“The King has arrested the Queen on charges of witchcraft. She is accused of murdering the Count D’Eu by sorcery.” His voice was bland—he might have been discussing the weather.

Ser Michael turned pale. “Christ on the cross,” he said. “Is he insane?”

The Red Knight shook his head. “Friends, I have been too slow. I should have recognized—never mind. But I no longer know what we’re riding to—war or peace, a tournament or a darker contest.” He looked around. “I think most of you have some idea where Ser Gelfred is. So you’ll understand that we have news.”

Ser Alcaeus smiled knowingly. Bad Tom shrugged.

The Red Knight leaned back and sipped his wine. “As we get closer to Harndon, we’ll get better and more accurate reports. But if what I have today is accurate, and what Ser John Crayford had two days ago tallies with it, the Prince of Occitan is riding into southern Alba.”

“And there’s raids all along the frontiers,” Bad Tom said.

“Master Smythe said: go to the tournament.” The Red Knight shrugged. “Every bone in my body tells me to sit tight in Albinkirk and raise an army, but mayhap—with a great deal of luck—mayhap we can save something.” He shrugged. “Any road, we’ll be cautious, and move as if in a land at war.”

The men all groaned.

Ser Michael shook his head. “I don’t like it. Is the King… possessed?”

Since it was treason to propose such a thing, a certain hush fell.

Ser Gabriel leaned back and looked into his wine cup. “I thought I knew what was going on. The arrest of the Queen…” He shrugged. But Amicia noted that he merely sipped his wine. She had seen him drink more heavily. He was very carefully controlled.

Ser Michael looked over at Ser Thomas. “Send for the company,” he suggested. His suggestion was stated in fairly imperious tones.

Ser Thomas wrinkled his nose.

Ser Gabriel managed a thin-lipped smile. “I’m tempted. But—if we take an army into the Albin, then we’re the ones doing the provoking—and to all the people, all the merchants and yeomen and farmers, it will always seem that we provoked the King. The rightful King.” He looked around—at Ser Christos and Ser Alcaeus. “We have a good force—enough knights to defeat any casual attempt to take us. And we have friends.”

“And where exactly is Master Kronmir?” Ser Michael asked.

“Exactly where we need him to be, of course,” Ser Gabriel said, with something of his old arrogance.