As if to bear me out, there were voices at the guard station and the rasp of boots against the stone floor. I heard Regal’s voice, strained with anger, and the guard’s conciliatory greeting, and then they came down the corridor. For the first time since I had awakened there, I heard a key in the lock of my cell, and the door was swung open. I sat up slowly. Three Dukes and a traitor Prince peered in at me. I managed to come to my feet. Behind my lords stood a row of soldiers armed with pikes, as if ready to hold a maddened beast at bay. A guard with a drawn sword stood beside the open door, between Regal and me. He did not underestimate my hatred.

“You see him,” Regal declared flatly. “He is alive and well. I have not done away with him. But know also that I have the right to. He killed a man, my servant, right in my hall. And a woman upstairs in her chamber. I have a right to his life, for those crimes alone.”

“King-in-Waiting Regal. You charge FitzChivalry killed King Shrewd using the Wit,” Brawndy stated. With ponderous logic he added, “I have never heard of such a thing being possible. But if this is so, then the council has first right to his life, for he would have killed the King first. It would take a convening of the council, to decide his guilt or innocence, and to set his sentence.”

Regal sighed in exasperation. “Then I will convene the council. Let us get it done and have it over with. It is ridiculous to delay my coronation for a murderer’s execution.”

“My lord, a King’s death is never ridiculous,” Duke Shemshy of Shoaks pointed out quietly. “And we will have done with one King before we have another, Regal, King-in-Waiting.”

“My father is dead and buried. How much more done with him can you be?” Regal was becoming reckless. There was nothing of grief or respect in his retort.

“We will know how he died, and at whose hand,” Brawndy of Bearns told him. “Your man Wallace said FitzChivalry killed the King. You, King-in-Waiting Regal, agreed, saying he used the Wit to do it. Many of us believe that FitzChivalry was singularly devoted to his king and would not do such a thing. And FitzChivalry said the Skill users did.” For the first time Duke Brawndy looked directly at me. I met his eyes and spoke to him as if we were alone.

“Justin and Serene killed him,” I said quietly. “By treachery, they killed my king.”

“Silence!” Regal bawled. He lifted his hand as if to strike me. I did not flinch.

“And so I killed them,” I continued, looking only at Brawndy. “With the King’s knife. Why else would I have chosen such a weapon?”

“Crazy men do strange things.” This from Duke Kelvar of Rippon, while Regal strangled, livid with fury. I met Kelvar’s eyes calmly. Last I had spoken with him had been at his own table, at Neatbay.

“I am not crazy,” I asserted quietly. “I was no more crazy that night than I was the night I wielded an ax outside the walls of Bayguard.”

“That may be so,” Kelvar affirmed thoughtfully. “It is common talk that he goes berserk when he fights.”

A glint came into Regal’s eyes. “It is common talk, too, that he has been seen with blood on his mouth after he has fought. That he becomes one of the animals that he was raised with. He is Witted.”

Silence greeted this remark. The Dukes exchanged glances, and when Shemshy glanced back at me, there was distaste in the look. Brawndy finally answered Regal. “This is a grave charge you level. Have you a witness?”

“To blood on his mouth? Several.”

Brawndy shook his head. “Any man may finish a battle with a bloody face. An ax is not a tidy weapon. I can attest to that. No. It would take more than that.”

“Then let us convene the council,” Regal repeated impatiently. “Hear what Wallace has to say about how my father died and at whose hand.”

The three Dukes exchanged glances. Their eyes came back to me, considering. Duke Brawndy led the coast now. I was certain of it when he was the one who spoke. “King-in-Waiting Regal. Let us speak plainly. You have accused FitzChivalry, son of Chivalry, of using the Wit, the Beast magic, to slay King Shrewd. This is indeed a grave charge. To satisfy us of it, we ask that you prove to us that not only is he Witted, but that he can use it to do injury to another. All of us were witness that there were no marks on King Shrewd’s body, no sign of a death struggle at all. Had not you raised this cry of treachery, we might have accepted that he had died of his years. Some, even, have whispered that you but seek an excuse to be rid of FitzChivalry. I know you have heard these rumors; I speak them aloud that we may confront them.” Brawndy paused, as if debating with himself. He glanced once more at his peers. When neither Kelvar nor Shemshy gave sign of dissension, he cleared his throat and continued.