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further.”
    “But I must. I sent this man to his death.”
    “No, highness!” Liryk spoke up. “You gave him his life…and a chance to make a new one. Without you, King Celimus would surely have had him killed.”
    “Perhaps he did,” Fynch muttered.
    Valentyna tore her gaze from Romen and laid it on Fynch. “Tell us what you think.”
    She and Liryk held their breath. If the youngster was thinking it, then surely their unspoken yet shared conclusions could not be that far off the mark.
    “Celimus wanted Romen dead. Now he is,” Fynch said tonelessly.
    “We cannot prove such a thing, lad,” Liryk replied, voice gruff with rebuke.
    “No. That’s the point, though,” Fynch said, staring at the corpse. As he spoke he suddenly sounded a lot older. “You need not be a scholar to see that this was an expertly achieved death. Celimus could not be seen to have bloodied hands…” They were impressed at his casual use of the Morgravian monarch’s name.
    “You sound familiar with the King, boy,” Liryk said.
    “I know him. Certainly enough about him to accept that Romen’s death could easily be by the King’s design. We already know Celimus thinks nothing of hiring mercenaries to kill sovereigns.” There was a sharp intake of breath from both men, although Valentyna seemed not to react. Fynch continued as though they were discussing the weather. “What makes you think he would not order the death of a troublesome noble? Someone who knows too much about the comings and goings of Morgravia?” He stopped speaking suddenly, his look accusing, defying them to contradict him.
    “I don’t think that, lad,” Liryk lied, impressed with Fynch’s grasp of the situation. “I just can’t prove the King of Morgravia is behind it.”
    “No, and that’s why we must be very careful about what we say aloud,” Valentyna warned. “Please, all of you. What has been aired here is between the five of us.”
    Fynch found an inward smile. It amused him that the Queen counted Knave among them, but he could not blame her. He too believed Knave heard and understood everything. The dog sidled up toward him again and he laid his hand on Knave’s head, glad of the comfort.
    Without warning, a familiar dizzy sensation claimed him as Valentyna opened her mouth to speak again.
    “Krell, I know this is unusual but you and I will wash Koreldy’s body.”
    “My queen! I cannot permit—”
    “No, you cannot permit me anything.” She said it kindly. “This is my order, although I prefer it be a request. I am doing this so we keep Romen’s death among as few people as possible.”
    He nodded an unhappy expression on his face.
    He
is not dead! Wyl lives
! a voice spoke to Fynch. The boy’s world spun and his head began to throb. He saw only swirling gray mist, but he heard the words clearly. Then the mist cleared briefly and he saw a small town. At its fringe were fields and fields of hops. He had no idea what its significance was.
    Find him. He walks in another body now
, the voice urged.
    The swirling sensation dissipated as fast as it had arrived and the voices of the people in the chapel sounded sharp again. Fynch steadied himself, the pain intense and shock reverberating through his body as he tried to think about what he had heard through Knave. He knew now the dog was the reason he could hear the voice. He just did not know why. Fynch felt distracted and nauseated.
    His mind was in turmoil. If Knave’s information was correct, then they were needlessly grieving over a man who was not dead.
He walks in another body now
. Had it truly happened again? Had Wyl Thirsk become the person who killed Romen Koreldy? Valentyna deserved to know but what could he say to her? She would not even hear him out. Valentyna was liberal in most ways and he would describe her as tolerant—certainly of his views on magic—but she was not a believer. The Queen would probably banish him as well if he started raging about transference into