He was just turning to survey his profile in the mirror when there was a tremendous pounding on the door. Morgan’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, and the dressers stood back in surprise as the pounding stopped, then resumed again.

“Alaric! Alaric, are you still in there? I must speak with you!” It was Prince Nigel’s voice.

Morgan reached the door in about four long strides and threw back the bolt. Even as he opened the door, Nigel pushed his way through and closed the door behind him. The royal duke was obviously shaken.

“Where is Kelson?” he asked, his eyes scanning the room anxiously as he moved away from the door. “All of you,” he motioned to the dressers, “out!”

As they left, Morgan went to the balcony doors and tapped on the glass. Duncan looked up, saw Morgan’s serious expression, Nigel behind, and nodded. As he helped Kelson to his feet, Morgan opened the doors to the balcony and stood aside for prince and priest to enter.

“What is it, Uncle?” Kelson asked in alarm, seeing the grave expression on Nigel’s face and sensing that something of great import was about to be revealed.

Nigel chewed at his lower lip and scowled. How could he tell the boy what he had just seen? And worse, how could he relate the facts without making them sound like an accusation?

“Kelson,” he began, not meeting anyone’s eyes, “I have something to tell you that is not going to be easy—”

“Get to the point,” Morgan interrupted.

Nigel nodded and swallowed hard, then began again.

“Very well. Someone broke into Brion’s tomb last night.”

Kelson glanced quickly at Morgan and Duncan, then back at Nigel. “Go on, Uncle.”

Nigel hazarded a glance at Kelson, then looked down in slight dismay, for the boy did not seem surprised at the news. Could it be . . . ?

“Someone broke into the crypt and opened the sepulcher,” Nigel continued cautiously. “They stripped him of his jewels and fine robes”—his voice broke—“then left him lying cold and naked on the floor.” His voice became a whisper. “The two guards were found at their posts with their throats neatly slit, with no sign of a struggle. And Rogier—Rogier is dead by the tomb, with his own hand on the dagger and a terrible expression on his face, as though he fought whatever it was that made him do it.”

Kelson’s face went white, and he clutched at Duncan’s arm for support. Duncan, too, was very pale, and Morgan glanced uncomfortably at the floor.

“Are you asking whether we had anything to with it, Nigel?” Morgan said quietly.