Morgan shook his head. “Probe deeper, Sire. I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

“Sure, you don’t,” a low voice murmured in the background.

Kelson glanced sharply in the direction of the comment, then turned back to Edgar, catching his gaze and holding it again.

“Lord Edgar, how do you know that this is true?”

Edgar calmed under Kelson’s stare. “I saw it wi’ my own eyes, m’lord. Lord Lawrence and Harold Fitzmartin and I saw it.”

“The actual murder, or just the body?” Kelson insisted.

“The body—but it’s clear what’s happened.”

“Is it, indeed?” Kelson frowned and chewed his lip thoughtfully. “And just how did you find out about this, Edgar?”

“We—were . . .”

“Go on,” Kelson commanded.

“We were—told to go to that place in the corridors,” Edgar murmured reluctantly.

“And who told you to go there?” Kelson persisted. “Who knew about this thing and told you to go there?”

Edgar shuddered. “Please, Sire, dinnae force me—”

“Who told you to go there?” Kelson said again, his eyes seeming to glow from within.

“Sire, I—”

Suddenly, before anyone could stop him, Edgar whirled and wrenched a dagger from the belt of one of his captors. And even as Morgan launched himself across the short space, knowing what was about to happen, he knew he could not stop it.

By the time Morgan’s hands touched Edgar, it was already too late. For the dagger was buried deep in the man’s abdomen, and he had slumped over and begun to fall. Together Morgan and the stunned guards eased the body to the floor, and the captain looked down, horrified at what had happened.

“He—he died by his own hand rather than talk, Sire,” the captain whispered, glancing apprehensively at Morgan. “What ungodly power could make a man—”

“Take him out of here!” Kelson ordered curtly. “And take his friends with him. We will not be disturbed anymore tonight.”

He turned away as the guards moved to obey, aware that awed and frightened eyes followed his every move. Morgan stood to one side as the guards began a cursory search of the rest of the apartment, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Then he slipped out to the corridor.

Derry, God help him, was out there somewhere. If he had been following orders—and there was no doubt in Morgan’s mind about that—then he had been in the guard detail that was overpowered by the three intruders. Three dead, and at least four gravely wounded, the captain had said. If only Derry was still among the living.

In the corridor, the scene was one of carnage. There seemed to be bodies lying everywhere: some still, some surrounded by guards or surgeons, or both. Attendants were carrying two away, and Morgan scrutinized each as it passed, but neither was Derry.