"C'mon Carroway. A song or two for your old mates!"

The tavern patrons moved to clear a seat for him and Carroway settled in, tuning his lute quickly. His first song was one he had written for the royal wedding, and the crowd cheered when he finished.

"One more! Give us something new!"

Carroway considered for a moment, and then, on impulse, strummed a minor chord. He closed his eyes and began to sing. It was one of the songs he'd written last year, when they'd been at the Library of Westmarch. It told of a girl whose music was so pure that it moved the ghosts to tears, and of the ghost who loved her, forever separated from her by death. He did not open his eyes until he was finished, letting the music fill him completely. When the song was over, there was an instant of silence, and then the crowd roared its approval. Carroway looked up just in time to see Macaria in the doorway watching him, but she slipped away before he could meet her eyes.

Carroway ended the impromptu concert to a round of hearty applause and slipped up the back steps, carrying the plate of food.

"We thought that must be you downstairs," Halik greeted him, slapping him on the back as he entered. In return for the regular services of Carroway's troupe of bards, the innkeeper at the Dragon's Rage kept this small room for them. It was over the kitchen, so it remained warm without a fireplace. The bards used it to store their instruments and music, gather in privacy, and often, bed down for the night.

Halik and Macaria were there as well as Paiva, who was tuning her lute. Tadhg, a barrel-chested man whose skill on the fiddle defied the size of his large hands, lounged nearest the food, picking at the sausage on a large tray. He laughed often and loudly, and was first always with the newest ribald rhyme. Bandele, a waifish woman with long, strawberry-blond hair, leaned against the wall, seated on the floor at the warmest part of the room, clearly lost in her own thoughts, her harp by her side.

They were the regulars, although at least a dozen more might come and go on any night. The bard's room was an open secret, though not all musicians were welcome. Some, whom Carroway knew to be aligned with nobility of questionable allegiance to the king, were never invited. Others, whom the group knew to be too free with their gossip or too enmeshed in court politics, were equally unwelcome. This group had remained constant since Carroway's fostering, with the addition of Paiva a year before. Paiva was the sole survivor of a family killed by Jared's raiders, and when she sang of those times, she didn't realize that she wept as she sang.

A large pitcher of ale and tankards all round attested to the innkeeper's generosity. The Dragon's Rage was one of the few places commoners could hear such accomplished musicians. And if they were the practice audience for a new song or a ballad not yet completely polished, they did not seem to mind. It was also the best place to hear what the people outside the palace thought important enough to gossip about, which gave Carroway the pulse of the kingdom.

"What brings you out in the storm, dressed like a prize rooster?" Halik said.

"I keep telling you," Macaria said, stretching. "He's too tall for a rooster. Peacock perhaps, but not a rooster."

"Paiva was just about to sing us a ditty she heard in the drawing room at Lady Jadzia's," Halik said. "Have a seat." Carroway settled down on a bench next to Macaria. She slid down to make room, leaving more space between them than Carroway would have preferred. "Go ahead, Paiva," Halik encouraged. "Play for us."

Paiva grinned widely. "I'm afraid it's more of a tavern song than any fine music," she disavowed. "But it had a lively tune, and it's hummable, so I suspect it will catch on quickly."

In the lands to the north they breed them tall, and the lads of the north are the tallest of all

And the lasses they say like to pass their days with a sword and a lance and hey! Hey! Hey!

Oh the men up north are not farmers bred and the likes of their lasses they'd rather not bed

So they pack them off for the south to wed with a sword and lance and hey! Hey! Hey!

Now the men up north are not fighters brave, in a battle fierce their own skins they save

Then they'll send their lasses for the neighbor's ale with a sword and lance and hey! Hey! Hey!

Now the moral of my story is sad but true—the men of the north are a motley crew

And they send their lasses for the work to do with a sword and a lance and a hey! Hey! Hey!

In the lands up north—

"That's enough!" Carroway snapped, rising to his feet. Paiva nearly dropped her lute in astonishment before fleeing into the hallway. The other bards regarded Carroway as if he had suddenly gone mad. Bandele jumped to her feet and headed toward the door.

"I'll go after her." Bandele gave Carroway a sour look. "In the meantime, calm yourself."

"And exactly what was that about?" Macaria demanded, hands on hips. "You're not usually a surly drunk."

"I'm not drunk. But I am worried. Don't you get it? That song is about Kiara."

Macaria shrugged. "Tavern songs are often at the expense of the nobles—even the king. That's why drunk soldiers like them so much. So?"

Carroway ran his hands through his long, black hair and began to pace. "It's not just a tavern song," he said. "You've seen how much has been happening—Zachar dead, Malae poisoned, Mikhail imprisoned. Eadoin's been hearing talk among the nobles. Instead of realizing that we've got a traitor among us and taking Kiara's side, some of the nobles are blaming Kiara for bringing misfortune on the court. It's hard enough to be a foreign queen and have the king gone for months to war. But if the court turns against her—"

"I've heard some of the same talk," Halik confessed. "I didn't want to say anything until I was sure it was more than a couple of hotheads with too much ale."

"So have I," Tadhg said.

"But why? The marriage is official. And if it hadn't been Kiara from Isencroft, it would have been a princess from Trevath to keep the peace." Macaria wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Whoever's behind the attacks on Kiara might not even be from Margolan," Carroway said. "What if the rebels in Isencroft are desperate enough to try to kill Kiara in order to start a war between Tris and Donelan?"

"No queen, no heir, no joint throne," Tadhg summed up with a grim expression.

"Could they?" Macaria asked. "Start a war, I mean?"

Carroway shrugged. "If King Donelan gave his daughter into Tris's protection and she was murdered, that's provocation enough for war, I'd say."

"And a war with Isencroft on the northern border might be just the excuse Trevath needs to attack," Halik said. "They'd put Jared's bastard on the throne with a Curane as regent."

"For a bard, you think like a damn soldier," Tadhg said.

"You travel with a company of soldiers for a year and see if it doesn't rub off a little, along with the lice."

"But I thought they arrested one of Lord Guarov's men for sending that awful shroud," Macaria said. "Lord and Lady Guarov left court very suddenly after that."

"Do you really think Guarov's behind everything that's happened?" Tadhg asked with a snort. "He's not smart enough to dream up a scheme like this—or connected enough to make it happen."

"Or there's more than one scheme going on," Macaria said. "And more than one schemer."

"Tris hasn't had time to undo all Jared's damage," Carroway said. "If someone tapped into that anger, channeled it against something—like a foreign queen—it could be like a tinderbox."