved to the wardrobe standing by his bed. Inside she found several ministerial robes, not only those he had worn in Audun’s Castle, but also several bearing the crest of Rennach, and others bearing crests she didn’t recognize, most likely from lesser houses in the Rennach dukedom. There were other clothes as well. A riding cape, trousers and shirts she had never seen him wear, even a leather jerkin. A sword with a plain leather hilt rested upright against the inside of the wardrobe and a swordsman’s belt sat beside it.

Behind these, almost completely hidden from view, she found a small pouch and a wooden box. Keziah hesitated, then picked up the pouch. It rang with the sound of coins. Untying the drawstrings, she emptied the pouch onto the floor and stared with amazement at what she saw. There had to be at least fifteen gold pieces there, nearly an entire year’s wage for a minister. She picked up the wooden box, and knew from its weight and the jingling she heard from within that it held gold as well. More than one hundred qinde, as it turned out.