Waltharia eyed him sidelong. She seemed about to laugh, but did not. "A strong spear," she said.

Liath snorted. Sanglant flushed.

"Wolfhere did not betray you, Liath," said Hathui suddenly. "He protected you. Was it Wolfhere who led you back to the Seven Sleepers?"

Liath regarded Hathui with a curious smile. "He told them where I was to be found. So it was that Anne found me in Werlida and lured me to Verna. Do you think matters transpired otherwise, Hathui? Is there something you know that we do not?"

They all looked at the Eagle, even Hedwig.

"No man can serve two masters," said Hathui. "I believe that there were two people that Wolfhere loved above all others: Anne, and Arnulf. In that way he is like the story of the man who at the full moon turns into a wolf, loyal to both parts of himself and yet unable to be whole. Torn between two bodies."

"You speak truly enough," said Waltharia. "No man may serve two masters. How can a man torn between two masters serve either one faithfully? He must choose one, or the other, because in time they will come into conflict."

"What is his secret?" Liath asked. "He is the last of the Seven Sleepers who knew Anne well, who knew all or most of what she intended. If he still lives, I must find him, because I believe he has secrets yet to reveal."

"What if he does not?" asked Hathui. "What if he is exactly what he seems, and nothing more?"

"A traitor?" asked Waltharia with an acerbic laugh.

"A wolf among men?" asked Sanglant, "loyal to no one?"

"A servant meant to carry messages," retorted Hathui. "By all accounts, although I never saw him, King Arnulf was a kinder master than Anne."

"Weary," whispered Hedwig.

Liath leaned forward. "We have exhausted you. I pray you, pardon us."

"He was weary," Hedwig repeated, strengthened, it seemed, by a hint of annoyance that she was dismissed so easily when it was to her that Liath had come in the first place. "When I saw him here. The last time. Weary. Troubled. Sad. So might a man be who is at war within himself. Such a man can never be trusted. He can never trust himself."

Her breath whistled. The speech had winded her. They waited, listening to her labored breathing.

Finally, Liath shook herself and rose. "I thank you for what you have told me, Hedwig."

The old Eagle's fingers stirred but she could not, it seemed, lift them off the blanket. Nor could she speak. She wheezed a little.

"I will send Clara to attend you," said Waltharia.

They left, stepping out into the cold, dark night. The wind stung nostrils and eyes as they walked across the courtyard. At the entrance to the hall, servants were dispatched to take coals, a hot poultice, and an attendant to sit out the night with the old woman.

"Why do the Villains shelter her?" he asked. "Has she no family to take her in?"