“They tell me a demon invaded,” Stammel said, “but it didn’t—I don’t think that’s what a demon would feel like. It was just fire and a voice.”

“Tell me everything,” Dorrin said. Her expression was grim.

“Dorrin?” Arcolin had not expected that tone from her.

“Jandelir, I have learned things about my family I do not want to remember, but I must. This Korryn—I never met him either, but from what Stephi and Sejek said, he might have been a bush-relative of mine. Tall, dark—”

“Ugly,” Stammel said. “Not like you.”

“That’s kind, Sergeant Stammel, but hardly to the point. You say—both of you—that he boasted of having lent himself or given himself to someone better or more powerful.”

“Yes.”

“Some members of my family were able to transfer themselves—their minds, their souls—from one body to another. Typically, they weakened the victim—I think by slow poison—and then with another poison induced a fever. To those watching, it seemed a crisis, much like comes with lung-fever, and when the victim was near death, they could invade. I don’t know how, exactly. I only know it happened. The magery in our family is not merely inherited, Jandelir—it is continued, generation after generation, by those who put themselves in their children’s bodies. And others, as well. If Korryn were a Verrakai bastard—if he accepted, for some reason, a Verrakai invader—then what you faced was a fully trained adult magelord. Though I have not seen this before, he might have been powerful enough to attempt a transfer to Stammel, even as he died—living in Stammel, hoping to drive Stammel out.”

“He had a fever,” Arcolin said. “It started at once—when his eyes turned red. But I thought that was from the choking.”

“It could have been. I don’t know. Sergeant—” She turned to him. “You saved more than yourself when you fought that invader off. If you had been defeated, you would not have died—your body, at least—and you would have been a secret weapon. Against Arcolin, against Tsaia, and certainly against me. Look at me.”

Stammel faced Dorrin; she peered into his face, hers intent. “What are you looking for?” Arcolin asked.

“Any sign that some part of that being lurks inside. If it is there, and strong enough, Stammel could not tell us.”

“You mean—I could still be invaded?”

“Possibly,” Dorrin said. “Sergeant, I’ve known you for what, fifteen, sixteen years? I’ve seen you work with recruits, seen you train, seen you in battle. And there is something … different. Do you feel anything?”

“I’m blind,” Stammel said.

“And yet … you’re not blind the way other men are. I’ve seen blind soldiers—former soldiers—before. Leaving aside your ability to use a crossbow, there’s a difference. Your eyes are neither fixed nor wandering the way most blind men’s eyes are.”

“They wandered more at first,” Arcolin said.

“I want to try something,” Dorrin said. “Here—” She pulled the ducal chain over her head. “Put out your hand. Hold this.”

“What will it do to him?” Arcolin asked.