“She doesn’t strike me as the type to murder anyone, especially not the man she loved,” said Micum.

Seregil shrugged. “You never know. Love can make people do some pretty strange things.”

“But how would she manage it in a room locked from the inside?” Klia wondered. “Thero, did you sense any magic on her?”

“No.”

“I don’t suppose you took a peek inside her thoughts?” asked Seregil.

Thero frowned and set his glass aside on the ornate table by his elbow. “One doesn’t do that lightly, Seregil. If you come up with any serious evidence against her, I will, but not before.”

“I think that’s best,” said Klia.

“She did seem decidedly uncomfortable at the idea of you staying in the old palace,” Alec noted.

“Considering what happened to the last occupants, it’s hardly surprising.”

“I’m more interested in the disappearances since the governor’s death,” said Micum. “It could be that whatever killed him and his lady is still at work there. I can’t help but wonder what sort of a mess we’re about to wander into.”

“I hope to shed some light on that,” said Thero. “Until we know what we’re dealing with, we need to be very careful.”

Micum yawned. “Shall we get an early start tomorrow, Seregil? I want to see this holding of yours.”

“It depends on how late our madman keeps us tonight. Shall we, Thero?”

“I’ll go with you,” said Alec, climbing to his feet as Seregil rose.

“I think it best if just Seregil comes,” Thero told him. “We don’t want to overwhelm him with visitors.”

“We won’t be long,” Seregil promised, hoping to smooth over Alec’s disappointment. “I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

GUIDED by a manservant and a linkboy, Seregil and Thero rode under a clear, starry sky to a grim-looking building that stood between one of the foundries and the docks. It was windowless and built of dressed stone. The front door was black, with the Eye of Illior freshly painted in white over a small grate. Orange light showed through the bars.

The servant had to pound on the door for some time before a warder answered. The man was huge, tall and wide and a solid wall of muscle, Seregil judged. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of being at this fellow’s mercy.

The smell inside the madhouse was appalling, reeking of filth and human misery. He and Thero both pulled out handkerchiefs and covered their mouth and nose.

The lower floor was divided into two large, barred cells, one filled with a horrific assortment of men in all stages of decline, some naked, and some clearly starving to death. The other held an equally pitiful collection of women dressed in dingy, shapeless shifts. Most of them were asleep but those awake raised an outcry at Thero and Seregil’s approach and instantly the whole place was in an uproar. The inmates screamed, roared, sobbed. Dirty hands clawed at them through the bars on both sides.