By his grip on the sword, the soldier was ready to strike again.

“Why did you do it?” she asked.

Radas’s voice was as soft as his shadowed eyes. “He has to learn not to displease me. In this way, he comes to understand that for his carelessness there are consequences. He brought it on himself.”

“What carelessness?”

“It’s shameful, how carelessly he commanded the army we sent to support our allies in Olossi. Our task is made more difficult by his failure. It brings more harm and trouble to those who desire order. All the many people who suffer from these disturbed times want order, and they shall have it. Only now it will take longer and be more messy.”

Perhaps he was insane. Perhaps he was simply the land’s most selfish liar. Hard to say, since he was veiled to her sight, and she was cursed sure he could see nothing in her likewise. He did not even seem to recognize her as the reeve he had ordered killed twenty years ago. Maybe because of that, he did not frighten her.

“What is your name?” he asked, his tone an imitation of kindly concern.

“I’m called Ramit.”

“That’s right. Yet you fled from me. That was over a year ago.”

“I was unaccountably detained. Otherwise I would have come sooner.”

Perhaps he believed this bland pap. She found herself oddly irritated that she could not know, when all other people lay open to her third eye. Great Lady! Was she becoming accustomed to holding that axe over their heads?

“I’m satisfied. You are here now.”

She gestured toward Hari, whose grunts faded as blood leaked out between his fingers. “May I assist him?”

“No. I would prefer you did not. He’ll recover.”

“So you can punish him again in like manner?”

Wise uncles might smile so, sadly shaking their head at youth’s foibles. “He must suffer the agonies he has earned. Those who do harm must be punished.”

“Who are you to judge and execute him?”

“I am lord here, master of this army, which serves at my will.” He indicated the silent soldier.

“You’re neither lord nor master to me! If he displeases you, why not release him? Why make him suffer?”

“We can’t know how long it will take for the cloak to find a new master.”

“Does the cloak find a master, or make a slave?”

His smile twisted, flattening to a thinner line. “That depends on you, doesn’t it?”

The words struck deep, as they were intended to do. Disgusted with her cowardice, she threw herself to her knees beside the dying man. “Hari,” she murmured, “I’m here. I’ll bind your wounds—”

“Leave me be,” he whispered hoarsely. “ . . . knew it was coming . . . just leave me, it will heal . . .”

The inner walls stirred, and a young man wearing a cloak as red as Hari’s blood hurried into the tent from a side chamber. He wore his hair in the same fashion as Lord Radas, the rich man’s three loops, but his were lopsided. Seeing Marit, he stopped.