“The coin appears as what it truly is, Your Majesty. It could not maintain a sorcerous guise in the offering box. The gods—”

“The gods have raised a seasonal storm over our heads, and the banner-tower has been hit at least six times in myrecollection, so why notthe Quinalt roof? That it coincides with a sly act of treason— which is what this is, Holy Father—is happenstance. It was a terrible crack—we heard it here, and more than one; but you are not a man to jump at a stroke of thunder. I’ve known you far steadier. Bear up. ”

“Someone has worked sorcery, Your Majesty. The penny is the offering for the roofand the lightning blasted a great hole in it! ”

“And whom do you accuse? Make an accusation, Holy Father. Or are we to assume what the dastard that did this wishedus to assume? I am defender of the faith. Before you invoke me, be sure, I charge you be sure, or say you do not know.”

The Holy Father knew exactly what was meant on every hand. And there was deep silence.

Cefwyn waved his hand, dismissing monk and coin. “It is not his. I don’t know whose it is, but it is not Tristen’s.”

“Your Majesty—”

“We gavethe Warden of Ynefel a penny, a good Guelenpenny.”

“The coin then—”

“ Dareyou say it? Again, be sure.”

The Patriarch took in his breath. “The meaning of it I can name, Your Highness. It’s a curse, a working against the Quinaltine, a strike at the very sanctity of the holy precinct.”

“The meaningis someone who would gain by it, someone wishing to harm me, harm the Lord Warden, andmislead Your Holiness, if it were possible, which I trust it is not, Your Holiness being no gullible or common man.” He spoke sharply, harshly, his tone exactly his father’s when he was crossed: he had that gift, he had the stare, he had been informed of its use since his boyhood, and he used it now like a weapon, knowing with a sinking heart that whatever he did in this hall, gossip was already flying between the Quinalt precinct to the Guelesfort kitchens and it was a short step to every noble house in every province—by fast riders, if they believed the whole of it. The music stopped. The dancers stood waiting, listening, all but leaning forward, awaiting some definition of the moment, some characterization of the news from him and from the Patriarch, the temporal and the spiritual pillars of their lives.

Where in hellwas Idrys? His captain had stepped out of the hall, as he was in the habit of coming and going in his duties. And damned ill timed, this absence.

“I will tell you,” he said to the Patriarch in deadly calm, and the utter stillness as the nobles as one body, on one breath, attempted to overhear their voices. “Some enemy has done this, and if he has employed sorcery—” He gathered all his wits, seeing a hole in the Quinalt roof as not subject to denial, only interpretation. He reaimed the lightning bolt, in a word. “—it came from across the river, as has the hand that did this, no friend of Her Grace, but her bitter enemy. Considering there is Sihhë coinage scattered in hoards all over whatever lands the Sihhë-lords once ruled, why, no great difficulty obtaining such things. But who would do such a thing?” Quiet as his voice was, he let it rise just a little, to give some well-judged reward to the eavesdroppers. “Who would practice sorcery against us? Who stands to gain?” Oh, he had his own notions on that score, pious Ryssand not excluded, but he named the ones that served his purpose. “All that might gain by preventing us are acrossthe river, fomenting rebellion against Her Grace and harm against our people, which I will not countenance. The Lord Warden gave the penny Igave him to give, nor has any store of coin at all. I am sure of him. I am sure of my lady. We need look further, to someone both cunning and with something to gain.”

Murmuring broke out, the hindmost of the eavesdroppers wanting to know what was said, drowning all voices. Idryshad come back, thank the gods, using that small door beside the throne by which the king and his intimates might come and go in other than formal entrances; and that look and slight lift of Idrys’ head told him that Idrys had news he should hear immediately, and aside, in that room.

Damn. Damnthe timing. There was danger here, grave danger: and the heart of Guelessar was notthe simple court of Amefel, where the king could do very much as he pleased and know himself upheld by the five barons of the south and the lord viceroy of Amefel, if not by the Amefin peasantry.

But the barons of the north had been his father’s men and would far more gladly have been pious Efanor’s. Here, in extremity, he had to call, not on Cevulirn, who would stand by him with a clear loyalty, but on such pillars of the Quinalt faith as the duke of Murandys, Lord Prichwarrin, accustomed to having his father’s ear for every triviality and resenting him bitterly for refusing to grant him all the favors his father had granted. His grandfather had known how uneasy the crown rested on a usurper; his father had held it more legitimately, but had placated the lords of the north in his reign. Now they were accustomed to being cajoled, led by their desires and their purses, their pride coddled, their ambitions satisfied, often by the one power that couldrule Guelenfolk and Ryssandim alike, the one unifying element in all the provinces.

And that one unifying element was notthe Marhanen kings. It was, and ever had been, the Quinalt, and the Patriarch.

And damnedif all the Patriarch’s disposition had not hied him here on the genuine fright of a levin bolt and the mountebank slip of a coin. His Holiness had Efanorunnerved. He could see his brother’s face— insanely gullible where it came to the Quinalt and religion. Where, oh, where, was the brother he had plotted with as a child?

But the lightning stroke, Efanor had said again and again. But the lightning stroke—

He had to answer the matter. “Your Holiness,” he said, “I shall see you in the privy chamber directly. —Your Grace,” he said to Ninévrisë, reaching his hand to hers, where it rested on the arm of her chair. “I shall have the roof patched and someone hanged, if I find the culprit. We have guards to set, and messengers to send to the bridges and the riverward villages in case your enemies have any remote gain in this circumstance. We will not require any long conference to do that. —Ivanor.” He had all attention, and had used it, summoning Cevulirn forward. “At the king’s pleasure, you pipers. Play, play.” He rose, drew Ninévrisë by the hand as Efanor and the priest cleared a seemly path. “Dance. Sip wine. Trust Cevulirn.” He passed Ninévrisë’s hand into Cevulirn’s, a gesture not wasted on the jealous northern barons; and by that transit all the display of finery and all the scores of days of women’s work was saved, in his notcurtailing the evening. Certainly it was a breach of custom for the festivities to continue without the king, and certainly he dared not set Ninévrise in any authority over the hall… but the confidence that the matter the Patriarch brought was being answered without an inconvenience to the court brought a relief and if not a mood of outright celebration in the wiser lords present, at least a willingness in the company to maintain themselves assembled and within reach of information. The young, whose whole consideration was very much the dancing, might take the floor with Her Grace and Ivanor.

The musicians limped into unison and the drums struck up a modest paselle. The duke of the Ivanim bowed, Ninévrise bowed, and every head in the hall inclined, furnishing his moment of escape as Idrys held the door beside the dais, and his personal guard fell in, quickly.