“A dangerous night,” Kostvan said. “Pardon, my lord dukes, but Verrakai may have a secret way into the palace, and he has a brother as dangerous as himself. We have no time for mourning now—we must act. Your younger brother, Your Highness—is he safe?”

Mikeli gathered his scattered wits. “You’re right, my lord count. Terrible as this is, worse may be coming. Uncle, will you take command of the palace guard, and Duke Marrakai, will you take command of the Bells, and order them out? Camwyn should be in his chambers, but if he’s not—”

After a piercing glance, his uncle nodded, stood, and shouldered his way out the door. Marrakai paused. “Juris?”

“I need him here,” Mikeli said.

“Very well,” Marrakai said, and went out, his cloak swirling behind him.

Kostvan bowed. “My lord, the messenger who came—where is he? He might have more to say—”

“I sent him with Belin Destvaorn to eat and rest.”

“Verrakai would want him dead,” Kostvan said. “Shall I check, and also alert the household staff?”

“Thank you, my lord,” Mikeli said. Kostvan turned to go, just as a squad of palace guards arrived.

“What is happening?” asked one from outside.

“Treason,” Kostvan said. “The first one’s dead, but there are others. Guard your prince.”

Count Destvaorn beckoned to the guards. “We need to lay out the High Marshal and Knight-Commander with all due respect. In the Knights’ Hall, or the grange, do you think?”

“Knights’ Hall,” Mikeli said. He wanted to sit down; he must not sit down.

The sergeant gulped, then glanced at Verrakai’s body. “And him?”

“He was the traitor. He killed them, and tried to kill the prince. Make sure he’s dead, and search his body for … for anything that might give us a clue what else we might face.”

“What about that one?” He pointed at Rolyan, still sprawled on the floor, looking sick.

“He saved us,” Mikeli said. “If Roly hadn’t come back from the library and hit Verrakai … we’d be dead.” He moved closer, avoiding Verrakai’s blood. “Roly—are you all right?”

“I—I will be.” Rolyan blinked; tears tracked down his face. “I never—never killed anyone—before.”

Mikeli could not think of anything to say.

“Come on,” Juris said to Rolyan. “Let’s get you up and out of that mess.” He held out a hand, and Mikeli held out his. Rolyan took hold; and they pulled him up. He looked better standing up, though bloody to the shoulder on his right arm. “You’ll want clean clothes,” Juris said. “My lord prince, may I take him off to clean up?”

“Not yet,” Mikeli said. His mind whirled, tossing out ideas, images, faster than he could grasp them. “We don’t know if there’s someone else—Verrakai’s brother, his son, Kirgan Verrakai—we should stay together, not wander about.” He focused on Rolyan’s face, still paler than normal, his gray-green eyes wide and staring. “Roly—did his blade touch you anywhere?”

“I don’t—don’t think so. It’s just—”

“Get him into the other room,” Count Kostvan said. “His first kill—he needs to be out of this smell, out of this mess. You all do. I’ll take care of it.” He turned to the sergeant. “Here—find something clean and warm in the Knight-Commander’s cupboard for Kirgan Serrostin to wear. Kirgan Marrakai, fetch a can of water if you please. Cold will do. You and the prince can help him clean up. He’ll do better then.”