“Mayforte?” Amberhill asked. “Do we know a Mayforte?”

“A vintner, apparently, Your Eminence,” said another man who was gazing at the casks in the wagon.

Amberhill suddenly turned his attention to the palace entrance as he sighted someone or something. “Webster, my friend,” he called out. “You missed a fine sail on the lake. Now come take a look at this horse. It is owned by a vintner named Mayforte.”

Webster could only be Webster Silk, Karigan thought. If the Adherent was here, did that mean his meeting with Cade and Luke was over? If so, where were they? A furtive glance revealed only one man standing on the palace steps.

There was the tap of shoes on stone as Webster Silk approached. “I am sorry I missed the outing, Your Eminence, but I just met with the Mayforte fellow.”

The guard in red armor edged closer. He wore a longsword girded at his side, but no gun. She felt his gaze on her and saw him blink through the eye slits of his visor.

“What is the horse’s name, boy?” Amberhill asked.

“Raven,” she replied in her harsh whisper.

“Good name. I make him mine. I’m sure your master won’t mind indulging me. If he does? Well, doesn’t matter. The horse is mine.”

This was too much. He sounded very much like Arhys, of all people, greedy and spoiled. Karigan did not know how much longer she could contain herself.

“No,” Webster Silk said. His closeness behind her made her jump. “Mayforte will not mind. He is quite dead.”

“Dead?” Karigan cried.

“And,” Webster Silk continued in his calm, matter-of-fact voice, “this lad is not who she pretends to be.” He removed her cap. Her braid fell down and thumped her between the shoulders. She felt naked before all those eyes staring at her. And shocked. Shocked by what Silk had said about Luke. A storm brewed within her for she knew Cade could have only met the same fate. Amberhill had caused the destruction of her home and betrayed the people she loved, and now this.

She stared brazenly at him now that she was revealed, the pressure of the storm building to an explosive level. Amberhill looked almost exactly as she remembered him, the black hair tied back, the light gray eyes, the well-structured face. The same, but different in some indefinable way.

“You killed them,” she said, her voice a low threat. “You killed them all.” Raven echoed her with a shrill whinny.

“What are you talking about?” He gazed blankly at her.

“You’ve destroyed Sacoridia and everything. Why? Why did you do it?”

He tilted his head as if he did not understand her. “Sacoridia?” He sounded it out as if speaking a foreign word for the first time.

“Yes, Sacoridia!”

“That is quite enough,” the admiral said.

Someone else shouted, “Control that horse!”

Karigan was only peripherally aware of Raven, snorting aggressively, ears flattening. At some point she had dropped his reins and held her hands in fists before her. Her entire being was focused on Amberhill even as men closed in around her, their guns glinting in their hands. They would not dare fire them as long as she stood so close to their emperor, would they?

Memory or recognition registered in Amberhill’s eyes. “Yes, a long time ago. I remember there was a war. And I remember you. You are the vanishing lady, are you not?” Then his eyes began to cloud over, grow smoky, almost black. His face rippled with change. He sneered at her in a way she had never seen before. Not on his face. “Galadheon, I know you.” His voice had changed also. It did not sound like him, but she was too angry, too overwrought, to see what was right before her. Cade was probably dead. Amberhill had killed Zachary, destroyed her home. She would avenge them all, but before she could speak or throttle the life out of him, a red armored hand swept down and struck her collar bone. The next thing she knew she was down hard on her knees in front of Amberhill, nerves ringing, too stunned to think clearly. She shook her head, but it only made her more woozy.

Someone barked orders and rough hands grabbed her arms. She was dragged, pushed, and shoved, up the palace steps. Though the blow had not knocked her out, it left her so dazed that the passage through the palace was a blur of white marble. She lost track of time and distance until finally she was flung into a room. The motion jolted her collar bone, and she cried out at the sudden pain. Her vision blackened.

“Miss Goodgrave?” asked a familiar, if anxious, voice drawing her back.

This time gentler hands helped her up so that she sat on a chair or sofa. Voices ebbed and flowed. Karigan wanted to retreat to the darkness, but the world was just too bright.

Someone placed his hands on either side of her face. She was so muddled. Her head felt fluttery light and tingly. Then the pain slowly eased, eventually fading altogether. Slowly her senses sharpened, and a man in blue robes stepped back from her.

“Miss Goodgrave?” Lorine. It was Lorine.

“Who—who is this man?” Karigan asked.

“A mender,” Lorine replied. “His name is Marcus. You were hit very hard, and he healed you with—”

“I am a true healer,” the man said. “I can channel etherea through my hands to heal. The blow cracked your collar bone, but I knitted it back together.”

It all started to come back to Karigan. The courtyard, the confrontation with Amberhill. She tried to rise, but the world started to fade out again.

“Easy,” the mender said, pushing her back into her seat. “You can undo all the good work I’ve done if you don’t take care. Perhaps you would like some water?”