They sat quietly. The fire crackled beside her. The fire was a luxury; there was barely a chill to the air, but Helda had wanted her hair to dry more quickly, so they’d set the great logs burning. Her hair fell now in curls around her shoulders. She pushed it behind her ears and tied it into a knot.

“His Grace has been a secret since he was a child, Kat.”

Here they came, then, the explanations and the rationalizations. She looked away from him and braced herself.

“His mother knew he’d only be used as a tool, if the truth came out. Imagine the uses of a child who can sense reactions to the things he says, or who knows what someone’s doing on the other side of a wall. Imagine his uses when his father is the king. His mother knew he wouldn’t be able to relate with people or form friendships, because no one would trust him. No one would want anything to do with him. Think about it, Katsa. Think about what that would be like.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes on fire, and his face softened. “What a thing for me to say. Of course you don’t need to imagine it.”

No, for it was her reality. She hadn’t had the luxury of hiding her Grace.

“We can’t blame him for not telling us sooner,” Raffin said. “To be honest, I’m touched that he told us at all. He told me just after you left. He has some ideas about the kidnapping, Kat.”

Yes, as he must have ideas about a great many things he was in no position to know anything about. A mind reader could never be short on ideas. “What are his ideas?”

“Why don’t you let him tell you about it?”

“I don’t crave the company of a mind reader.”

“He’s leaving tomorrow, Kat.”

She stared at him. “What do you mean, he’s leaving?”

“He’s leaving the court,” Raffin said, “for good. He’s going to Sunder, and then Monsea, possibly. He hasn’t worked out the details.”

Her eyes swam with tears. She seemed unable to control this strange water that flowed into her eyes. She stared at her hands, and one tear plopped into her palm.

“I think I’ll send him,” Raffin said, “to tell you about it.”

He climbed from the bed and came to her. He bent down and kissed her forehead. “Dear Katsa,” he said, and then he left the room.

She stared at the checked pattern of her marble floor and wondered how she could feel so desolate that her eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t remember crying, not once in her life. Not until this fool Lienid had come to her court, and lied to her, and then announced that he was leaving.

HE HOVERED just inside the doorway; he seemed unsure whether to come closer or keep his distance. She didn’t know what she wanted, either; she only knew she wanted to remain calm and not look at him and not think any thoughts for him to steal. She stood, crossed into her dining room, went to the window, and looked out. The courtyard was empty, and yellow in the light of the lowering sun. She felt him moving into the entrance behind her.