He’d found traces of three toxins on the crossbow bolt’s point. One was the plant known as fleshbane, the second was the venom of the red-stripe snake, and a third was a toxin he did not recognize but that was potent enough, in combination with the other two, to kill a large animal without inhalation or ingestion, merely through contact with its blood, in this case even a shallow wound.

Luviara said, “Your Highness, where did this deadly bolt come from?”

“We discovered it on our walk up the ridge.”

“Are you saying someone shot at you?”

“I am saying we need to tread very carefully indeed.” He did not mention the dead griffin or its scout.

A knock came at the door.

Ipis stuck her head in, looking around the parlor curiously, as if wondering what they had been doing. She said, “The archon has sent supper, with her compliments.”

A procession of servers entered bearing sixteen platters of food, half of which were fish: steamed fish, stewed fish, sauced fish, minced fish, baked fish, fishcakes, fish soup, and, on a flat ceramic tray, fish and vegetables cunningly arranged as the famous sculpture, The Death of the Holy Compassionate Healer Surrounded by Her Heart Venerables. The rest of the meal consisted of baked, roasted, and stewed turnips, with one dish of fried turnip greens, bitter from autumn frost, an apple and parsnip compote, hot bread, and a covered pitcher of the archon’s vaunted cloudberry brew.

Once the servers had arranged the table, they retreated to stand attentively at the wall.

“They may go,” said the haunt with a peremptory wave of his hand.

“Interlocutor,” said the eldest of the servers, “the archon has graciously asked that we do all we can to facilitate the feast for His Exalted Highness.”

Luviara rose from the bench on which she’d been seated. “His Exalted Highness has dismissed you. That is all.”

The senior server cleared his throat, looking unaccountably nervous, but he led the rest out, not that they had any choice.

Elen had remained standing the entire time. She still felt uneasy about sitting in the presence of a man the others thought of as the prince, and would have preferred to return to the small annex where she normally slept, but the discovery of the dead griffin and its rider had altered the nature of the expedition. No longer was their party on an inconvenient detour caused by a terrible but unpredictable natural disaster. Now there was deliberate malice on their trail.