The door opened and Bandele and Paiva entered. The young girl was red-eyed from crying, and Bandele fixed Carroway with an accusing gaze.

Carroway walked over and knelt before Paiva. He took the girl's hand and kissed the back of it. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been sharp with you. Can you please forgive me?"

Paiva smiled at the extravagant show of remorse. "Oh Carroway, you know I will." She threw her arms around the bard's neck.

"Carroway thinks there may be a plot to turn Margolan against the new queen," Macaria said, looking at Bandele. "Paiva, you have a gift with remaking folk songs. What if you used the same tune and came up some new lyrics—lyrics that say something good about the queen." She laughed. "By the Dark Lady! I don't even think it would hurt if you said all the Northern lasses are lusty, as long as they're not running our men through with their swords and stealing our ale!"

Paiva sniffled and wiped her hair from her eyes with the back of her hand. "I can do that. And if I teach it to all of you, maybe we could get out to the other taverns before the first ditty catches on." She smiled, thinking about how to turn the tide. "If I add a little bounce to my version, pick up the tempo, and get the drinkers to thump their mugs on the 'Hey! Hey!' it might just overtake the first version."

"Some of the traveling companies that came for the wedding have stayed because of the weather," Halik added. "Macaria and I can offer them our welcome. And, if in the process, we get down to swapping tales and songs, well, that's what bards do, isn't it?"

Carroway stood and grinned. "That's my girl," he said, clapping her on the shoulder. "I'm willing to make a round of ale houses myself for the cause. If we made a tour of the inns in the palace city and a day's ride beyond, we might get ahead of it."

"How can I break this to you—you just don't blend in," Bandele said with a meaningful look that swept from Carroway's long sable hair down his ruby silk flounced shirt to his brocade trews.

Carroway rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "It's a curse." Macaria elbowed him in the ribs.

"She's right," Halik agreed. "Everyone knows you're the King's Bard—and his friend beside. And everyone at court knows you're close to the queen. Coming from you, it might look like an effort by the palace to stop an embarrassing song—"

"—which would just make the old song more popular," Macaria finished. "But .we can be your eyes and ears. Maybe we can even find out where the other songs are coming from."

"We're going to need the luck of the Dark Lady on our side," Tadhg said.

Carroway clapped Tadhg on the shoulder. "I know, my friend. I know."

In the salle, Kiara wheeled and landed a solid Eastmark kick against the quintain. Once the worst of the morning sickness was over, Kiara found that a good workout just before dawn helped her calm her nerves. The quintain was the opponent of last resort. Until his imprisonment, Mikhail had been a challenging partner. While he lacked Jonmarc's skill with the East-mark fighting style, Mikhail's strength and speed as a vayasb moru created other challenges. But Mikhail was locked in the dungeon. And while Carroway was a dead aim with throwing knives, even by his own admission, his swordsmanship was lacking. There was no one else Kiara trusted as a sparring partner, and so she took out her loneliness and frustration on the wooden quintain.

It felt good to move. She was alone, with the guards on the outside of the salle doors. No one could accuse her of impropriety. Here in the salle, she was free of the cumbersome dresses required at court. A simple dress lay to one side, along with her amulet necklace and her other jewelry. She wore an Isencroft-made tunic and trews, dyed in the colors of flame. As she danced through the fighting forms, Kiara felt her spirits lift for the first time in many days. Jae dived at the quintain, easily dodging Kiara's sword strikes, scoring with his talons against the wooden practice dummy. When he tired of the game, the gyregon retreated to a perch high in the salle rafters.

Focused on technique, Kiara could escape the thoughts that haunted her nights and nagged at her days. It was a relief not to think, to worry, to wonder what was happening with the army. Here, there was only the freedom of movement and the joy of performance.

Without warning, the temperature in the salle plummeted. A gust of wind snuffed out the torches. Still too early for daylight, the windows at the top of the walls were dark. The salle was pitch black. Before Kiara could react, the quintain spun on its own accord, catching Kiara hard across the belly with the broad side of its lance. The force of the blow knocked her to the ground. And just as quickly, a stabbing pain doubled her up. She tried to call out for the guards, but there was no reply. Jae landed beside her, his head turning watchfully.

The air around her swirled with a faint green glow. The glow grew brighter, and Kiara heard voices in the darkness.

"It's too early—"

"Not ensouled yet—"

"Then the time is right. We must determine which of us—"

"We had agreed—"

"No agreement yet—"

Kiara tried to climb to her feet, gritting her teeth to ignore the pain. The quintain began to spin wildly and she ducked down, fearing that another blow from its lance could easily knock her out or worse. The green glow grew closer, and she could hear the voices more clearly.

"Not an easy thing to do—"

"Still, not impossible—"

"One of us will surely be a match—"

A wind rose around Kiara, hard enough that she heard swords clatter down from the walls of the salle. "Guards!" she shouted above the wind.

Laughter rose from the green glow. "They can't hear you. We made sure of that. We've locked the doors, just in case. We've been watching you. Waiting."

"What do you want?"

"To be reborn."

The green glow closed in around Kiara, and she shielded herself, drawing on the regent magic. Laughter answered her.

"You're not a Summoner. We're not mages. Your shields have no power over us." The glowing miasma swirled around her and Kiara was shivering hard, in cold and fear. She struggled to her feet, wincing at the pain in her midsection. She held her sword two-handed, knowing that it would do no good against these opponents. Kiara could see shapes in the glow now, faces emerging. A woman, not much older than herself. A man in his middle years. A young man with cold, determined eyes.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

The hard-eyed young man spoke. "We died in this castle at the hands of the Usurper and his mage. We were robbed of our lives. We want to live again."

"How? I'm not a Summoner. You know that."

"The soul is not yet fixed in your child. There's room for one of us in its place."

Kiara's grip tightened on her sword as she realized the ghost's meaning. "Get away from me! I won't allow you—"

The green glow streaked toward her. Jae leapt for the glowing shapes, only to pass through them without effect. Kiara felt the glow envelop her, felt the coldness slip through her with a chill so complete that she began shivering violently, dropping to her knees. Unlike when the Obsidian King forced himself through her shields, the spirits paid no heed at all to her magic or her shielding. Her heart was thudding hard. It wasn't her mind or body the spirits wanted. It was the child she carried, whose soul would not be fixed until quickening. An empty vessel, yet to be filled. And if one of the spirits could take possession before the soul fated for the child by the Lady fixed itself in the babe.

The large mirror on the salle wall suddenly fell to the floor, shattering in the darkness. The wind rose again, from the opposite corner of the room. Just as quickly as the glow had surrounded Kiara, it jerked free, pulling out of her so abruptly that she nearly blacked out. She looked up to see the dim form of a man in the uniform of the king's army standing in front of her, his eyes resolute. Beside him stood Seanna's ghost and the spirit of a woman dressed as a nursemaid. Kiara guessed her to be Ula, long-dead guardian of the heirs of Margolan.