“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Seregil, sipping his tea. “The way that old man and his daughter described seeing the raven woman up in the northlands? She could be a twin for the one we’ve seen. We know from Atre himself that he and Brader are from the north. What if both old women are Atre?”

“That was thirty years ago,” said Micum. “Atre is a young man.”

“Consuming the life of another to prolong one’s own,” mused Thero. “The cases I know of have all involved eating the flesh or drinking the blood of a victim. And for the most part, it was just superstition and cannibalism. But if what you suggest is true, then this magic works.”

“The soul-stealing part certainly does,” said Micum, casting a pained look in the direction of the bedroom.

Seregil was quiet for a moment, tapping his lip with one long finger, a sure sign that an idea was taking form. “Atre doesn’t always look the same. You haven’t seen enough of him to notice, Micum, but sometimes he looks younger, handsomer than others. I put it down to cosmetics, but maybe that’s the effect of the elixir. At Kylith’s wake Atre was positively glowing. I thought at the time it was odd, given the circumstances.”

Alec snorted. “He was there to gloat!”

“Yes. Now, let’s find Mika,” said Seregil, then yawned again.

“I can guide Thero,” said Micum. “You two should rest while you can.”

“We have to watch Atre’s house today. None of us have been there. We don’t know what the servant situation is or their daily routine.”

“I’ll take first watch,” said Alec. “Micum, you can take the next, when you get back. Seregil, get some sleep.”

As Thero followed Alec and Micum downstairs, he sent up a silent prayer to Illior that the child had survived, and not only for Illia’s sake.

Chapter 41 - Mika

YEW Street was a small, well-kept lane. People were already out about their morning business, and bread sellers and milk vendors were calling their wares. Dawn was breaking and the clouds overhead were pink against the pale blue of the sky.

“Mika said a green-and-yellow door,” said Thero, looking around.

The house in question stood at the far end of the street. It was a tidy little place, with late-summer flowers growing on either side of the stone doorsill. The upper windows were still shuttered, but they could hear a woman sobbing.

“Oh, Illior!” murmured Micum.

“We need to know for certain.” Thero went to the door and knocked.

An instant later the shutters were thrown open overhead and a youngish-looking man in a nightshirt leaned out and gave them a puzzled look. “Who are you?”

“Are you the father of a boy named Mika?” Thero asked.

“I am, if that’s anything to you.”

“Please, sir, if you would, how is the boy?”