“At court the other day, several villagers said their men and boys had come down with a type of illness…” I began.

“Yes, we heard,” Zann said. “A blood plague, we think.”

“You already know?” I asked, surprised.

“We suspect,” Lothian clarified. “We think the crimson mist is responsible, that it somehow morphed into a plague.”

It was as I feared.

“We would have to experiment to be certain,” Zann added.

“Experiment?”

“Well, we would need to bury the body of a person who died from the supposed blood plague. If they reanimate with the same characteristics as those who were infected by the crimson mist, then we can be certain of our theory.”

I frowned. As much as I wished to confirm the truth, that was not a safe option.

“Of course, if we possessed other spell books, we might learn the truth and even find a way to banish it.”

“But those were all destroyed during the Burning,” I said.

“Hmm.” Zann did not sound convinced.

“What?” I asked.

“There were rumors for a long time after the Burning that Dragos was collecting spell books, that he maintained a secret library somewhere here in the castle.”

“And you believe that?”

It was hard to accept that Adrian would not have found it by now.

“Do you really believe a king let that kind of power slip through his fingers?” Zann asked.

I supposed I didn’t.

***

I watched Solaris wandering through the snow-covered gardens. I did not like that he felt such ease within my home. He was an intruder, a man with no allegiance or home, and he was corrupting the one place I felt the most comfort.

“Well, aren’t we sullen this morning?”

Sorin approached, a lopsided smile on his full lips. He sidled up beside me, peering out the window. He was quiet once he spotted the witch-hunter.

“Do you believe he was created by Dis?” I asked.

“I think Dis grants powers as she pleases,” Sorin said. “We are nothing to her but pawns…even Adrian.”

Sorin glanced at me as he spoke, and I wondered if he was trying to gauge my reaction.

“Adrian conquers for himself,” I said.

“Perhaps he does now,” said Sorin. “But what happens when his goals no longer align with Dis’s?”

I lowered my brows. “What are you saying, Sorin?”

He shrugged. “Adrian bears the mark of Dis. You have seen it, the white ring around his eyes. He executes her will, even if he claims it is his own. It was the agreement he made when he asked that you be resurrected.”

I did not know what to say or how to process this information, but I could feel Sorin’s anxiety over it.

“He would never tell you this,” Sorin said. “It is probably safer that you pretend you do not know.”

“Is there a way to free him?”