She pulled out a napkin-wrapped bundle, unwound it, and handed him a meat pie. Han sank to the floor, leaning back against the wall, and devoured half of the pie in a few bites.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” he said, chasing the meat pie with more water.

As if in answer, Fiona held out another pie.

“What about Flinn?” Han said.

“Who?”

Han nodded at his friend crumpled against the opposite wall. “Give him something, too.”

Fiona shuddered. “He’s dead,” she said, pressing her sleeve over her nose. “Can’t you smell him?”

Well, no, he couldn’t. Not over the stench of his chamber pot and his own filthy body.

Bones. Hot tears stung Han’s eyes. Poor Flinn had escaped the slaughter in Ragmarket only to end up dying alone in the dark. Han recited a prayer in his head for Flinn, one that Mam had made him memorize when she’d still had hopes for him.

He took the other meat pie, and ate that one more slowly.

“Something disastrous has happened,” Fiona said, done with hand-wringing over a witness they no longer needed.

Han looked up. Anything disastrous for the Bayars was likely good news to him. But he guessed he didn’t need to say that.

“A mercenary army has laid siege to Fellsmarch Castle, demanding its surrender. The Ardenine Army has invaded from the south. The copperheads can’t seem to stop them.”

Han was already lost. “What mercenary army? How did they get to Fellsmarch without being stopped?”

Fiona’s face twisted in disgust. “The stripers in the Army of the Fells have turned on us,” she said. “General Klemath has thrown in with Montaigne and turned traitor to the queen.”

Raisa! Han lurched forward, then settled back, chains clanking, trying not to show how eager he was for news. “What about the queen? Where is she?”

“Apparently, she is trapped in Fellsmarch Castle, with a handful of guards and a few copperheads,” Fiona said.

“No gifted?”

Fiona shook her head. “They were all either in the mountains or here, at the Council House—ah—”

“Trying to convict me of something?” Han guessed.

She nodded. “Micah has gone down to the city. He’s going to try to find a way in.”

That’s Micah, Han thought. Always trying to find a way in. He studied Fiona’s face. Was she telling the truth, or was it just a story she’d hatched to persuade him to give up the goods?

If he had to guess, he’d say she wasn’t lying. Or only a little.

“What about the council of Wizards?” Han asked. “What are they up to?”