“No, sir king, I do not.” Oktar frowned. “In anticipation of a ruling from the Council along the lines of the Marshal-General’s first communication here, I have been telling Marshals in Tsaia to hold all cases for review until we have that ruling. But—as you know—the number is growing. Besides those you yourself heard of on your progresses, I’ve had reports of more than four hands … five hands and three, to be exact. Word has already spread; several Marshals have reported panic in their granges.”

“And we don’t know why,” Mikeli said. “Something must have happened to start this—”

“The eldest so far is Kirgan Beclan … so if it was something that happened, it must have been that far back—”

“Except that all signs of magery have emerged in the past year.”

“One possibility no one has mentioned,” Oktar said, tenting his fingers, “is that the gods have granted magery again because we will need it.”

“Need magery? Why?”

Oktar shook his head. “Sir king, consider beyond this single problem. Magery was here all along, let us say, like water under the ground. Its one outlet we know of in this kingdom was the Verrakai family. Perhaps they … they drew out so much, for their own use, that little was left for others. They are dead; only one Verrakaien remains, and she—I will say firmly, of my own judgment—has not been seeking others’ power. So whatever magery is, there could be more of it, rising like springs.”

“I never thought of magery that way,” Mikeli said.

“Nor did I, sir king, until now. But if this reappearance is not caused by some evil power with some evil intent, then it could be as natural as the return of seasons, or be the deliberate intervention of good powers for our benefit.”

“Have you suggested that to your fellow Marshals?”

“No, having just thought of it. But I will, with those here in Vérella, and see if that can ease their minds.” He cocked his head. “How long, sir king, do you plan to keep your brother’s magery secret? How long do you think you can?”

Mikeli shook his head. “I don’t know. I live in fear that it will out. That haunts my sleep, like the dreams that damned crown forces on me.”

“Better to come from you than be found out,” Oktar said. He had counseled that before without success.

Mikeli nodded slowly. “I am coming to that belief myself, Marshal-Judicar. But how, without condemning my brother—without plunging the realm into chaos?”

“Tell your dukes first. You trust them, do you not? And Duke Verrakai already knows. Duke Marrakai’s holdings border Fintha; he must have heard about the problems there. Tell him. Your uncle—he already knows the problem. And Duke Serrostin has a son who’s had contact with magery.”

“I suppose we should be grateful we don’t have an outbreak of Kuakkgani,” Mikeli said.