She had to think carefully. It all hung together, yet well-crafted lies did, and this man would be a master at that craft. She needed facts. That Andor believed her dead was no surprise; she had had to sneak from her own realm to avoid Gaebril and those who might turn her over to him or else avenge Gaebril’s wrongs on her. If sympathy came from it, she could make use of it when she rose from the dead. Facts. “I will need time to think,” she told him.

“Of course.” Niall rose smoothly; she would have risen too, so he did not tower over her, but she was not sure her legs would support her. “I will return in a day or two. In the meantime, I wish to be sure of your safety. Ailron is so wrapped in his own concerns, there is no telling who might slip in, perhaps intent on harm. I have taken the liberty of posting a few of the Children here. With Ailron’s consent.”

Morgase had always heard that the Whitecloaks were the true power in Amadicia, and she was certain she had just heard proof.

Niall was slightly more formal in his leaving than in coming, making a bow that might have done for an equal. One way and another, he was letting her know that she had no choice.

No sooner had he gone than Morgase pushed to her feet, but Breane was still quicker in darting for the doors. Even so, before either woman had gone three steps, one of them banged open, Tallanvor and the other two men spilling into the room.

“Morgase,” Tallanvor breathed, trying to absorb her with his eyes. “I was afraid—”

“Afraid?” she said contemptuously. It was too much; he would not learn. “Is this how you protect me? A boy could have done as much! But then, a boy did.”

That smoldering gaze remained on her a moment longer; then he turned and pushed his way past Basel and Lamgwin.

The innkeeper stood wringing his hands. “They were at least thirty, my Queen. Tallanvor would have fought; he tried to cry out, to warn you, but they clubbed him with a hilt. The old one said they didn’t mean to hurt you, but they didn’t need any but you, and if they had to kill us. . . .” His eyes went to Lini and Breane, who was staring Lamgwin up and down to make sure he had taken no injury. The man appeared as concerned for her. “My Queen, if I’d thought we could do any good. . . . I’m sorry. I failed you.”

“ ‘The right medicine always tastes bitter,’ ” Lini murmured softly. “Most of all for a child who throws a sulky tantrum.” At least for once she did not say it for the whole room to hear.