“How do you know he’s dead?”

“We found him eventually, on the Selium Road.”

“So where’s the message?” The governor’s voice was tinged with impatience.

“With the horse.” Before the governor could bark another question, Immerez explained, “Someone took the horse. That fool Thursgad thought Coblebay’s ghost still directed it, but we caught up with the rider, cloaked in a Greenie greatcoat, and very much of the flesh. This Rider did vanish.”

“Greenie tricks, eh? I’ve heard they have uncanny abilities, but they are close-mouthed about it. Zachary keeps that woman by his throne. You know the one.”

“Mapstone?”

“That’s the one. Mapstone.” He snarled her name. “He keeps her by his side and she looks at me like she can see right into my soul. I heard of Greenie magic when I was a boy and always knew to keep my mind clear around her, and my words honest. No sense in taking a chance, and I’m glad I haven’t. Only a Greenie could disappear like that. What do you plan now?”

Immerez released a long breath, as if relieved by the governor’s apparent understanding. “My men and the Gray One continue to track this new Greenie. I request additional help. I thought it would prove advantageous if we include a couple of Prince Amilton’s people in the chase. After all, it is for him we are treading such a dangerous path.”

“A couple of Amilton’s folk, eh? Which ones did you have in mind?”

“His Weapons.”

Mirwell chortled. “How very shrewd of you, Captain. We’ll make our would-be king feel a little vulnerable without them, eh? And how very appropriate. They are already traitors to the realm, so by necessity they will be careful. By all means, broaden the search.”

“What if the prince should protest?”

“Does he have any choice? Without our help, he won’t be able to claim the crown as his.” The fire popped, and the captain blinked. Mirwell ran his fingers through his beard where four white streaks cut through the gray like claw-marks. “You must stop that Greenie, Captain. We must prevent that message from getting through. If it does, our plans could fall to ruin, and the reprisal would be harsh indeed. We mustn’t alert Zachary to his impending assassination. Find out also who the spy is, if one exists, by whatever means necessary.”

“Yes, my lord.” Immerez started to bow, but Mirwell stopped him with a gesture.

“And Immerez, if you fail, I shall carve out your other eye from its socket myself, and display it in a jar on my mantel until it withers away.”

Immerez’s cheeks blanched. He knew it was no casual threat. He completed the bow and turned smartly on his heel, leaving the library in brisk even steps.

Mirwell chuckled. Immerez was generally a competent man, but a threat wouldn’t hurt. It was no secret the governor could have housed a museum of body parts taken from those who had displeased him.

The letter from Dean Geyer crinkled as he unfolded it for another read through. His idiot of a son had lost a swordfight with some merchant girl and had retaliated by involving the Selium Mirwells. It seemed his cousins had things under control. The girl in question was suspended from school for the fight, causing her to run away. Mirwell, never fond of merchants, grinned. Maybe his boy held some promise after all. But governing a great province, a province that was destined to become even greater once they rid Sacoridia of King Zachary, took more than simple retaliation and meanness of spirit.

The girl’s name was G’ladheon, a name of the old days, but not an original Sacor Clan, and certainly the name of a lesser clan. A merchant clan . . . he had heard of it before, he thought, but it was one that did not frequent Mirwell Province.

He rang the bell at his side and presently his aide, Major Beryl Spencer, joined him. Her bow was crisp, but elegant. Ah, if he were only twenty years younger, maybe the two of them could have bred a robust, intelligent son. But he had grown too crusty, and another heir now would not only ruin all his hard work with Timas, but would complicate things inordinately.

“My lord?” Beryl perched on the edge of a chair and held a quill and paper ready to record his command, or to script a letter.

“I’ve an assignment for you, Spence,” he said, using his pet nickname for her. “My son has gotten into trouble with a girl of a lesser clan.”

“Shall I offer the clan reparation on your behalf, or shall we acknowledge the child?”

“Child? What? Oh, no, not that kind of trouble.” It was an amusing thought that made him chuckle, and almost erupt into a belly laugh. Beryl’s perplexed expression prolonged it. “No, I doubt the runt is capable of siring a child. I’d like you to find out about a merchant clan called G’ladheon. Find out who they are and what their home province is. I want to know how powerful they are should they seek retaliation.”

“Yes, my lord. Anything else?”

“Send word to Dean Geyer that I need dates, not just names. I thought the man to be intelligent, as scholars are supposed to be.”

Beryl’s eyes were questioning. “In regard to . . . ?”

“He’ll know what it’s about, and tell our messenger he must reply immediately. Dismissed, Major.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Beryl bowed and left him. An efficient woman, that Beryl. Mirwell liked to surround himself with efficiency. Efficiency meant competence, and competence meant that his goals would be achieved. He had but to command. He glanced at Dean Geyer’s letter again. There was a natural history class full of high-blooded children at Selium, some of them the sons and daughters of clan chiefs. Interesting that the G’ladheon girl’s name should be on the class list. In an odd way, Timas had saved her life by causing her to run away.