:If anyone harmed a hair on your head . . .: The rest of the thought, though Mags was not at all good at sensing feelings, was awash in red rage that shook him a little . . . and gave him a strangely warm and happy feeling at the same time. :They would have to tell me where a door was wanted, because that is where I would kick my way through to get to you.:

“Sir, what about them mercs? They ain’t feelin’ them vrondi, surely? An’ vrondi ain’t throwin’ axes around neither—” Mags scratched his head and looked up at his mentor, who paused in his pacing. “We got th’ answer, mebbe, to the sick fellah, but what ’bout the haunt?”

“A very excellent question, and one I do not have the answer to.” Nikolas pursed his lips. “It’s just barely possible that all of them do have this Gift, but suppressed and undeveloped, and since it was hidden that way, the vrondi didn’t react to it and swarm them. But once someone with a working version of that Gift appeared, and the vrondi began to congregate, the men could see, or at least feel, their presence.”

“But the ax!”

“Does not sound like vrondi, no.” Nikolas shook his head. “I’m baffled. And to be honest, unless they were all from the same family, or at least the same bloodline, it is wildly unlikely that they would all have the same suppressed Gift.” He grimaced. “It does sound like a haunting, but the Palace has never been known to be haunted, and none of the Heralds have detected any such thing. I have to say, I do not like this very much. It seems to be another complication, and complications are something we can well do without. But now that we know about it, thanks to you, we will keep our senses alert.”

He smiled then, and it was a full smile, an approving one, and one meant for Mags to see. “Mags, I was not mistaken in my trust of you. You are proving to be a clever and resourceful apprentice. So, is there anything that I can do for you? Within reason, of course.”

It was not a question Mags had expected, but something immediately flashed into his mind.

“Get me, Lena, an’ Bear inta t’ the Guard Archives,” he said instantly. “On’y ye prolly ought t’ make it look like it come from one of her teachers. She’s gone an’ talked to ’em about it, but they ain’t given her permission yet.”

“The Archives?” Both of Nikolas’ eyebrows shot toward his hairline. “But—”

Again, he suddenly got that gazing-off-into-the-distance look.

“Ah . . . your parents.” He nodded. “Yes, I can arrange that. In fact, I think it is a very good idea. The worst that you may find is what you have been told all along.”

Mags grimaced. “Aye.” He hesitated. “Do you b’lieve in Bad Blood, sir?”