Her father had just turned his attention to her when Jorani returned carrying a carved wooden box. He knelt beside the baron and pulled a glass vial from inside. "I see that Peto and his men are at the bridge," he said. "You'd best drink this now."

The baron did, gagging from the cloying sweetness of it. He lay still a moment as the potion did its work, then took a deep cleansing breath and looked at Ilsabet standing beside Jorani, her expression as stoic as her teacher's, her father's. "Learn from Jorani," he said. "And never forget what is done here, until the day you can avenge my death. Now help me sit up."

Ilsabet did, and watched as the servants brought his formal dress-the white tunic and blue cape, both woven of Kislovan wool and trimmed in gold from Tygelt. Even the small exertion of washing and dressing caused the wound to begin bleeding again, and extra bandages were needed to cover it. With his cape arranged to hide any blood that might seep onto the tunic, Baron Janosk stood, and flanked by his family, went to greet the victor.

They stopped midway down the wide stone steps leading from the private rooms to the great tunnel, then waited as the lesser nobles of Kislova assembled behind their lord.

His subjects said that Baron Peto Casse of Sundell had been raised with all the indulgence that wealth and a doting mother could provide. He had his father's expressive brown eyes, unruly red hair, and muscular build; his mother's fine nose and golden complexion, and her volatility. Though easily frustrated, given to bouts of temper and impulsiveness, he would have made an admirable ruler in time.

But he'd had no time. His father died when Peto was only seventeen. Reluctantly, he found himself in charge of a kingdom so well managed that his guidance was unnecessary.