“All right—where were they?” Raisa asked, wrapping the furs more closely around her. “Does anyone know? Have Micah and Fiona returned from the flatlands?”

Averill nodded. “They returned at least a week ago, though they stayed holed up in the Bayar compound on Gray Lady until the past few days. Lord Bayar has been in frequent meetings at the Council House. That’s where he was the night Queen Marianna died—if you are willing to take his word for it, that is. No one else was there as witness, save other members of the council.”

“And no one—no one saw the queen’s body in the courtyard before Magret raised the alarm?” Raisa asked.

Averill shook his head. “The balcony overlooks the queen’s private gardens,” he said. “Marianna wasn’t fond of gardens, so she never spent much time there. Only her gardeners would have reason to enter.”

Raisa shivered. How long had her mother lain there, helpless and broken and alone, before she died? I should have been there, she thought miserably. She shouldn’t have been alone with this.

“Magret Gray was the first…was the first to see to the queen?” Raisa asked. Averill nodded.

“Have you spoken with Maiden Gray?” Elena asked. “What does she say?”

“That is why I took so long to bring the news,” Averill said. “I would have come sooner, but I didn’t know that Briar Rose was at Marisa Pines until yesterday. I wanted to…gather as much information as I could before I came.”

Before evidence could be destroyed or covered up, was the implication.

“I hope you are being careful, Lightfoot,” Elena said. “If it was murder, the perpetrators wouldn’t hesitate to kill a troublesome consort, too.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Averill said, managing a faint smile.

“What did she say?” Elena asked. “Was there any sign that there was more to it than a fall from a balcony?”

Averill shook his head. “No obvious sign. It appeared Marianna was killed by the fall and not by anything else.”

Would a wizard’s touch have left traces behind? The trauma of the fall could have covered over any subtle signs of foul play. Or a wizard could have clouded Marianna’s mind and made her think she could fly. Or planted the impulse to kill herself.

“However,” Averill continued, “the queen had this in her fist.” He drew a small pouch from his pocket and emptied the contents into his hand. It was a length of heavy gold chain, the links twisted and broken at either end. It was fine work—clan made, no doubt.

It was the kind of chain often used to carry amulets and talismans.

“Magret found it,” Averill said, “when she was preparing Marianna’s body.”

Elena reached her hand toward it, her face grim and hard. She poked the chain with her forefinger. “So. It seems that the queen’s murderers left clues behind.”