Sooner or later, the queen and her defenders would have to give in, of course. But Karn wanted to see it handled before the autumn snows stopped up the passes to the south. He’d lost enough men to the mountain savages on his way in. The northern mages seemed to be in disarray, for now, and he didn’t want to allow them time to regroup and recruit.

Marin Karn had no intention of spending the winter in the witchy north. And so he continued to look for a way to break through.

Raisa opened her tear-swollen eyes to see Magret Gray looming over her. She squeezed them shut again, but not quickly enough.

“They are back, Your Highness,” Magret said, with a heavy sigh.

“Who’s back?” Raisa whispered, through cracked lips. For three days she’d been plagued by vivid fever dreams. It was almost a relief to be awake.

“Captain Byrne and the rest,” Magret said, sitting in the chair next to the bed—the place she’d occupied for most of the last three days. Dog edged in next to her, resting his chin on the coverlet. Magret scratched his head absently.

“The Bayar is like a demon spirit haunting your door. I’ve tried to send him away, but he insists he needs to talk to you. By the Sainted Queen, as if I’d let that one come within a hundred yards of you.”

Good, Raisa thought, closing her eyes. Good.

“The Princess Mellony is worried sick about you,” Magret said. “She’s spent hours at your bedside. I finally had to warn her away, for fear she’d catch the fever, too.”

“I don’t want to see anyone,” Raisa whispered, without opening her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. You need to talk to them. Ill or not, you are the queen of the realm, and that fiend from the south won’t wait.”

Raisa opened her eyes again, reluctantly. Magret pressed the back of her hand against Raisa’s forehead, and scowled, her lips tight with disapproval, her face haggard with worry and pain. Her nose was ruddy pink, as if she’d been crying.

Raisa’s stomach churned, and her head pounded, feeling too heavy to lift. She’d taken nothing to eat for three days, and had run a high fever for most of that time. Was it possible to die from a broken heart? Up till now, she’d have said that only happened in romances read by the likes of Missy Hakkam.

Love makes you vulnerable, Raisa thought. To pain and loss and maybe fevers, too.

She shifted her hips back until she was in a sitting position, her head braced against the headboard. Magret tidied her hair with cool fingers and handed her a cup of water and willow bark.

“Go easy on that, Your Majesty,” Magret said. “Willow bark can be hard on your stomach.”

Raisa sipped obediently.