Mourthia House was better kept than they had left it, though the grounds were still rankly overgrown. But an air of habitation and even warmth emanated from the ancient building. Smoke drifted from one of the chimneys in a lazy plume. Ammas was unsurprised to see Barthim and Casimir shuffling down the walkway with brooms in hand.

Casimir gave a whooping cheer when he saw Ammas, and rushed forward to embrace the cursewright so fiercely he nearly knocked him to the ground. Barthim, not to be outdone, swept Denisius into a rib-cracking hug, greeting him as a Hethmar Blade-in-waiting. Denisius didn't argue, although that may have been because Barthim's hug had squeezed all the air from his lungs.

The pleasantries concluded, Barthim turned a sorrowful eye to Ammas. "You are returning alone. The Empress was not in a mood to talk, I take it."

"No," Ammas sighed. "I must speak to Carala. She should hear this first. And Silenio."

"Yes," Barthim agreed, gently squeezing Ammas's shoulder. "The princess was taking it on herself to inform her brother about their mother's condition. A few days after you left, when he had no chance of catching up with you. The prince did not react as you thought."

"He didn't?" Ammas, who had expected Silenio to fly into an uncontrollable rage upon learning he and Denisius had set out with the likely result of killing his mother, couldn't contain his surprise. He would have advised Carala to keep silent on the exact nature of their expedition, but then he supposed she knew her brother far better than he did.

"No harsh words for you," Barthim said, opening the doors for Ammas and Denisius. Casimir followed close behind. "He ranted about his father, saying most terrible things, things I suppose would cost him his head, if anyone heard them. I am afraid he was taking his anger out on some of the walls on the second floor."

"It's property of the Throne now, Barthim," Ammas said, though inwardly he winced at the notion of the old wallpaper being slashed to rags. He can do as he pleases."

The main hall was not furnished as a proper manor house, but there were a few simple chairs and low tables that had not been there when Ammas had left. A fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth. Carala was seated close to it, staring morosely into the flames. When Ammas approached she rose, her face composed but a deep hurt in her eyes.

Barthim muttered something and excused himself, drawing Casimir with him. Denisius stepped up to Ammas's side. Carala looked from one man to the next before speaking. "Mama . . . would not come with you?"

"I am sorry, Carala," Ammas said. "She -- ended things herself. Before we could speak to her."

A shivering sigh escaped her throat, but Ammas saw no surprise in her face. "I thought so. There are rumors in the taverns and markets that she died; Silenio's men told us. The story is she was murdered by a rogue house of assassins. I suppose that is the tale my father will spin for his subjects. I -- felt it happen, I think. Terrible pain, all through me. I dreamed of her, drowning in blood, while claws scrawled -- things -- all over her body." She shook her head. "Silenio said he felt nothing, but I heard him cry out in his sleep." Her gaze drifted to the pack hanging from Ammas's shoulder. "You . . . have what you need in there?"

"I do."

"I would rather not see it." Ammas was impressed by the steadiness of her voice. She looked to Denisius. "Come with me to speak with Silenio. You can tell us what the two of you found. I think it would be unwise for you to be there when he finds out, Ammas."

Ammas nodded. "I have work of my own I need to begin at once. When it's ready -- "

"Yes," Carala said distantly, as though the topic of her cure held no interest for her. "We should not keep Silenio waiting." With that she and Denisius climbed the grand stair to the second floor, which the Prince and his diminished retinue had claimed in Ammas's absence. Ammas stared after her, a desperately unhappy look on his face.

"It is terrible that things were not going otherwise," Barthim said softly behind him. He and Casimir had not gone far.

Ammas turned. "It is. But I don't know there was any other possible outcome. The Emperor had to know he was infecting her with an incurable strain of the wolf's blood when he did it." Ammas's mouth twisted hatefully. "'So you will remain of use to the Throne.' That's what my father told me he said. Her womb was barren as she grew toward middle age. Carala was her last child born alive. And he saw an opportunity."

"He does not kill what he can use, is what Vos was saying."

"Yes. How is Vos, by the way?"

"Still in the Madrenite hospice. But doing much better. He was having me sneak him some rieldo cigars yesterday. I am thinking the sisters will be kicking him to the street before long."

Ammas smiled a little. "Good. There have been enough losses. Casimir?" His apprentice looked up attentively. "Come down cellar with me. I'll show you how to brew a cure for the wolf's blood sickness. Barthim, make sure I'm not interrupted. I'd prefer not to deal with Silenio at the moment."

In his and Denisius's absence Casimir had done his best to make the cells beneath Mourthia House into a rough approximation of the various workshops in Ammas's Munazyri temple. There hadn't been nearly as much gear to arrange, of course, but Ammas was nonetheless pleased at his apprentice's foresight, and told him as much. His alembics and alchemical devices were neatly laid out on a rough wooden table, one of several Barthim had appropriated to make the house more livable.

Ammas seated himself and drew from his pack a crystalline box, sealed tightly with wax and full of a clear preservative fluid. In it was Yvelle's heart. Casimir looked away from it, his usual fascination with Ammas's work wholly doused.

"We aren't often called upon to make this sort of treatment," Ammas said, gently touching the boy's shoulder. "If you feel you can't watch -- "

"No, Ammas," Casimir said. "It'll help Carala. I'll watch. I just wish -- " He trailed off, shrugging helplessly. He hadn't known the Empress-Consort. But he knew how it felt to lose someone so close.

"I understand," Ammas murmured. "It shouldn't take long."

With fire and fume he reduced the heart to ash and then to a thin, reddish fluid, mixed with medicinal spirits until he had distilled the tincture in the correct proportions. Othma's instructions indicated that the amount of heart's essence did not change from cure to cure when delivered in this fashion, and that only a small spoonful was needed. Ammas judged he had more than enough of the essence to cure both Carala and Silenio, with a healthy amount left over. He stored the remainder in his strongest phial, knowing there was at least one more cure he would need to provide, if the witch-finder in Vilais still survived.

He had nearly completed the cure when he heard Carala clear her throat at the door to the cell. "Barthim thought it all right for me to join you." She smiled wanly. "If you are of a mind to speak to me, that is."

Ammas mopped his forehead, nodding to the steeping elixir. "This will be ready shortly. It will be the same as the last one: drink slowly, drink it all. I'm afraid I haven't any sugar, though."

"I think I can manage," Carala replied with a trace of humor. "Silenio is insisting he be given the cure first. Not out of selfishness, you understand. He wants to be sure this isn't another dose of poison. His words, not mine."

Ammas shook his head. He hadn't realized how much he had missed those hazel eyes, or that woodland perfume, or that faint sardonic smile. "Silenio's dosage will be much smaller than yours."

"I suspected so. But that is not the issue, Ammas. The issue is it is I who have hired you, and I trust you. I do not wish to insult you with my brother's thickheadedness."

"I think we're past insulting each other, your highness."

"Then something good has come of this, maybe."