“Check the hall for me—see if there’s anybody out there.”

Robin opened the door and stuck his head out. “Nobody,” he reported.

“Good. I’m going to get dressed and sneak out. You stand just outside, and if anybody comes this way, knock on the door.”

Robin slipped out to play guard, while Dirk pulled on his clothing. He waited just a few moments more, then left his room, giving Robin a conspiratorial wink on the way out, determined to discover the truth.

The Healer in charge was Devan. Though not the most senior, he was the one with the most expertise and the strongest Gift for dealing with wounds and trauma. He was also one of Talia’s first and best friends among the Healers, and had worked with her on many other cases where Heralds were involved. There were times when loving care was more important than seniority—and Devan would have been one of Dirk’s first choices to care for her, had he been consulted.

Dirk had a fairly good idea of where to find him at this hour—and most castle-keeps were of the same design; Devan would be in the still-room, just off the herb garden near the kitchen—snatching lunch with one hand while he worked with the other. Dirk used all his expertise at shadow-stalking to avoid being caught while making his way to the little first-floor workroom, redolent with the odors—pleasant, and not so pleasant—of countless medicines.

He heard someone moving about behind the closed door, and slipped inside quickly and quietly, shutting it behind him and putting his back up against it. Devan, his back to the door, didn’t seem to notice his presence.

“Devan, I want some answers.”

“I’ve been expecting you,” the Healer said calmly, without taking his attention from the task in front of him. “I thought you might not be satisfied with what you were being told about Talia. I said so, but I wasn’t in charge of your case, and Thesa felt you shouldn’t be worried.”

“Then—how is she?” Dirk demanded and at the sight of the Healer’s gloomy face, asked fearfully, “Is she—?”

“No, Herald,” Devan replied with a sigh, stoppering the bottle he’d been decanting liquid into and turning to face him. “She’s not dying; not yet, anyway. But she isn’t alive, either.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dirk asked, becoming angry. “What do you mean, ‘she’s not alive’?”

“Come with me, and you’ll see for yourself.”

The Healer led the way to a small room in the infirmary, one of several that were interconnected, such as were used for patients that needed to be isolated. There was little there besides a bedside table with a candle and the bed in which Talia lay without moving.

Dirk felt his throat constrict; she looked as if she’d been laid out for a funeral.