She would have to convene a council of Marshals, she realized. Anger roiled her mind; she tried unsuccessfully to put herself into the minds of those who would kill a child for having a lighted hand. Magery was wrong, of course. No one wanted a return of the magelords—gods grant the sleepers in Kolobia never woke up—but even Gird had recognized that children with mage ability could be innocent of evil. He had hoped for a reconciliation between the peoples, mages using their powers for good.

She could not finish the letter. Not yet. She had to know why that Marshal had chosen to approve killing a child. Where did such hatred come from? Her mind threw up the memory of Marshal Haran and her hostility to Paksenarrion. Haran had seemed contrite, though she had resigned as Marshal less than a year later and left Fin Panir. What if she had kept the same opinion secretly? What if many of the Girdish Marshals were that angry underneath, that stubborn in their condemnations? The histories told of such, all the way from Gird’s time—a strand of mingled envy, resentment, bitterness that Arianya considered evil. She had hoped her leadership had diminished its force … but Haran’s behavior and now this proved her wrong.

She walked down through the back corridors, thinking of Paksenarrion and Arvid Semminson, of her own mistakes with Paks and the mistakes she hoped she had not made with Arvid. Through the kitchens and dining hall, out into the little garden that—they had learned from notes found in Kolobia—had been the favorite of a magelord priest who had known Gird.

Camwynya, one of the paladins then in residence, came in the gate from the main courtyard almost as Arianya entered the garden. “Gird’s blessing,” Arianya said. “Do you have time to sit with me? I have grave news and would appreciate your opinion.”

“Certainly, Marshal-General.” Camwynya settled onto the bench along one side. “I saw a company of knights heading out—is there trouble?”

“Yes, and unexpected. Tell me, what would you do if you saw a child’s hand light up?”

“I would think the child had mage blood,” Camwynya said. “I would wonder where it came from and if the child had contact with mages.”

“What would you do about it?”

“Ask the child, I expect.”

“Would you kill the child?” Arianya asked.

“Kill the child? No, of course not. Why do you ask? Has someone—”

“A yeoman-marshal and members of the grange killed a child two days ago,” Arianya said. “The Marshal wrote to tell me: he approves, and he blames my laxity for the child’s magery.”

Camwynya stared. “That’s … evil.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not what Gird wants. What had the child done?”