"Certainly." Neuhalle bowed his head and climbed heavily down, handing the reins to his secretary. "I have the honor of accompanying his grace, the Duke of Innsford. By your leave...?"

The guards officer-a hetman, from his livery- looked past him, his eyes widening. "Your grace! Please accept my most humble apologies for the poor state of our hospitality." He bowed as elaborately as any courtier, his expression guarded as a merchant in the company of thieves: clearly he understood the political implications of a visit from the duke. "I shall request an audience at once."

"That will be satisfactory" Innsford agreed, condescending to grace the earth with his boot heels. "I trust the work proceeds apace?"

"Indeed." A lance of royal life guards came to attention behind the hetman, at the barked order of their sergeant: " 'Tis a grim business, though. If you would care to follow me?"

"Yes," said Innsford.

Neuhalle followed his patron and the hetman, ignoring the soldiers who walked to either side of him as if they were ghosts. "His majesty-the former prince, I mean-I trust he is well?"

"Yes, indeed." The hetman seemed disinclined to give much away.

"And is there any announcement of the blame for this outrage?" asked Innsford.

"Oh, yes." The hetman glanced over his shoulder nervously, as if trying to judge how much he could disclose. "His majesty is most certain of their identity."

Neuhalle's pulse raced. "We came to assure his majesty of our complete loyalty to his cause." Innsford cast him a fishy glance, but did not contradict him. "He can rely on our support in the face of this atrocious treason." Although the question of whose treason had flattened the palace was an interesting one, it was nothing like as interesting to Neuhalle as the question of whom the former crown prince was going to blame for it-for the explosion that had killed his father. After all, he couldn't admit to having done it himself, could he?