"What do we know about the beast?"

"His name is Tacen, your Majesty. The constables don't yet know his surname, or if he even has one. He seems to have been working as a guard for a caravan called Swiftfoot Carting. A modest business, one that works only the more common routes."

"Are they all in custody yet?"

"Most of them, your Majesty. I have outriders following their backtrail. We will have them all by the end of the week. Messengers have been sent to the Prefect of Gallowsport. Their central office is there. If necessary, they can be arrested as well."

"Oh, it is entirely necessary, Varallo. Don't hesitate a moment. Send another messenger if you must. I want them all held. I want them all questioned."

"Your word is done, your Majesty."

"I want a proper questioning, Varallo. Use someone not afraid of pincers or coals. Answers will be forthcoming or I'll know why."

"I shall conduct the interrogations myself, your Majesty."

"Good. And her handmaidens as well. I don't believe for an instant they knew nothing."

In the shadows by the throne, the shape of the Empress-Consort moved ever so slightly, but she said nothing. Denisius's heart went out to her. Her appearance was so very like Carala's, only older and with silver in her midnight hair, and tonight more haggard than he had ever seen her. Five years younger than the Emperor, now she looked twenty years older.

If Varallo Thray found this order unappetizing, however, he showed no sign. "Very good, your Majesty. I am sure they will cooperate once they understand their mistress is in danger."

"I understand your man performed heroically, Lord Marhollow," the Emperor said with a smile, fixing Denisius with his rheumy gaze.

Denisius hesitated, not at all sure how to respond. He sensed a trap. "He saved my life, your Majesty. Lord Thray's life too. I -- I regret -- I am very sorry we couldn't take the princess back."

"Yes, yes, that is a terrible thing. A shame Erstan has neglected your combat training. Or do you disdain it? I have heard things. Failures on the sporting field, a hunt where you wept when your arrow found a deer's throat but didn't kill it. Courtiers do love to gossip, don't you find?" The Emperor poured himself another goblet of wine; he distrusted cupbearers. "Or perhaps it is your physical prowess that is wanting. I would have imagined the trip here from Marhollow ought to have thinned you out a little, but I seem to be mistaken."

Denisius could not have held the Emperor's gaze even if he'd wanted to. His cheeks burned shamefully, not having thought of that terrible hunting expedition in years. Yes, he had wept, but his father hadn't mocked him. Rather he had comforted him, explaining that his heart could be good and not be a hunter's heart or a warrior's heart; that the world needed all kinds of people and good hearts most of all. He couldn't imagine his father relating that story to the Emperor. Perhaps one of his brothers, though they were rarely at court.

"Chastising Lord Marhollow is unfair, your Majesty." Denisius looked at Varallo Thray dumbfounded. Even Vos seemed surprised. "He followed me when I told him I believed the princess had been led astray. He did not flee when he had the chance. And though he lost hold of his weapon, he retrieved it. Do not blame the young man for having a faithful servant."

Somilius Deyn III stroked the pouch of flesh between his mouth and neck where a chin ought to have been, regarding his Grand Chancellor with great concentration. At last he began to laugh.

"Great gods, I think you favor the boy, Varallo. Very well. I withdraw my remarks on your skills with a sword, staggering and like unto Il-Hethma the First Knight though they surely are. But tell me this, my good lord: what am I to do with the princess? I don't imagine she's gone far."

"I -- I don't know, your Majesty." He looked at Varallo Thray for help, but the Chancellor's attention seemed wholly focused on his sovereign. "Er -- is it possible she -- that she could be cured?"

The Emperor looked at Denisius thoughtfully. "Well, Varallo? Is it? I don't remember my lessons on werebeasts."

"It is a progressive condition, your Majesty. Based on the princess's behavior in the Maathinhold, I doubt she has been infected long. It might well have happened as recently as this evening." Varallo closed the diary with a snap. The Empress-Consort half rose from her seat as if she wished to retrieve it, but retreated when the Emperor shot a quelling look in her direction. "She did not attack when she could have, even though there were two strangers in the room with her."

"One of them didn't have a head, Varallo."

"Be that as it may, your Majesty, her refusal to harm me or Lord Marhollow, or even this man here, almost certainly cost Tacen his life. If she had any real allegiance to the beast, I am sure she would have fought ferociously to save him. That suggests to me that her condition has not gotten very far, and reversing it remains feasible."

"For how long?"

Varallo Thray shrugged. "It depends on the strain of the blood in her and -- forgive me," his gaze flicked to the Empress-Consort for a moment. "And her own affinity for her new nature. However, she clearly recognized Lord Marhollow. The thoughts recorded in her diary are very conflicted. I believe she is fighting the wolf's blood. I believe, given the choice, she would accept a cure gladly."

The Empress-Consort sighed harshly, dipping her face into a silk handkerchief. The Emperor stared at Varallo Thray impassively.

"And what, Varallo, are we to do with her if we do cure her? She's not fit to be married off to anyone now, not even this fine young man." Denisius could almost hear Vos's teeth sinking into his lower lip as he held back a retort. "Encloisterment, I suppose. She practically has the Chronicle of Joys memorized anyway. Well, Lord Marhollow? Does that seem a fitting end to this affair? You won't be forgotten, I assure you. I must have a niece I could offer you instead. Or the Princess Sarai. She might be more suitable to a man of your abilities."

"With your permission, your Majesty, I would still marry her." Denisius was surprised at the steadiness in his own voice, and this time he managed to meet the Emperor's amused gaze. "If your Majesty approves, I would help try to find her. Grand Chancellor Thray is right. She did recognize me. I think if I hadn't been there, she really might have fought alongside this Tacen creature. If it pleases you, your Majesty, I would like to do everything I can to get her back."

"Marvelous," the Emperor murmured after a long moment. "And what about your man here? I can't say I think your chances all that great if he stays home. Well? Vos, is it? Speak."

Denisius was frankly amazed at the evenness of Vos's tone. "I have had some experience hunting these creatures, your Majesty. I would not allow my lord to go off on his own in search of one. I can't promise I can bring her in alive, though. I fear she hasn't the same fondness for me as she does my master."

"Oh, I don't believe any of us really expect to see the princess Carala alive again, my dear Vos, but the effort should be made, don't you think?" Beside him the Empress-Consort began to weep, but he paid her no heed. "Very well, Denisius Lord Marhollow. I'll take that as an oath of service. And upon the successful completion of your service, we'll have a grand wedding right here in the throne room. To the pit with the Cathedral of the Graces, eh?" He called on one of his guards to bring another goblet, and together he drank with Denisius, sealing the oath with Vos and Galena as official witnesses.

Denisius declined the Emperor's offer of quarters for the night in the Chalcedony Palace, and with Vos returned to their rooms at the best inn in town, the Scholar's Rest, in the smallest hours of the morning. Partly they wanted to have a room where they could play Whistling Jack in peace, but mostly they wanted assurances they could speak in confidence without the ears of the court taking note of their every word. They drank a somber toast to Quilla, and had just wrapped up their first match when Denisius broke off the game and began rummaging through his things for quill and parchment.

"I need to write my father. Gods only know when I'll hear back from him." He looked at Vos sheepishly as he took his place at the writing desk. "Thank you for coming with me, Vos. I know it's beyond your own oaths. I didn't plan any of this. It just . . . . " He shrugged helplessly, unable to articulate the sense of obligation he felt to Carala.

Vos shrugged. "I always liked you, milord. I owe your family a lot." He took a thoughtful sip of ale and leaned back in his chair. "Varallo Thray knows more about this than he said. But the Emperor was right, rot his filthy soul. He does favor you. I just wish I knew why."

Denisius nodded glumly as he sharpened his quill. "So do I."

"He wanted this to happen, though. I don't know what the Emperor really thinks of you. Not much, I'd guess, though you're hardly alone in that. But Thray wanted you to go haring off after her. He wanted you to confront her in the Maathinhold but not kill her. He wanted her condition exposed exactly the way we did it." Vos drained his ale and threw the mug at the empty bed where Quilla should have been snoring away. "I fucking despise plots."

"Did he want you to follow us?"

"He knew we were there! Our eyes met along the way more than once. He did all but yell for me to keep up. I just wish I'd trusted Quilla a little more than I did. But I didn't expect a fucking werewolf to be at the top of that tower. I just thought he wanted you to find the princess alone with her lover for some reason of his own." Vos rose and crossed the room to where a mirror stood over a washbasin, frowning as he examined the wounds on his face.

Denisius watched him for a good long while. Eventually he asked the question on his mind, though he expected Vos to roll his eyes or even openly mock him. "Would you say I was a fool if I told you the plots were worth it if we save her?"

But Vos only shook his head. "You're a romantic, Deni. Not like your brothers. I already knew that. You take after your father, except you don't kiss that fat shit's ass the way he does."

Denisius pondered if he should be flattered or insulted by this. He chose instead to ignore it. Sighing, he bent back to his parchment, trying to decide which of the night's extraordinary events to begin with. "Do you have a route in mind? I'd like to give my father an itinerary."

"Gods, no. She could be miles away by now. We'd have better luck catching the moons than trying to track a werewolf in the wild, even a freshly turned one. Besides, I haven't the faintest idea how we'd do it."

"You -- but you told the Emperor you've hunted them before!" Though he had no trouble believing Vos would lie to the Emperor, he was a little hurt Vos would lie to him.

"I have. I've hunted them. Not often, but I have. But I haven't tracked them."

"I don't see the difference."

"That's because you're thinking of her as a wolf, not a human being. She isn't a wolf. She's not human, either, not anymore, but even the most savage werebeast is a hundred times cleverer than a natural animal. A wolf doesn't know enough to throw you off its trail. A wolf can't disobey its own instincts. A wolf doesn't hate what it is and hide from it. A werewolf can and does."

"You're saying you don't know what to do." Anger began to well up in him. "Why are we even bothering?"

"Milord, I never said that. I know exactly where to begin. Because Thray is right. The way she acted in the Tower? Princess Carala would welcome a cure. And I imagine she's already looking for one, or will be by the time she changes back in the morning. I wish to the gods we'd gotten a look inside her diary. If Thray wants us to see it, I suppose it'll end up with the inn's morning messages. Or he'll just give it to us, as if a minor lordling and a commoner cutthroat are entitled to see an Imperial princess's private thoughts. Really, I doubt there's anything in there to help us or it would've found its way into our hands already." Vos barked laughter, toying with the frayed end of one stitch in his cheek. "That old bastard is as clever as I've always heard. Those stories about him coveting the Malachite Throne are rubbish. If he wanted it, he could have it whenever he liked."

Denisius had heard Vos speak this way with his father from time to time, sharing his decidedly low opinions of the great lords and ladies of the Anointed Realms, the participants in the deadly maneuvering of the Chalcedony Palace a frequent target of his ire. Vos had rarely spoken to him so openly, and he felt inordinately pleased that the old soldier would do so, as if he truly were the Lord Marhollow and not so much useless baggage. "So where do we begin?"

"With research. Get comfortable, because I don't think we'll be leaving for at least a week. You and I are going to be going through records, libraries, Cathedral parchments, and even the gods-damned Maathinhold if we need to. Again, I think Thray will help us, though you need to be wary of him unless we can puzzle out his motives. I know what Carala will be looking for. I just don't know who."

"What will she be looking for?"

Vos turned and looked at him, the marks on his face twisting his mouth into a grimace. "If she wants a cure for being a werewolf, what else would she be looking for? She'll be looking for a cursewright."