“They’re dead, sir. At least, Mundwiller was dead when I left. They were ambushed in the street. We got Prataxis back inside the palace, but Doctor Wachtel said he wouldn’t live long.”

“What about the regular garrison?” Liakopulos demanded, stepping out of the house. “What are they doing?”

“Colonel Abaca ordered them back into barracks after his announcement, sir.”

Michael said, “Bring the Queen, General. Let’s get in there and try to do something.”

“It’s probably too late.”

“Probably.”

Inger stepped out of the house. She had changed dramatically. Her manner had become regal. She told her men to get their horses.

Michael smiled. “Your Majesty.”

She looked at him strangely. “You’ve never called me that before.”

“You never earned it, in my estimation. I think you’re ready for it now. Let’s mount up.”

“One more thing, sir,” Mark said. “A message. Prataxis had it. Gave it to me. Said for your eyes only.” He handed it across.

Michael held the letter close, strained to make out what it said. “I hope this satisfies you, Inger.”

“Michael?”

“The letter is from my agent in Sedlmayr. I sent Kristen and the King’s children down there right before the big championship match. Anyway, Itaskians raided the house and killed everyone in it.”

Inger shuddered. “What? How could they? I… I’d never allow anything like that. All my people are here, anyway.”

“All your people.” Michael scowled into the gathering darkness, battling his anger. “But not your cousin’s. I neglected to tell you before, for obvious reasons, that Gales is back. Along with your cousin the Duke.”

Inger didn’t respond till everyone was mounted. “That’s Dane’s style. Damn him. The filthy… Michael, believe me, I never wanted anything like that.”

“Maybe not. But it’s the sort of thing you should expect from your cousin.”

“There’ll be an accounting. Let’s ride.”

The Duke and his force were thirty miles from the capital, taking their evening meal in an encampment on the estate of a Nordmen ally. Representatives of the Estates were gathering at the castle nearby. There would be a council of war.

“You look glum, Gales,” the Duke observed. “Sir Mortin says you’ve been down since you found out Haas tracked you home.”

“Your Lordship?”

“I don’t want my best man unhappy. Is there anything I can do?”

Go back home, Gales thought. Leave these people alone. “No, My Lord. I’m just a little under the weather, I think. It’ll work itself out.”

The Duke chuckled. “You don’t approve of what we’re doing, do you?”

“No. But I’m a soldier. It’s not my place to approve or disapprove.”

The Duke nodded amiably. His hunters had returned from Sedlmayr. He was in a good mood. Inger’s brat had no more competition for the throne. Inger would be the power behind the boy, and he would pull her strings. “Mortin. In this meeting tonight, pick out the ones we’ll need to be rid of first.”