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Displeasure flickered in his blue eyes, but his reply was as smooth and deferential as usual. “We have people where we need them.”

I smiled. “No doubt hidden among my staff.”

“I don’t need to hide, Your Grace. I serve you openly.”

The sound of boots interrupted my reply. A knight appeared in the doorway, his helmet under his arm. Snow dusted his shoulders. “Your Grace, we have a situation—” He cut himself off, his eyes going to Jordan.

“Speak freely,” I said. The gods knew Jordan of Twyl would eventually learn whatever the knight had to say.

“A patrol caught Rowena of Lar Kessa attempting to cross the Bleak Pass into Sithistra.”

I tensed. “Where is she now?”

“In the dungeon, Your Grace. Her husband has been informed. The knights who spoke with him report he had no idea his wife was involved with the south. Sir Harald says he’s loyal to the crown and won’t share hearth or board with a traitor. He leaves his wife’s fate in your hands.”

Harsh. But then Sir Harald had trained his whole life under Varick. The warrior class wasn’t known for its forgiving nature.

Before I could think too hard about that, I nodded to the knight. “Thank you. And give the patrol my thanks.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

As his footsteps retreated, I sighed. “Are you afraid of dark, enclosed spaces, Brother Jordan?”

“Not at all, Your Grace.”

“I didn’t think so. Come. Let’s find out what Rowena of Lar Kessa has been hiding.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, a bedraggled Rowena of Lar Kessa watched me warily from a wooden chair in the center of her cell. Her red hair streamed over her shoulders in damp clumps. The normally vibrant color looked dull in the dim lamplight.

It was freezing in the dungeon, and my breath puffed in small, white clouds as I paced in front of her and repeated myself for the fourth time. “Did King Rolund order you to give the queen the solstone?”

“As I already told you, Your Grace, I don’t take orders from King Rolund. My handlers in the south instructed me to deliver the dagger to Queen Given. That’s all I know.”

“Yes, but you’re lying.”

Her pupils dilated. She swallowed.

I stopped my pacing. “That’s why I keep asking, you see.”

She’d folded her hands in her lap. She squeezed them together now, and she didn’t look at me as she said, “I’m telling the truth.”

In that moment, I knew how the interrogation was going to end. Although, maybe I’d known from the moment the knight informed me Rowena was in the dungeon. I just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

Weak, my father’s ghost whispered. And he was correct. He would have bled her, my father. Nicolae of Nor Doru had never hesitated to punish his enemies. But I wasn’t so certain Rowena was my enemy. Under the sour, acrid stench of deceit was another, far more powerful scent.

Despair.

It clung to her clothes and puddled in her pores, the smell of rain on a cold day. The interrogation had but one ending. I knew that now. And I was weak, but I wasn’t a coward. My father had been wrong about that.

I had Rowena against the wall before she even registered that I’d moved. While she was still reeling, I pinned her to the stone with my bad hand on her shoulder. Fiery agony shot up my fingers, making me grimace as I used my teeth to tug the glove off my right hand. I nicked my thumb and pressed it between her lips, smearing my blood on her tongue.

“Sabet,” I said. “Answer me truthfully when I ask you questions.”

Power flared, and she gasped. “I won’t—”

“Did Rolund give you the solstone dagger?”