“I see. What are you going to do to him?”

“A cleansing. I’ll need your help, and someplace outside the house to work.”

“There’s an empty cottage up in the pastures.”

“That should do. We’ll need Alec, and the right materials. I wrote out a list on the way here.”

Seregil took the scrap of parchment and read it over. “I doubt greyleaf grows out here.”

“A few large sprigs of rosemary will do, or anything else aromatic.” Thero paused, then spoke softly so only Seregil and Micum could hear. “He’s the only living person who might know what really happened to the governor and his lover. It’s my hope that I can clear his mind enough that he can tell us something useful. Would you have someone go for my things? I don’t know how long this will take.”

It took some time for the servants to gather everything necessary, but what Thero needed was finally packed in the cart as the stars were coming out overhead. Seregil and Alec climbed in with Captain Sedge, Micum flapped the reins over the horse’s rump, and they set off up the slope from the house.

The cottage was a small, one-room stone building with half a roof on it. Starlight shone through the exposed rafters, casting barred light across the floorboards. It was no proper casting room, but it would have to do.

Thero checked to make certain Sedge was still soundly asleep, then helped the others carry in the lanterns, a small table, and the baskets of branches and the other items.

When everything was set up to his liking, he took a final look around, making certain everything was in place. On the narrow side table stood a pitcher of water and a basin, Nysander’s ancient ivory knife, his own silver dagger and wand, a small dish of ink and a fine brush, a thick wax candle, and three piles of short branches: birch, pine, and rosemary. The pitcher and bowl should have been silver according to tradition, and the rosemary greyleaf, but Nysander had taught him that it was the magic and a wizard’s skill that made a ritual work, not the accoutrements, and Thero hoped it was true; his master had been the most powerful wizard he’d ever known, but could be very lackadaisical about details.

They laid Sedge on a blanket in the middle of the floor and removed his soiled clothing. He was emaciated and covered in bruises.

Thero picked up several of the short pine branches and stripped all but the needles at the tip away, making a crude sort of brush for the spargefaction. Then, taking a lump of blue chalk from his coat pocket, he drew a complex, double circle of holding on the rough floor—one large enough to easily encompass the table and his friends.

“There, I believe we are ready to begin,” he said. “Don’t speak until we’re done, and don’t under any circumstances cross out of the circle unless I tell you to. That’s crucial.”