“And did these two guards…did they share information with you, provost?” It was Regnault. Taking the lead here, Thierry thought. Reluctantly?

De Vaux nodded his head. “They did, my lord duke.” He turned to the queen. “Your grace.”

“And this information…?” asked Queen Bianca.

“Led me to go myself and ask to be received by the Duke de Barratin at his palace.”

“And were you received?” The queen, Thierry thought, was looking very much on edge. Again, unsurprisingly.

“I was not, your grace. He sent word with his steward saying he was not free to receive me. But there was…a letter.”

“A letter? You have it?” Regnault again. The Duke de Barille was silent now.

“I do,” said the provost simply.

“Read it,” commanded the queen of Ferrieres.

De Vaux hesitated for the first time. Medor Colle stepped forward and handed him a document.

De Vaux cleared his throat. “It is brief,” he said. “It reads, ‘I concede I have done certain things that might appear to be wrongful, but they were done only for the good of Ferrieres and in the name of Jad. I rest easy in my conscience. I will send advocates to plead my case before the court, but you must also know I am not without the resources or the will to uphold the justice of my cause, in any and all ways that might be required.’ ”

“That last,” said the queen, breaking the taut stillness that followed this, “is treason. He threatens war.”

“He does it carefully,” said the Duke de Regnault. “Not…in so many words.” But his voice was…his voice was pale, Thierry thought.

“What? Are you afraid of him, my lord?” the queen demanded.

“I am afraid of civil war, your grace. We have enemies without. We cannot afford to be fighting within. I believe…I am certain…that you know this.”

“Barratin has his own court at Berga and revenues and ports, and an army at least as large as any we could put into the field. He also has followers here in Orane.” It was Barille, regaining his voice. “We cannot be reckless.”

The queen was white-faced with fury, Thierry saw. “Reckless?” she snapped. “It is reckless to respond to a confession of murder? The murder of the king’s brother? The guardian of the prince? The governing steward of Ferrieres? Really, my lords? Really?”

“Indeed, power and justice can sit uneasily together, your grace.” Barille might have been a man who preferred the world of art to that of the court, but he was no fool, Thierry was realizing.

“And you, provost of Orane? What say you?”