“You are a very lucky woman, Summerlander. If Wynter hadn’t acted so quickly to get you back to the palace and had the foresight to have me waiting when you arrived—and if your own powers hadn’t fought so hard to heal you—you would not be alive.”

“What happened?”

Lady Frey gave a small, elegant shrug. “You were poisoned. One of the servingwomen in the tavern in town admitted to putting a Wintercraig emetic called Lady’s Blush in your food. She lost her husband, father, and three brothers in the war. Grief turned to madness when she heard you claiming Summerlea suffered more greatly in the war than Wintercraig.”

“She tried to kill me.”

“Lady’s Blush isn’t normally lethal. She claims she only meant to make you sick, but she must have been far more heavy-handed with the herb than she admits. One of the side effects is a raised heartbeat and blood that flows much more rapidly through the veins, both of which give the ladies who consume it a blush in their cheeks—hence the name. When the orphan boy kicked you, he must have ruptured a vessel in your womb, and with the Lady’s Blush in your system, you began to hemorrhage. If Wynter hadn’t used the Ice Gaze to freeze your blood and slow down your heart rate, you would have bled to death before I could determine the cause of your illness and administer an antidote.”

“Where is Wynter now?”

Lady Frey turned to a small bedside table on which rested several stoppered flagons. “Attending important matters of state.” She uncorked a silvery blue bottle and poured a thin stream of liquid into a crystal glass, then added chartreuse liquid from a small green vial and a powder from a third, capped pot. She stirred the concoction with a long, thin silver wand and turned to offer it to Khamsin. “Here. Drink this. It’s a restorative that will help you regain your strength. Drink,” she added again when Khamsin hesitated. A smile flirted on Lady Frey’s smooth, pale lips. “I promise, it’s not poison.”

Kham took the glass and sniffed cautiously at its contents. It smelled of verbena and something she didn’t recognize. Deciding that if Lady Frey had wished her ill, Kham would be dead already, she tilted the glass to her lips and drank. The liquid had the slightly thickened consistency of warmed honey and a sharp aftertaste that the lemony verbena couldn’t hide. She made a face and handed the glass back to Lady Frey.

“Perhaps not poison, but I think I’ll just have broth or borgan the next time.”

The priestess gave a small laugh. “Wynter is not fond of my potions either. If it can’t be killed and stewed or roasted, he wants nothing of it.”

“Sounds good to me.” She sat up and threw back the covers. A rush of dizziness made her sway, but she fought it off.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Kham glanced at the priestess in surprise. “I’m awake. I’m getting up.”

“Absolutely not. I forbid it. You very nearly bled to death. You’re still bleeding, in fact, and probably will be for another week or two until your womb heals. Your body hasn’t had any substantial nourishment in two days—”

“Two days!” Kham exclaimed.

Lady Frey grimaced impatiently but explained, “It was vital that you stayed as motionless as possible while we tried to stop the hemorrhaging, so I added a sedative to the Lady’s Blush antidote. You’re only awake now because the worst of the bleeding has passed and because I didn’t dare keep you without food any longer. You stay where you are. You’re not leaving that bed for at least another day.” She turned her head and barked over her shoulder, “Boy!”

A small white-blond head poked through the doorway.

“Has the queen’s maid returned from the kitchens?”

“No, ma’am. Not yet.”

Kham stared at the child. There was something familiar about him. He cast a shy, hesitant glance in her direction, and his silvery blue eyes met hers. Recognition dawned. The boy. The little pinch-pocket from the Konundal fairgrounds. What was his name?

“Krysti?”

The boy jumped as if a ghost had popped out of the bed, and cried, “Boo!” then lurched into an awkward bow. “Your Grace.”

Someone had scrubbed him from head to toe and found him a set of spotless, well-tailored clothes to replace his previous moldy tatters. His face was small and thin, with a pointed chin, arching brows, and a dusting of silvery freckles that looked like snowflakes across the bridge of his nose. The corners of his eyes were tilted up, and the ears peeking through the thick strands of his pale, raggedly cropped hair had a slight point at their tops. If a snow fox had transformed into a boy, Kham fancied he would have looked just like Krysti.

“I am surprised to see you here,” she said.

The child shrugged and grimaced. “It’s not like I had much choice. Lord Valik brought me here for questioning the day you were—the day you got so sick.”

“But clearly he has since let you go. You are not in chains, and someone has obviously provided for you.” She gestured to his clean clothes and tidy hair.

“Once they found out about the poisoning, they let me go.”

“Yet you are still here. I’m sure you could have run away if you’d wanted to. Why didn’t you?”

“You said I owed you a year of service. The king commanded me to stay to serve it.” Krysti dropped his head and stared hard at his hands. His fingers were clenched so tight the knuckles were white. “I shouldn’t have stolen the slingbow. My parents were honest folk, and they raised me to be the same. I only took it because I was hungry. My traps haven’t been catching much, so I thought I’d have better luck with a slingbow.” He looked up, his eyes earnest. “Honest.”