She touched the book with her magery; to her inner sight the pages wavered, as if under water, and a new page appeared, covered densely with a small crabbed script she did not recognize. As she read, she felt the hair rise up on her body: many of those listed as dead—those with the symbol—were not dead but transferred by blood magery to the bodies of others, some Verrakaien and some not. In such disguise, unrecognized, they could go anywhere, work for Verrakai secretly.

Including her father. Not dead, still alive, hidden? At the thought, panic flooded her, the fear she had controlled while in the tower’s dungeon. She had not told the Knight-Commander—she had been ashamed, even now, to admit how much she feared him, and why. Her uncle had been duke and also punished her, but her father—he had worn the Bloodlord’s hood and mask, he had decreed the torment of her pony and torments even more shameful.

She closed the book and went at once to the door. “I have urgent news for Sir Valthan, which my relatives must not overhear. Tell him we need a safe place to confer.”

Dorrin met Valthan in the dairy. Windowless, stone-walled, the dairy felt chill and dank, light from their candle sending tiny dazzles from the water in the channel where butter and milk kept cool. Dorrin laid the book on the small table Valthan’s men had set there. “You found something bad?” Valthan asked.

“Many things,” Dorrin said. “But this is the worst.” She opened the book and pointed to the mark. “These are listed as deaths, with dates and causes listed. But they are not dead. They live … in other bodies.”

“What?”

“I did not know such evil was possible … but with blood magery, and I suppose the help of Liart’s priests, they can transfer the souls and minds of Verrakai into other bodies, to work secretly for that traitor Haron.”

“So … the prince may still be in danger?”

“The prince, yes, but also the realm as a whole. I do not know who the alternate identities are.” Her own father, not safely dead but alive—where was he? Who was he? She shuddered, forcing memory away.

“How do you know this?”

“There is a page visible only by magery,” Dorrin said. “I can try to make it visible to you—” She put out her power again and the page reappeared. “There, do you see it?”

“No,” Valthan said, scowling. “What does it say?”

“It gives the dates these people were transferred to another body, and for a few it gives that identity.”

“What about those others? Are they now in Verrakai bodies?”

“They’re dead,” Dorrin said. The page gave part of the ritual by which the transfer was done; it disgusted her.

“Well … that’s one thing,” Valthan said, staring down at the page, through the page he could not see. “What will happen if I touch this? Will I feel the one I can’t see?” He put out a finger.