The long friendship with Janosk had made him too accepting of the man's faults, too willing to placate the ruler. When the first small insurrection had begun, he'd urged compromise. When Janosk hadn't listened, he'd advised him in matters of war-well, but not well enough.

After Janosk's death, he'd looked to Janosk's children and the future. Marishka had beauty but all the will of a reed in the wind. Mihael had ambition but lacked intelligence. So Jorani had turned to the one heir who most resembled his friend in temperament. The advice he'd given Ilsabet, while true, was premature.

And he suspected she had already begun to act on it.

As soon as he left the wounded men, he went to his hidden room and studied each of his bottles. He detected nothing missing in the most likely ones. But then, only a little would be needed. If she shook the bottles afterward, the powders would expand to fill the missing space.

It had to have been her, but if so, she had done it slyly-never giving him a hint of her plans, never gloating afterward. He sat at his table with his hands clasped beneath his chin, and debated what to do.

He had reached no decision when the hawks screeched a warning, giving him only enough time to climb the stairs, hide the entrance under his rug, and admit a servant waiting anxiously outside with a summons from Baron Peto.

He'd expected to be questioned, and was surprised the summons had taken so long. He was, after all, the most likely suspect in the bizarre event.

He met the baron in the same chamber where he and Janosk had often discussed political matters. As he expected, Peto went right to the point.

"I know you have some experience in the matter of poisons," Peto said. "Can you think of anyone else who might possess that knowledge?"