“Actually, that’s an interesting—”

A soft knock at the door interrupted whatever Duncan had thought might be interesting, and he broke off expectantly, glancing toward Morgan as he got to his feet. Bishop Cardiel swept into the room in a rustle of purple silk, the hood of his cape thrown back on his shoulders. He waved dismissal to the black-cowled monk who had accompanied him as Duncan and Morgan bent to kiss his ring, then pulled the door softly to. Then he reached beneath his cloak to produce a folded piece of parchment.

“This came an hour ago,” he said in a low voice, handing it to Morgan and glancing out the window uneasily. “It’s from the king. He wishes us well in tonight’s endeavors and looks forward to meeting us at Cor Ramet the day after tomorrow. I hope we shall not have to disappoint him.”

“Disappoint him?” Morgan, who had moved closer to the candle to scan the letter, looked up with a start. “Why? Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong—yet,” Cardiel said. He held out his hand for the letter and Morgan gave it over without a word. “Does either of you have any question about what is to happen tonight?”

“Father Hugh briefed us several hours ago, Excellency,” Duncan said carefully, studying Cardiel’s face. “My lord, if there is some difficulty that concerns us, we should know about it.”

Cardiel eyed them both for a long moment, then turned to rest one gloved hand against the high windowsill. He stared at the barred window for several seconds, as though choosing his words with care, then turned his head partially toward the two in the room. His steel-gray head was silhouetted against the darkening sky, his cloak parted slightly by his upraised arm. Beneath the cloak, a spotless alb gleamed like silver against the gray stone wall, and Morgan suddenly realized that the bishop had interrupted his vesting to come to them. He wondered what Cardiel was trying to say.

“You made a good impression this afternoon in the procession. Are you aware of that?” the bishop said lightly. “The people love to see penitents make public demonstration of their contrition. It makes them feel more righteous. Fortunately, the majority of those who will attend us tonight are willing to believe in the sincerity of your reconciliation.”

“However…” Morgan ventured.

Cardiel lowered his eyes and smiled in spite of himself. “Yes, there is usually a ‘however,’ isn’t there?” He looked up, directly into Morgan’s eyes. “Alaric, try to believe that I do trust you—both of you.” He glanced at Duncan. “Unfortunately, there are many who will attend tonight who remain unconvinced. No matter how repentant you may appear to be, I’m afraid it would take a miracle to persuade some of them that you mean no harm.”

“Are you asking us to provide a miracle, Excellency?” Morgan murmured, returning Cardiel’s gaze.

“Good heavens, no! That’s the last thing I want.” Cardiel shook his head emphatically. “In fact, that is perhaps the crux of what I must say to you now.” He laced his fingers together and stared down at his bishop’s ring.