The other guard gave him a rough nudge. “She’s the bloody secretary to the empress.”

The first one blushed. “Forgive me, milady. It’s just that Regent Saldur can be a little scary sometimes.”

Amilia agreed in her head but externally remained aloof.

His friend slapped himself in the forehead, rolling his eyes. “Blimey, James, you’re a fool. Forgive him, milady.”

“What?” James looked puzzled. “What’d I say?”

The guard shook his head sadly. “You just insulted the regent and admitted you don’t respect Her Ladyship all in one breath.”

James’s face drained of color.

“What’s your name?” she asked the other guard.

“Higgles, milady.” He swallowed hard and bowed again.

“Why don’t you answer my question, then?”

“We takes the soup to the north tower. You know, the one ’tween the well and the stables.”

“How many prisoners are there?”

The two guards looked at each other. “None that we know of, milady.”

“So who is the soup for?”

He shrugged. “We just leave it with the Seret Knight.”

“Soup’s done,” Ibis declared.

“Is that all, milady?” Higgles asked.

She nodded and the two disappeared out the door to the courtyard, each holding one of the pot’s handles.

“Now, let me make you something,” Ibis said, wiping his big hands on his apron.

“Huh?” Amilia asked, still thinking about the two guards. “No thanks, Ibis,” she said, getting up. “There’s something I need to do, I think.”

The lack of a cloak became painfully uncomfortable when Amilia was halfway across the inner ward. The weather had jumped from a friendly autumn of brightly colored leaves, clear blue skies, and crisp nights to the gray, icy cold of pre-winter. A half-moon glimmered through hazy clouds as she stepped through the vegetable garden, now no more than a graveyard of brown dirt. She approached the chicken coop carefully, trying to avoid disturbing the hens. There was nothing wrong with being out, no rules against wandering the ward at night, but at that moment she felt sinister.

She ducked into the woodshed just as James and Higgles passed by on their return journey. After several minutes, Amilia crept forward, slipped around the well, and entered the north tower—the prison tower as she now dubbed it.

Just as described, a Seret Knight, dressed in black armor with the red symbol of a broken crown on his chest, stood at attention. Decorated with a red feather plume, the helm he wore covered his face. He appeared not to notice her, which was odd, as all guards bowed to Amilia now. The seret said nothing as she stepped around him toward the stairs. She was shocked when he made no move to stop her.