Jonmarc rounded on Uri, standing close enough to smell his rancid breath. "It wasn't a wolf that ambushed me in the stables. It was vayash moru. Whatever game you're playing ends tonight, Uri. The villagers aren't going to take any more of this." He leaned closer. "If this is about Dark Haven, then stop sending your underlings to do your work. You want the title? Then challenge me. Now."

No one moved. Jonmarc refused to look away, meeting Uri's eyes defiantly. Uri's face puffed in indignation, and his hands balled at his side. Just as quickly as his bluster came, it faded.

"I knew nothing of the murders before tonight," Uri said, taking a step back. "I spent last night until almost dawn at the Drunk Rooster Inn, playing contre dice. Ask the bar-keep—I never left the common room."

"What about your brood?" Jonmarc was too angry to care about the danger. The single arrow trigger was beneath his sleeve. He was close enough to score a fatal shot before Uri could stop him. Give me an excuse.

Uri glanced at Malesh. "I can't account for them every minute. But my link to them is strong—I'm sure I would have known."

"This solves nothing." Riqua said. "Either one of us has lost control over our family, or there are others of our kind outside our circle who've done this. Brawling among ourselves won't fix it."

Jonmarc turned away grudgingly. His heart was pounding and it took effort to unclench his fists. "The villagers aren't going to make distinctions if they start burning crypts," Jonmarc said, taking satisfaction at seeing Astasia startle. "There aren't enough vayash moru to kill them all—and if you did, how long do you think it would be until Staden brought his army down to keep the peace?" He glared at Uri again. "Or did you forget? The title wasn't granted by the Blood Council. I'm liegeman to King Staden. Attack me, and the king is oath-bound to retaliate. Don't start a war you can't finish."

Gabriel moved between Jonmarc and Uri. "There will be no war. We all have too much to lose." He glanced sharply at his fellows on the Council. "Jonmarc's right—if the mortals strike back, none of us is safe. See to your own houses. We need to bring the murderers to justice—swiftly and publicly—if we expect the forbearance of the mortals."

The festival night had a subdued feeling about it. Dark mead and rum cakes, the traditional foods this night, were in ample supply, along with blood pudding. The musicians played a lively tune. Carina noticed that their songs became bawdier as the night went on, as if they were trying too hard to rouse the crowd to higher spirits. This evening, the guests ranged from vyrkin and vayash moru to merchants and farmers. Carina even glimpsed the ghost girl among the night's revelers in the shadows along the wall. Despite the ale and the minstrels, the gathering felt different. Carina was certain the happenings in the village had dampened the mood.

In honor of the weaver-Crone, the evening's dances were circle dances where men and women clasped arms and wove in and out to the music. Taking a break from the dancing, Carina wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. It was a gift from Lisette and Eiria, a beautiful piece from one of the village's best weavers. Alerted by Neirin, Carina had returned a similar gift to each of her friends. The dress Carina wore was Jonmarc's gift this night—finely woven linen with an intricate border done in the style of the local artisans. The match between the shawl and the dress was so perfect, Carina suspected that Lisette and Eiria had known of the gift in advance. Jonmarc's cloak, set aside for the moment in the warm room, was Carina's gift, a heavy coat of woven wool that was sturdy enough even for a Principality winter.

As the bells tolled the eleventh hour, Gabriel touched Carina on the shoulder. "It's time to make your gift to the Lady," he said, and held out her cloak. Lisette appeared, holding a deep crockery bowl filled with cream and honey. Jonmarc fell into step beside her as they left the great room, with the rest of the merry-makers behind them.

Outside the main doors of Dark Haven, bonfires lit up the courtyard. In the center was an ancient oak. It towered above the manor house, and its branches spread above much of the courtyard. Neirin had schooled her on the proper way to present the gift of cream and honey to the Weaver-Crone, but Carina still felt nervous as she approached the ancient tree. The snow had been cleared from its base, and its roots buckled up beneath the cobblestones of the courtyard.

At its base, Carina knelt, carefully holding the bowl in front of her. "Lady of the loom, we offer our gifts," Carina said. "Grant us favor." She gradually tipped the bowl, watching steam rise from the warm cream as it poured onto the roots of the old tree.

As the cream spilled out onto the tree trunk and the cobblestones beneath, Carina felt energy crackle around her. Welling up from beneath the ground, traveling like lightning along the deepest roots, old power rose to envelop her. An image burned into her mind, of fire and rending and a red orb torn free, leaving a gash like a bleeding wound. There was an instant of agony, as if a clawed hand had reached into her body and torn loose her heart. In her mind, Carina saw a vision of the ground shaking, the west wing of Dark Haven collapsing in rubble, and panicked mortals running in fear. The Flow reached out to her, and the image of healing the ghost girl filled her mind. Pain, fear and desperation washed over her. Then, darkness.

"What happened?" Carina was still wearing her dress from the night's festival and lying on her own bed. Jonmarc. sat beside her, holding her hand. Lisette pressed a cool cloth to her forehead. Gabriel stood in the corner opposite the fire, watching with concern.

Jonmarc shook his head, and Carina saw worry in his dark eyes. "You tell us. One minute you were presenting the offering to the tree. Then all of a sudden, you stiffened up and fell backward. Your eyes were open, but they sure weren't seeing anything. We brought you up here. It's been almost half a candle-mark."

Carina shut her eyes and swallowed, groping for words. "When I poured the cream on the tree roots, I saw a vision."

"The Crone?" Jonmarc asked with concern.

Carina shook her head. "I don't know. She recounted the vision at the foot of the tree. When she finished, Gabriel and Jonmarc exchanged glances. "And you've felt something like that before?" Gabriel asked.

Carina looked from Jonmarc to Gabriel. "Yes. Earlier today. When the ghost came."

Lisette stepped forward. "She healed the ghost girl, the one who died in the plague. I saw her."

Feeling foolish, Carina recounted what happened. But this time, she added her impression that something had been watching her. Gabriel's frown deepened.

"We assumed that healers saw no reason to come to Dark Haven because vayash morn had no need of them. We thought they were afraid. Perhaps there was another reason. Maybe they felt something here they couldn't explain, something that made them uncomfortable."

Jonmarc looked down. "This is all my fault. I never should have brought Carina here. It's too dangerous."

Gabriel shrugged. "There's no changing it. There've been storms in the Dhasson Pass. Snow as deep as a man's waist. No one's going to be traveling anywhere."

Carina took Jonmarc's hand. "I wouldn't go if I could. This is my home now. Here. With you."

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Carina smiled. "Nothing's going to. Whoever, whatever it is had the power to hurt me if it wanted to. It's more like it wants me to know something, do something."

"Promise me you won't try anything foolish," Jonmarc said. "I promise."