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“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” He pauses. “But…”

“You think it might?”

“I believe it’s possible.”

Henrik knocks quietly at the door. “Is everything all right?”

I step out of the room, leaving Pranmore to place his external wards around the woman. “She’s wearing a tambrel stone.”

Henrik’s eyebrows jump. “You’re certain?”

I nod.

He looks back into the small room and says to Pranmore, “We have to tell Lawrence. Will you be all right alone with her?”

The blue glow of the Woodmore’s wards already surrounds the sleeping necromancer.

Pranmore takes the chair next to the woman’s head to keep guard—the same place he sat when Hellebore lay dying in this very room. Camellia’s handmaid dabbled in things she should have never touched as well, and she paid the cost with her life. Will this woman’s fate be the same?

“I’ll be fine,” Pranmore says, but he doesn’t sound fine.

“We’ll be back shortly,” I promise him, and then we head for the door.

* * *

The young woman doesn’t wake, and by morning, Pranmore says the chances are growing slim. She lost too much blood.

“Other than we know she’s a necromancer, you’ve found no other connection to Camellia?” Lawrence rubs his forehead.

We’re in his private study, with only our small group in attendance.

“Not yet anyway,” Henrik says, turning to his squire as if just remembering something. “Was there a note in the golem that attacked Evervale?”

Bartholomew looks at his cousin as if expecting him to answer. Henrik turns his eyes on Lawrence as well.

The king’s frown deepens. He looks reluctant to volunteer whatever it is he knows.

“Lawrence?” I demand. Too many sleepless nights have been strung together, and my patience is nonexistent.

“A guard delivered it to me before Henrik sent Bartholomew after it,” Lawrence finally admits.

“Why didn’t you say anything last night?” Henrik asks, frustrated.

“I didn’t want to ruin the evening,” Lawrence answers. “Camellia shouldn’t have that much power over us.”

Henrik narrows his eyes. “What does the note say?”

Lawrence studies him for several seconds, and then he pushes away from the table and stalks to his desk. Removing a key from his pocket, he unlocks the long, narrow drawer and retrieves two scraps of parchment. Both look disconcertingly familiar, and for a moment, I wonder if they’re the ones we brought back from Heistone.

Lawrence offers the first to Henrik. “This was found in one of the golems the guards confiscated in Drebigan.”

“What is it?” I ask when Henrik goes pale, grabbing his arm to pull the first message closer so I can read it.

You should have chosen me.

“Honestly,” I say scathingly, handing the note to Ayan when he stretches out his hand for it. “Could she be more dramatic?”

“And this one came from the golem that was set loose in Evervale.” Lawrence gives Henrik the second message.