As Morgan finished the passage, he turned the page back to look again at the portrait. Camber of Culdi. Amazing. Now he was certain he’d never seen this portrait before. Nor had he read this particular account of Saint Camber. He was sure he would have remembered, for nothing he had read previously had gone into such detail.

But what had he actually learned from the passage? And how did it apply to his present dilemma? And why did that face on the page before him still seem so hauntingly familiar, even though he was certain he’d never seen it before?

As he closed the volume, he heard the sound of the library door opening softly behind him. He turned carefully, catching a glimpse of someone in gray gliding into the room from the outside corridor.

It was a woman. And as she turned toward the door to close it gently behind her, he could see that it was—Charissa!

He smiled complacently and settled back in his chair to see how long it would take her to discover his presence, watching her glance around the room and see the faint glow of his candle streaming around the corner.

“Good evening, my lady,” he said softly, not moving from where he sat. “Are you looking for someone, or something ?”

Charissa started, covered her surprise, and walked cautiously around the corner of the aisle to confront Morgan. Morgan nodded greeting as she stepped into the candlelight, but Charissa looked less than pleased.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice low, strained in the hush.

Morgan rose casually and made an elaborate show of stretching and restraining a yawn. “I was just looking for something to read, if you really must know. In spite of the fact that I should be weary from the trials you’ve given me during the past few days, I found I couldn’t sleep. Isn’t that strange?”

“Decidedly so,” she answered carefully, her moment of uncertainty apparently past. “But what makes you think I have anything to do with your insomnia?”

Morgan held up a protesting hand. “Oh, not my insomnia. My fatigue. I have a rather good idea what you’ve been up to: telling nasty stories about me, turning the Council lords against me, having my escort ambushed on the way here. I suspect you even had a hand in Brion’s death. Of course, I can’t prove anything yet.”

Charissa’s eyes narrowed as she studied him, trying to ascertain the proper proportion of bluff and boast.

“I think you’ll have a difficult time gathering evidence to support such allegations. And I think that if you ask, you’ll find that all these things you’ve accused me of have been ascribed to you.”

Morgan shrugged noncommittally.

“As for the charge that I had anything to do with Brion’s death,” Charissa continued, “why, that’s preposterous. Everyone knows that he died of a heart attack.”