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“How’s it going?” she asks quietly.

“About as well as expected.”

She gives me a sympathetic smile and then says, “The necromancer woke up about thirty minutes ago. Lawrence said I should let you know.”

“Has Pranmore learned anything?”

Clover glances at the room and then lowers her voice a little more. “We’re supposed to meet with the others as soon as you’re finished here.”

I return to the head of the room and pick up the notes I jotted down before the meeting. After giving the last of the men their assigned territories, I ask, “Does anyone have any questions?”

And of course they do—most of which I’ve already answered. The meeting drags on for another thirty minutes. Finally satisfied they have some idea what they’re supposed to be doing, I dismiss the knights. When the last of them is out the door, I let out a sigh of relief.

“I think that went well,” Bartholomew says in a voice that’s entirely too chipper for my current mood. “All things considered.”

Clover laughs, reading my expression.

“Let’s not keep Lawrence waiting,” I say, already heading toward the door.

“Do you require my assistance this afternoon?” Declan asks, gathering his ledger, which holds the meeting notes he took.

“No, thank you,” I tell him. “I’ll send for you if needed.”

“Aren’t you important?” Clover teases quietly as we walk through the hall. “You have attendants now.”

“Don’t remind me.”

She grins as we step into the warm sunshine. The weather has improved over the last few days, giving us a true taste of spring.

“What did Pranmore learn?” I ask her when we’re out of earshot of loitering guards and soldiers.

“The woman says she doesn’t remember going to the library last night.”

“Pranmore said the head injury could leave her addled.”

“But there’s more,” she says. “According to the kitchen attendants, she disappeared a week ago. No one has seen her for days.”

“We’ve seen her,” I argue.

“We have,” Clover agrees ominously.

“Where does she claim to have gone to?”

“She says she doesn’t remember.”

“A likely story.”

“Pranmore has a theory.” Clover lowers her voice. “He thinks Camellia has been using the girl to watch us.”

I pause in the courtyard, not liking the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

She raises her brows. “What do you think I mean?”

“Are you saying Camellia possessed her?” Bartholomew whispers, horrified.

“It’s possible,” Clover answers. “The blood magic made her vulnerable to such intrusions. And for all we know, she might have volunteered.”

“What does Lawrence want to talk about?” I ask.