Four weeks passed, bringing with them icy rain that left the roads a muddy, slushy mess. Cayla glared out of the rain-smeared window from the Princess’s Chamber. Even though nothing strange had happened in the castle for the last twenty-eight days, Cayla could still not accept that the danger had passed. King Sebastian’s murderer was free, and it seemed to Cayla that she was the only one bothered by this.

“Cayla, we’ve been through this,” her friend Nanette had exclaimed in exasperation one week before. “I know it’s hard for you to accept Alice’s death, but—”

“She didn’t do it, Nanette,” Cayla had snapped fiercely.

“You know I know that,” Nanette had sighed. “I’m just saying that nothing has happened. If there was a murderer lurking the halls, don’t you think he would have done something by now?”

“But what Gerda said makes sense!”

“You’re listening to Gerda now?” Nanette had shook her head in mock disappointment. “Good Lord, Cayla, you are desperate.”

“I’m serious!” Cayla had fumed and Nanette had stopped smiling. “Who would want King Sebastian dead?”“Criminals?” Nanette had shrugged. “Or Sir Salir? It was settled long ago that he would rule if King Sebastian or Queen Amara weren't able to—if Princess Avona was still too young, that is.”

“I thought of him first, too,” Cayla had agreed. “I would think that at some point an advisor would get tired of advising and want to start doing. But—”

“But he doesn’t seem the type to go about poisoning people,” Nanette had finished dully for her.

Cayla had nodded.

“Did you see him when it was announced that the queen had died? He looked so shocked.”

“He could be a good actor,” Nanette had suggested.

“No one’s that good,” Cayal had stated. “He looked like a ghost. Like a shell.”

“Okay, scratch him off then.” Nanette had waved her arm as if slashing a name off an invisible list. “Who else? A knight?”

Cayla snorted irritably as the memory faded, glaring at the rain-washed courtyard below. A knight. Cayla did not enjoy the knights’ company. A group of knights in particular were a bit too quick to pull out their daggers for Cayla’s liking. King Sebastian and Queen Amara had often been displeased with this small group, but Sir Illius Molick, the Captain of the Knights, had always assured them that he had them under control. They were volatile. Violent.

It wasn’t hard for Cayla to believe that a knight from that group had poisoned the king and blamed it on Alice. The question was, which one?

Sir Adrian Bayard was a hot head. Cayla doubted he would have the finesse for slipping poison in a goblet. He seemed too attracted to his own fists. But Sir Alexander Vinsus on the other hand … Cayla could easily see him plotting this murder. He was steely, cold, and as slick as a snake. Cayla often chose to travel down different corridors to keep from walking past him.

Cayla snorted again, turning from the window. She and the rest of the servants had heard rumors that the “difficult” group of knights had been quietly planning a revolt, but none of the rumors had been substantial enough to be taken seriously, especially with King Sebastian on the throne. But if the knights were going to rebel … if they had been behind King Sebastian’s death, then they would show it, wouldn’t they? Cayla tried to remember how the knights had been behaving over these past few weeks. Bayard had been strutting about the place like he owned it, but he always strutted. And yes, Vinsus had been more open in his aggression toward the poor and the servants … had sneered and grabbed his sword a bit more than usual. And Cayla had seen an increase in whispered conversations between these knights. Just yesterday she had seen Vinsus and Sir Anon Haskin talking in undertones, but Anon wasn’t a troublemaker. He was one of the few knights Cayla felt comfortable around.

Wanting to turn her thoughts to something else, Cayla picked up the letter that had arrived earlier that day. Two old friends were in the city … she’d need to pay them a visit, or at least write back.

Princess Avona suddenly screamed shrilly, shattering Cayla’s thoughts quite effectively. Tossing the letter to one side, she rushed to her, cooing and rocking her gently, but for all the good she did, she might as well have just ignored her.

“Goodness, the child isn’t too pleased, is she?”

Cayla spun around. Salir Romore stood in the doorway, looking slightly amused at the ear-shattering pitch the princess had reached.

“Would it pain you if I joined you?”

Cayla blinked dumbly before hastily curtseying as best she could with the wriggling princess in her arms. She still hadn’t gotten used to the fact that Salir Romore, King Sebastian’s quiet advisor, was now ruler of Lenzar.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Cayla replied over Princess Avona’s yells. “Shh! Darling, shh!”

“Perhaps she is not fond of my company?” mused Salir with a good-humored smile as Princess Avona screeched particularly loudly.

“No!” Cayla denied, still desperately trying to quiet her. “That’s ridiculous, Your Highness!”

“Either way, I think I will return when she is calmer—asleep perhaps …” He turned to go.

“No, please! Your Highness, do stay. Look, she’s quieting.”

And in fact the princess’s yells had dwindled to a small, pathetic whine, her face as red as a cherry.

Salir smiled, but then the glow from his smile dulled and it seemed suddenly to Cayla that his young face looked much older.

“I have not yet spoken to you of Alice Spindle’s death,” he said quietly, “and I apologize for that.”

The room was suddenly much colder.

“Thank you,” said Cayla jerkily.

“I was told you were friends with her.”

Cayla nodded, looking firmly at a chair’s legs. She wished he would leave … why had she called him back? She felt as if something large was jammed in her throat, keeping her from swallowing.

“I want you to know that I am here for you,” Salir said softly. “If you need to speak to anyone … just know that I am here.”

Cayla nodded again, her jaw clenched tightly. When she did not reply, Salir slowly walked toward the door.

“Sir!”

Salir stopped and half turned, looking at her over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“I-I don’t think Alice murdered King Sebastian,” Cayla said in a rush, frightened at her own daring. “I think she was set up … by someone in the castle.”

Salir’s eyebrows rose.

“And what made you form this theory?” he asked in surprise. “All evidence pointed to her poisoning His Majesty’s goblet.”

“I know, sir, I know.” Cayla shook her head, her eyes shut. “But I trust my instincts. Odd things have happened—the queen’s accident—”

“You believe that was not an accident?”

Cayla hesitated before replying.

“I do.”

“I see.” Salir looked around the room. His eyes momentarily rested on Princes Avona who still fidgeted in Cayla’s arms. “I will do all I can to help put your mind at ease.” With a curt nod, he went out the door, closing it softly behind him.

Cayla stood still, eyes fixed on the newly closed door, for quite some time until Princess Avona suddenly grabbed hold of one of her locks of hair and yanked. Gently scolding, Cayla returned the princess to her crib, but her mind was only partly on the giggling baby. The other part was wondering if Salir Romore would try to find out if Alice had been framed.

.

“Cayla, you’ve been inside for far too long,” Nanette snapped irritably. “Go outside—”

“I’ve been outside!” Cayla retorted indignantly.

“To the orchard,” Nanette scoffed, hands on hips, rolling her eyes sarcastically. “Wow, Cayla, I’m so impressed.”

“All right, all right,” Cayla grunted as Nanette beamed triumphantly, “but someone has to watch the princess and she still has to be fed and—”

“—and don’t worry,” Nanette interjected. She placed her arm around Cayla’s shoulders.

“We can’t be gone for very long!” Cayla continued. “I can’t—”

“Cayla,” Nanette said with force, letting go of her shoulders and glaring at her. “We are going to the Lone Candle—ah, ah, ah!” She waved a hand briskly to stop Cayla from interrupting. “And we are going to have a nice, long dinner. I’ll be back here at seven and we can be off.”

She smiled pleasantly, gave the princess a peck on the forehead, and left to find Kiora Locke, an older servant who often helped Cayla with Princess Avona.

At five till seven, Nanette entered the Princess’s Chamber, obviously still pleased with herself for getting Cayla out of the castle, closely followed by Kiora.

“I’ve just fed her,” Cayla said with the attitude of a fussy mother hen, “so she’ll probably go to sleep. If she wakes up and starts crying—”

“Cayla, Kiora has done this before,” said Nanette, amused, “and we’ll only be gone for a few hours. Not two months.”

“Well, you never can tell!” snapped Cayla, snatching her cloak off the back of a chair, kissing her charge gently and hurrying from the room. Kiora and Nanette shared slightly exasperated yet amused smiles before Nanette closed the door and followed Cayla down the corridor.

Cayla and Nanette stepped out into the crisp night and Cayla was pleased to find that there was no wind. Bright lamps illuminated the wide gravel road that led to the main gate. Cayla and Nanette nodded silently to the guard before continuing down a cobblestone road. The hems of their skirts and cloaks swished heavily around their ankles, dampening from small pools of water between the uneven stones. The road gleamed yellow from the lines of flickering lamps.

The Lone Candle was by far the most popular inn in Bosc, the capital of Lenzar. It was a cheerful hole-in-the-wall run by a rosy-cheeked man and his rosy-cheeked wife. The food and drink was some of the best for miles and traveling musicians provided a continual foot-tapping jig. Cayla and Nanette stopped at the Lone Candle’s brightly lit windows, sparkling merrily with raindrops. The inn’s sign, that of a squat candle with lumpy ribbons of wax dripping sluggishly down its sides onto a cracked, wooden table, creaked in a sudden cold breeze.

Nanette opened the heavy wooden door and they flinched slightly as the battering ram of music and talk issuing from the crowded room barreled over them. Cayla and Nanette entered and with difficulty squeezed through the throng of people standing around the thumping musicians in the corner by the door and weaved between tables to one at the far end of the room. They shed their long, wet cloaks—the large fireplace in the stone wall kept the inn comfortably toasty.

“Well I’ll be!” rang a loud, clear voice.

Olive Dunker, the rosy complexioned co-owner of the Lone Candle had squeezed through the wooden tables with difficulty due to her very large stomach and stood before their table.

“I’ll be!” she exclaimed again, even louder than before, hands on her hips, a smile taking up more than half her face. “If it isn’t Cayla Black. Why, I haven’t seen you in ages! Beginning to think you’d vanished,” Olive laughed merrily.

Cayla smiled.

“When’s the baby due?” asked Nanette.

Olive chuckled. “February. But the way he’s growing …” She patted her stomach affectionately and shrugged her shoulders as if to say “but what’s wrong with that?”

“Any names yet?” Nanette asked.

“Not many,” Olive admitted, flushing slightly. “Thomas and I know so many people—customers, you know—and you’d be amazed at how hard it is to find something original. But I have a soft spot for Galen. What do you think?”

“Galen Dunker. Sounds nice,” Nanette agreed. “But what if it’s a girl?”

Olive’s eyes widened.

“Names are so difficult,” she said. As Nanette laughed, Olive turned back to Cayla, “So why the long time no see?”

“It’s taken me longer than I thought to … to deal with Alice’s death,” Cayla replied quietly, though proud that her voice had remained steady.

Dawning comprehension swept over Olive’s face and she bent closer to them, no longer smiling, her voice hushed.

“Horrible, that’s what it is! Never would have dreamed—I’m still horrified! And you two were friends with her!” Her eyes widened in shocked realization.

“Everyone liked Alice,” Nanette said quickly, laying a hand on Cayla’s arm, who looked as if a dark cloud had suddenly materialized over her head. “She was very kind.”

“Yes, I know!” Olive nodded, her eyes wide. “It’s just baffling! But I guess you can’t tell with some people, can you? I feel so horribly for the poor princess. An orphan and not even a year old.”

“I think we’ll order now, Olive,” said Nanette, cutting a glance at Cayla who was sitting so still and rigid she could have been stone.

“Oh, yes, dears.” Olive fumbled with a piece of paper and extracted a short quill from her apron pocket. “What will it be?”

“Can you believe that?” Cayla hissed heatedly, watching Olive’s retreating back after she had scribbled down their order. “You can’t tell with some people … She spoke as if she was glad Alice was dead!”

“Well, I think they are,” Nanette said carefully.

Cayla’s head jerked around.

“Alice’s memory is being dragged through the mud!” she whispered lividly. “Alice does not deserve this!”

“No. She doesn’t,” Nanette agreed softly.

Cayla felt tears welling in her eyes. Her throat constricted.

Nanette squeezed Cayla’s arm before removing her hand to make room as their beer and a healthy wedge of stilton were placed between them.

Cayla hastily wiped her eyes on her sleeve and took a sip of beer.

“Do you think, that for right now, you can simply enjoy yourself?” Nanette asked quietly, leaning forward over the table. “This isn’t healthy, Cayla.”

Cayla smiled slightly and nodded.

“I’ll drink to that!” cheered Nanette.

They clanked their heavy mugs together, beer sloshing over the edges.

Suddenly, the whole room seemed brighter, as if a thin cloth had been lifted from the scene. The merry customers around them drank and danced foolishly and before Cayla knew it, her foot was happily tapping to the beat of a young traveler’s fiddle.

“Pheasant pie?” huffed a long-nosed young man, who had just arrived to their table, staggering under the weight of a huge pie.

“Oh, yes. Thank you.”

Sweat beading on his forehead, he bent his knees and slide the pie onto the table between them, where it steamed.

“I tell you, I could live off this pie!” Nanette said with a feverish glint in her eyes.

As the night continued, the Lone Candle seemed to grow even louder. After a few pints of mead, the musicians had sped up substantially, the thumping of heavy boots keeping tempo to the pounding drums.

Cayla and Nanette finished their pie and beer, along with a helping of apple crumb tart topped with almond cream. Cayla was leaning back in her chair, gazing peacefully around the inn. It had been beautifully decorated for Christmas with baubles, ribbons, and bundles of holly. Cayla’s roaming eyes rested on a corner a few tables away from where she and Nanette sat. It was a good bit darker than anywhere else in the room because there were no torch brackets nearby. The table was empty and Cayla thought she understood why. Why ever would you want to sit in the dark?

“Perfect dinner!” Nanette exclaimed, startling Cayla by slamming her hands on the table and pushing herself up. “I think it’s time we headed off.”

They slowly made their way back to the castle, stumbling over uneven stones in the road, chuckling at their clumsiness. They turned a corner and the brightly lit windows of the castle shone proudly through the night.

“… didn’t expect this to happen …”

Cayla stopped so sharply that Nanette stumbled again.

“What—” Nanette began, but Cayla pinched her sharply.

“Shhh!” she hissed, suddenly fully awake.

For some reason, the harsh voice she had just heard through the darkness left her feet frozen in place.

“… Just finish the job—tonight, along with the maid,” said the cold voice so quietly that she inclined her head to hear better; her eyes strained painfully as she tried to see through the dark alley.

“Cayla—”

“Shh!”

But whoever had spoken had vanished.

“They’re gone,” Cayla whispered.

She started walking again, tugging Nanette along with her.

“Cayla—Cayla, what is it?” Nanette huffed, jogging to keep up with Cayla’s quick pace. “Who’s gone?”

“Nothing,” said Cayla shortly. She nodded curtly to the gate guard and entered the castle. “I just thought I heard something.”

“Well, I didn’t hear anything,” Nanette grumbled dismissively. “I’m going to bed—see you in the morning.”

With a large yawn, she turned on her heel and shuffled down the corridor. Cayla stood stationary in the corridor for a full three minutes before coming to her senses with a start. She ran up the spiral staircase to Princess Avona’s chamber, the cold words echoing in her brain. She wrenched the chamber door open with such force that Kiora dropped the tea pot she had been holding.

“Never mind it, never mind it!” huffed Cayla quickly as Kiora bent to retrieve the broken pottery. “I’ll take care of it—don’t know my own strength sometimes—Go on, I’ll take care of everything.” And with an arm tightly around Kiora’s shoulders, she half-pushed half-led her out the door before she could protest and closed the door with a snap.

Cayla stood staring at the wood of the door, her hand pressed flat against its grainy surface. Surely she was overreacting … panicky about the slightest thing that seemed strange … Cayla shook her head as if trying to rid herself of an aggravating fly. No, this was real—what she had heard was real—she had to act now!

She spun around, a plan—a horribly, foolish plan—had taken form in a matter of seconds. Her face set with fierce determination, she crossed the room and picked up the sleeping baby.