“I found her like this in her bed yesterday morning. Nothing we did could bring her around. We sent for the drysian and she told us of the sickness here in the city. She said—” Kari swallowed, throat so dry that Seregil could hear it click across the room. “She said no one has survived more than a few days. I thought perhaps if Valerius could see her, he might be able to do something. Seregil, you’ll send for him, won’t you?”

Seregil glanced at Micum, but he was silent, head bowed over Illia’s hand as if he were silently praying. Perhaps he was.

“Valerius hasn’t found a cure. Thero suspects magic.” The words felt like shards of glass in his throat as Seregil watched the fragile hope die in Kari’s dark eyes, just as it had in Eirual’s. “Have there been any strange beggars at Watermead?”

“Beggars? None that I’ve seen.”

“Are you certain? Could Illia have met someone on the road while she was out riding?”

“I suppose so. Seregil, what do beggars have to do with this?”

It was Micum who answered. There were tears on his stubble-covered cheeks, but his voice was deep and steady as ever. “There are beggars here, called the raven folk, who trade odd things with people, things they use to work this foul magic.”

She stared at her husband. “Is that what Seregil called you into the city for?”

“Yes.”

Fury suffused her pale cheeks as she rounded on Seregil. “Knowing all that, you brought Micum into the midst of it?”

“It doesn’t spread through the air,” Seregil told her gently. “We haven’t made any trades, and neither has Micum. It’s those who do that who fall ill. That’s why I asked about the beggars.”

Kari shook her head in disbelief. “If you’d only warned us, I could have told the children to beware of them. You could have said, Micum! You could have sent word!”

Seregil clutched the door frame as the weight of the words struck home. Another failure. “Micum didn’t know before he got here.”

“We thought they were only in the city,” Alec said softly, voice trembling.

Raw pain coursed over the bond to Seregil. He knew Alec must be feeling the same from him. Illia! That, combined with Kari’s anguish, and Micum’s, threatened to unman him.

“We will find a way to fix this,” he told her, but the words sounded weak and hollow.

“Then get out and find it!” she cried. “If Illia dies, I’ll never forgive you. Any of you! Get out!”

“Go on,” Micum told them, not moving from his daughter’s side. “I’ll be up later.”

Seregil and Alec climbed the steps to their rooms in silence except for Seregil’s strained voice whispering the words of passage past the glyphs.