“I will try to come, though if I’m assigned once more to the northeast, I doubt very much it will be possible,” Ganarrion said. “I would like to meet—do you know his title?”

“No,” Dorrin said. “You should meet him, however; we’ve been friends a long time, and fought many campaigns together.”

A servant in the palace livery came up to them and handed Ganarrion a folded note. He read it and shook his head. “My lord, I’m sorry—I’m called for. I hope to see you again before you leave.”

“Go safely—I need not tell you to be careful.” She watched him go, and sent prayers after him.

Duke Mahieran bore down on her. “I didn’t want to interrupt while you were talking to your relative, but we need your advice about something.”

“Certainly,” Dorrin said. “What is it?”

“Let us find a quieter place.” He led her to a smaller room. A moment later, Duke Marrakai joined them; Dorrin felt a sudden tension.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You reported that some of your relatives could change from one body to another and thus go undetected—and that you had found a few such. How did you know?”

“I found the first evidence in the family rolls,” Dorrin said. “But those do not give the names—never the full name, and often no name at all—of the person whose body is taken. Those who make the transfer are marked as deaths in the rolls, with a special symbol.”

“But how did you find those who had transferred? You sent word you had killed some—killed them permanently?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said, thinking of the children buried in the orchard. “Those are definitely dead. How I knew them—as you know, the prince—the king—gave me leave to use my magery as I needed. That let me see something wrong about their eyes and spirit.”

“Is this something you can teach others—us, for instance?”

“I doubt it,” Dorrin said. “But what is it? Do you suspect someone here?”

“Someone tried to kill Camwyn, the prince’s younger brother, and my son Aris, by poisoning their horses right before they rode out. Planted a wax capsule under the saddle; we think the poison leaked out and into the horses’ backs—”

Dorrin felt almost faint. “It was not just poison,” she said. “Though it would have been covered in wax, around the clay. The wax melts with the heat of the horse and the pressure of the rider eventually breaks the seal of the clay. Then it is only a matter of time—were the horses restive?”

“Yes. They would not stand still. Then suddenly—”

“They went crazy—bucking, bolting—is that what happened?”

“Yes—their instructor thought it might be some kind of insect sting, a wasp or something, but he found no evidence, though the capsule remained. Broken, of course.” Marrakai looked angry. “Did you know about this? What it is?”

“When I was a child,” Dorrin said, “I heard of such things. You know there are flies and other creatures that lay eggs on livestock, usually in a wound, and infest the wound with maggots. Some cause illness—staggers or flayleg. And some give such a painful bite the animal goes wild.”