“A mother sees much that is hidden from her son. I can only imagine the burden you’ve borne. When Kasamor’s father died – traitor though he was – it was days before I could face the world.”

Rosa closed her eyes. It made the renewed swirl of loss and resentment easier to bear. “There’s no replacing him.”

“No,” said Ebigail. “Kasamor was a man alone, as his father before him. Would you care for tea?”

“Very much.”

Ebigail tugged a bell-cord and seated herself opposite Rosa. Moments later, Marek bore refreshments into the room and left as silently as he had arrived. Ebigail poured, filling both butterfly-handled cups to the brim, and the room with the scent of bark and jasmine.

“If you don’t mind me saying, it’s a shame to see you in uniform again,” said Ebigail. “That dress suited you. Even a soldier should embrace her softer side.”

Rosa noted that no amount of lace and silk had ever made Ebigail Kiradin appear “soft”. Even now, with grief still near and making an effort to friendliness, she’d edges that could slice steel. As indeed did Rosa herself. Strange to find that they had something in common beyond Kasamor.

“I’m due to ride for the border the day after tomorrow,” she said instead.

“My dear, I won’t hear of it. You’re in the 7th, aren’t you? Under Lord Karev’s command?”

“I have that honour.”

“He’s a friend. I’ll send word that you’ll be staying in the city for a time.”

“I can’t ask you to do that!”

“You’re not.” She wagged a cautioning finger. “I’ll accept no protests. You said you wished to see Sevaka for yourself; this will give you opportunity. And it will give you a chance to put recent events behind you. A burdened soul is an unfit companion for a dangerous road.”

Rosa grimaced, but saw some appeal in Ebigail’s suggestion. With all that had happened since Kasamor’s death, her thoughts and emotions were awhirl. Returning to the 7th without him would stir everything up anew. Maybe it was better to let things settle.

“Thank you.”

“There has to be some small benefit to serving on the Privy Council.” Ebigail took a sip of tea and flashed a small, conspiratorial smile. “What use is influence if it cannot serve one’s friends? It pains me that I must ask a favour in return.”

“What sort of favour?”

“I would know the truth about my son’s death. Not the version you told the constabulary.”

Cold fingers brushed Rosa’s back. “There’s nothing more to tell.”

“Then why were there marks of witchery on his body?”

The fingers closed tight about her lungs. “I don’t know what you mean.”