Gavril knew nothing of this.

She’d found him in the forest, injured but alive. Left alive. The sole survivor.

Because his father had spared him, as any father would. Which did not mean Gavril knew his father lived. Or that he knew anything about this terrible plot.

But would the former marshal allow his only child to unveil that terrible plot to the emperor? When the emperor discovered who was behind it, Gavril would be lucky to escape with his life. What father would do that?

Not one who had made sure his son had survived thus far.

As Moria sat on the bench, she looked to the garden shed and heard Gavril’s voice in her head again. I need to leave. That’s why I called you in here. I’ll be gone before the emperor returns.

She inhaled sharply. No. Gavril had played no witting part in this. He’d simply been uncomfortable in the emperor’s court and wanted to leave. Or perhaps, on reflection, he had recognized the seal. He came to recall it later and knew he had to flee. Flee quickly, because Moria was about to uncover the identity of the man who had sent that message.

She ran for the guesthouse.

Moria was almost to Gavril’s quarters when his door opened. She crouched behind a squat statue. He stepped out, pack in hand. Then he paused and went back inside, as if he’d forgotten something.

She hurried to his door and nudged it open. He had his back to her as he stood at a tray of food, stuffing fruit into his pockets.

She watched him, the way his braids swung forward as he bent, the way he pushed them back impatiently, a motion so familiar it quelled the turmoil in her gut.

Gavril had played no part in his father’s plan, if it was his father at all. Gavril was stubborn and difficult and prickly and arrogant, but he was, above all else, honorable. He had fought by her side. He had confided in her, about his sorcery and his fears. He had trusted her and she had trusted him. That meant something.

He must be another victim of this tragedy, used by his father. He’d recognized the seal and known that he could not say, “I am innocent” and be believed. Moria had seen how people treated him. He’d spent his life paying for the treachery of his dead father, punished for events he’d clearly played no part in. How would he be treated now, if his father was no longer dead? If Gavril had—however unwittingly—played a role in this new treachery? He had no choice but to flee.

She pushed open the door. Gavril spun, hand on his sword hilt. Then he saw her and . . .

He saw her, and she caught his expression, and she didn’t see worry or fear. She saw guilt and shame.