The Seneschal finished with Joriam’s body after Kieri had given his thanks and farewell blessing. By then the burial guild had arrived. Kieri and the Seneschal stood aside as they lifted Joriam’s body onto a plank and carried it away. The Seneschal glanced around the room, then at the assassin’s body. “And that one?”

“What do you with murderers’ corpses?”

The Seneschal gave him a long look. “They were someone’s get and sometimes someone’s parent. We give their bodies back to the taig, but do not raise the bones.”

“Do that, then, with this one.”

“You broke his head,” the Seneschal said. “How?”

“That ewer,” Kieri said. “It was all I could reach as I came out of the tub.”

“You were in the tub when he—?”

“Yes,” Kieri said. The aftermath of the day hit him then and a mental image of himself—a naked, wet, redheaded man throwing soap and then charging an armed man with only a ewer for a weapon—almost had him break out into a laugh. He tamed it to a single snort and an internal chuckle. He must have looked ridiculous, as silly as … as the Pargunese king in the stableyard. He had better not, he thought, share that with anyone else.

When he came out into the passage, all the Squires in the palace were there, watching as the burial guild lifted the bodies of their comrades to carry them away. Some were weeping; some looked grim.

The guilt he had always felt at the death of any of his soldiers smote him; who was he that others should die because of him?

Because he was a king? Because he had been a duke? Because—

Peace, came a voice. Because you honor them and they honor you. And you did not kill them. When you die, see that your death honors me.

Kieri felt his knees loosen and stiffened them. That was clear enough, though he wasn’t sure which of them it was, Falk or Gird or the High Lord.

Does it matter? asked a different voice.

No, it didn’t matter. What mattered were his people and his land.

His Squires crowded around him as he followed the bodies downstairs. The lower hall was full of people: servants, other Council members, a half-dozen elves. Two other bodies were there, already wrapped.

“The usual place of initial rest is too small for so many,” the Seneschal said.

“The dining room?” Kieri asked.

“No place where food is served,” the Seneschal said. “What about the salle? It has a stone floor, for the washing, and could be consecrated for this use for the time needed.”

“Take it, then,” Kieri said. He followed with the rest as the burial guild carried the five bodies to the salle; the armsmasters bowed to the Seneschal and formally released the salle for his use.

Once the bodies were laid ready for the care before burial, Kieri went back to the main palace to see the other assassin.

The man bound to a chair in Garris’s office wore Halveric uniform, and his skin bore evidence of time in the hot, sun-blazing south. His face seemed familiar. Kieri glanced at Garris. “What have you learned?”