“And of course, everything they see and do, they consult with the King’s Own about.” Amily, who had been very quiet until now, spoke up in a matter-of-fact voice. She was nothing like as vibrant as Lydia or as bold as Dia; in fact, she seemed to fade into the background a bit. Even her clothing was in a subdued shade of soft brown. But when she looked up at Mags, he saw a glittering intelligence in those eyes, and he realized that the image she projected was deliberate on her part.

He shook his head. He wanted to say to them all, I am completely out of my depth here, but he didn’t quite know how to say it.

Lydia patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Mags,” she said in a kindly voice. “We’ve been doing this sort of thing since we were old enough to understand that we could help our parents this way. And our parents have been helping Master Soren for quite a long time. He understood that some of those who sit on the Council are there only because of birth, not brains. He went to the King’s Own and offered to put together some people that could help counteract some of the blunders those folk stumbled into, or the troubles they deliberately created.

And we are the second generation to follow that path.” She tilted her head to the side. “And I’ll tell you the truth, and that is we’ve been testing you, just now, to see how good your memory is, and how well you can report on things you’ve seen. My uncle asked you here, not because he is kind, which he is, nor because he thinks he owes you a favor, which he does, but because he thinks you are the person we need to tell us things from inside this new Heralds’ Collegium.”

Now Mags’ head was fairly spinning. She thought he would do—what? But—how did he know this wasn’t intrigue piled on top of intrigue? Granted, Dallen had said that Master Soren was all right, but how did Dallen know? If he agreed, what was he agreeing to?

At just that moment, the door servant’s voice rang out over the crowd. “King’s Own Herald Nikolas.”

A figure clad in brilliant white with a silver belt and the crest of Valdemar embroidered on the left breast entered the room. He looked about as if he was searching for something or someone. Mags’ mind raced. Could he ask the King’s Own Herald about all this? Did he dare? Dallen had said that they were all Heralds, equal, together—but no, there was only the one King’s Own, and he—

—and he was coming straight for them!