Dorrin looked over at the Royal Guard captain. “Sir Valthan … were you made aware of the contents of these messages?”

“The Order of Attainder, and your appointment as serjeant of arms to enforce it? Yes. I am to place the troop under your command and assist you in your duties. We will take custody of Verrakai under the Order and transport them to Vérella.” He said nothing about the third note.

“Have you conveyed noble prisoners before?” she asked.

“Yes, but not often, of course. Treason such as this, I have never known before, and if it were not proven by so many witnesses, including men I know myself in the Guard, I would scarce believe it. One of the old families … a duke of the realm—”

“Believe it,” Dorrin said. “I was there when the Verrakaien troops attacked the king and his escort. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“And yet … you are also a Verrakai. It is strange to me, my lady, that the prince and Council would trust a Verrakai, even one estranged for years.”

His brown eyes showed worry, confusion, and not a little suspicion of her. As well, she could feel the tension in him, as if it were in her own body. Dorrin sighed.

“I do not wonder at your surprise,” she said. “I, too, was surprised. It is only, I believe, because the prince thinks no one else can locate and bring the conspirators to justice that I was chosen for the task. I do not expect it to be easy or safe.”

“I had heard …” He turned his head away for a moment, then looked down at the mug of sib he held. “I had heard stories about you, my lady, from Verrakaien at Court.”

“I’ve no doubt you did,” Dorrin said. “They hated me for betraying the family, as they saw it, and for my part I avoided Court to avoid them. I was there, this time, only at my lord—the former Duke Phelan’s—command, because he wanted his captain more senior than myself commanding at his stronghold. He did not anticipate a need to travel through Verrakai lands when he went to Vérella in answer to a Council summons, or he would not have had me with him.”

“I see.” He took a swallow of sib, then another, and looked at her directly again. “What kind of trouble do you anticipate?” Sight came on her as his eyes met hers; she could feel his mood, the tenor of his thoughts, much like the churning waters of a stirred pot. How bad will it be, and can I trust her? he was thinking.

Now she was at the crossroads: either way, no turning back. Could she contain the family magery herself, protect this man and his command, without revealing the worst of the family’s treachery? She felt the flick of Falk’s Oath, as if her ruby had burned for an instant. No … either way she would betray someone, but she must not betray the greater trust.