"I wish the same could be said of the other dahl'reisen on the borders."

Rain's ears perked up. "There is trouble?"

"Not on my land—yet—but Tarrent sent word that an entire village on Great Lord Darramon's land was burned to the ground, every man, woman, and child found dead in their beds. A farmer from a neighboring village saw smoke and went to investigate. No telling exactly when it happened or what killed them, but 'tis middling strange that not a single villager roused from bed or sounded the alarm while the village burned around them. The new Lord Darramon fears dark magic."

"Did your son speak to the dahl'reisen on your land?" Gaelen asked. "What did they say?"

"Tarrent hasn't seen our dahl'reisen since the Fey arrived."

"My lords." King Dorian rang the Bell of Order, and Lord Barrial broke off his conversation to face his liege.

As Dorian explained his purpose in summoning the nobles, Rain glanced at Gaelen. «What are your thoughts on that attack?»

«Either the whole village was Mage-claimed and the Brotherhood executed them, or this was Mage work."

"Your Brotherhood would murder infants.»

Ice blue eyes met Rain's with grim frankness. «If they bore more than three Marks? Without hesitation.»

"You expect us to submit ourselves to magic spun by Gaelen vel Serranis?" A raised voice made them both turn towards the gathered Celierian lords. "Sire, you cannot be serious."

"Ser vel Serranis's weave is the only way to detect Mage Marks, and the news the Tairen Soul has brought is grave enough that we dare not share it with anyone who has been compromised by the Mages." When no one stepped forward, the king gestured impatiently. "Come now. I've submitted to the procedure myself, and am none the worse for it."

Cannevar Barrial stepped forward, his fingers already tugging at his neck cloth. "I'll be the first. I've no fear of Fey magic." He glanced at Rain and Gaelen, and the corner of his mouth pulled down in a grimace. "It's the Eld kind I worry about."

Despite Annoura's continuing nausea, weariness crept over her. Her vile sickness had left her drained and lethargic. She never slept in the day—kingdoms didn't rule themselves— but right now, if she were any other woman, she would happily let herself drift off to the sound of Jiarine's low-pitched, pleasant reading voice.

Instead, a lifetime of stern discipline kept her anchored to consciousness, and when the soft knock sounded on her bedroom door, she snapped to instant alertness. Whipping the compress off her face, she wriggled into an upright position as Jiarine set her book aside and crossed the room.

A second series of knocks rapped out before Jiarine reached the door, and a thin, quavering voice called, "It's Mirianna, Your Majesty. The doctor is here."

Jiarine threw open the door, using her body to block any curious eyes from peering in at the queen in her bed. "Idiot girl. What are you thinking to keep the doctor waiting outside when the queen is ill? Show him in this instant."

A moment later, Jiarine stepped aside to admit the flushed and harried-looking royal physician, Lord Hewen. His robes were mussed and long strands of his graying hair hung free of his usually tidy queue. He placed a small brown leather satchel on the exquisitely carved table beside the bed and opened the bag's hinged mouth to reveal an impressive collection of powders, vials, and physician's implements.

"You are not going to prod me with those," Annoura said, eyeing several of the torturous-looking devices.

"Unless your symptoms are any different from those of the twenty other ladies I've seen in the last two days, there will be no need, Your Majesty," Lord Hewen replied. He placed a hand on the side of her neck to feel the temperature of her skin, then placed a metal cone shaped like a hollowed cow's horn on her heart and put his ear to the small, pointed end.

"Why? What have they got? It's not poison, is it?" Another thought occurred to her. "Or some new variation of the Great Plague?"

"Shh. No talking, please, until I've had a good listen." He moved the horn to her belly and listened again.

Her lips pressed tight but her eyes flashed with irritation. She let him command her in this one instance because he had been her physician since Dori's birth and was frankly better at healing than anyone except a Fey shei'dalin. But she didn't like it.

The moment the horn lifted from her belly, she asked, "Well!"

"Your heartbeat is fine and strong."

"I have always found it works best that way," she snapped. "Now, answer my question. What's wrong with the other ladies? What's wrong with me?"

"Calm yourself, Your Majesty. The other ladies have neither been poisoned nor Plagued, I assure you. In fact, nothing's wrong with them that a little rest, pampering, and time won't cure. As I was saying, your heartbeat is fine and strong, as is the child's."

"The child's ..." Her voice trailed off. Her brows drew together, then flew upward. "You're not suggesting..."

A shocked gasp from behind Lord Hewen made both Annoura and the physician turn. Jiarine stood there, clutching her belly, a look of horror on her face. "You mean she's..." A shaking finger pointed at Annoura. "And they're ..." The arm attached to the finger swung in a tremulous arc to point its accusatory digit at the door behind them, then slowly dragged back around until her finger was pressed against her own well-endowed chest. "And I'm ... ?"