The haunt raised a hand and, rising, circled the parlor. He halted to listen every few steps, checked beneath and behind every piece of furniture, every wall hanging, ran a hand along the baseboard, and had Fulmo run a finger along the join of wall and ceiling to make sure there were no secret spy holes. Simo ran one more circuit of the surrounding rooms, which were empty. After locking the entrance doors, he brought Ipis and Kem into the parlor. Thus sealed in, they sat at the table. Elen was given a place at the far end, away from the prince.

Fulmo tasted each dish and indicated each was clear of contamination, until the cloudberry brew, which received a shake of his blocky head.

“The same as the other brew you were offered,” said Luviara. “Not poison, it seems, but drugged.”

The haunt nodded. “Then let us pour out the brew as if we have consumed it and satiate ourselves with the rest. Although it is tiresome to always have to assume no food and drink can be trusted.”

“None better than a gagast as a food taster, Your Highness,” said Luviara. “But I never heard the story of how you came to bring Fulmo into your service.”

“No, I suppose you did not,” he remarked, and set to his food.

The archon had done her best with fish and turnips. Elen had never before eaten so well in this town, not in ten years of stopping here every month. The bread was particularly good, soft inside with a crisp crust, and baked from wheat flour with no coarse millet for filler.

At first, they ate in silence, dedicated to the food. As people began to heap seconds upon their plates, Simo opened the table for discussion.

“This bolt must concern us deeply. Now what, Your Highness?”

“We go on,” said the haunt. “Armed with the knowledge that someone is hunting us.”

“Shouldn’t we demand answers from the archon?” Simo asked.

“I think not. For now, the archon doesn’t know what we’ve found. We can’t be sure she’s involved with Prince Astaylin.”

“What about Lord Duenn?” Elen asked. “Could the archon be involved with him, with Woodfall Province?”

Simo hissed angrily. Kem glowered. The other wardens looked at the haunt, waiting for his reaction to this unseemly interruption.

“What about Lord Duenn?” the haunt said lightly. “How likely do you think it is that he could have tendrils that reach so far, farther than a prince’s?”

“Not likely,” said Simo, ending that branch of the discussion.

The haunt cleared his throat and went on. “The attempted drugging with the brew suggests the archon is involved with someone, or something. Unless she’s just a common thief, but it makes no sense to attack a prince of the Third Estate without being sure of protection from inside the palace.”

“What if we’re followed when we leave?” asked Simo.