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the Council… Mellinor shall pledge an additional thirty-five thousand to Monpress’s bounty
”—her eyebrows shot up—“
and five thousand in cash
—these demands are ridiculous!” She shook her head as she finished reading. “ ‘
Raise a white flag from the second tower when you receive the new bounty notice from the Council and await further instructions
.’ Why that greedy little thief, what is he playing at?” She thrust the note back at Oban. “You said the king wrote this?”
    “Yes,” Oban said, “under much duress, we fear.”
    Miranda gave him a flat look. “He has very good handwriting for a king under duress.”
    “Oh, this isn’t the original.” The Master of Security ran a nervous hand over his bald head. “It’s a scribe copy.”
    “Well, that won’t do.” Miranda put her hands on her hips. “Where is the original? I need it now.” Time was precious. If she got it soon enough, the faint, weak spirits in the ink might still remember the ink pot they’d lived in. That would give her a direction at least, maybe even a relative distance, but only if she got to them before they fell asleep completely and forgot that they’d ever been anything except words on a page.
    The Master of Security blanched. “I’m afraid I can’t get it, lady. The situation’s, um”—he clutched his hands—“changed.”
    “Changed how?” Miranda’s eyes narrowed.
    “Go to the throne room, and you’ll see.” He sighed. “They don’t know I let you see the note, lady, but I couldn’t let you go in there without some information at least. Good luck.” He bowed slightly, then whirled around and disappeared into the stables.
    “He stinks of fear,” Gin said, his orange eyes on Oban’s retreating back.
    “Do you know what this is about?” Miranda asked Marion, who was still working her way down off the ghosthound. The girl shook her head.
    Miranda stared up at the white castle, which looked much more forbidding than usual. “Ears open, mutt,” she muttered. “Be ready if I call you.”
    “Always am,” Gin huffed, sitting down in the middle of the stable yard.
    Miranda nodded and hurried up the castle steps, Marion keeping close behind her.
    The entrance hall was quiet and empty. Miranda frowned, glancing around for the usual clusters of servants and officials, but there was no sign of them. She quickened her pace, trotting across the polished marble to the arched doorway that led to the throne room. As she rounded the corner, what she saw stopped her dead in her tracks. The entire servant population of castle Allaze, from the stable boys to the chambermaids, was crammed into the great hall that led to the throne room. They were crowded in, shoulder to shoulder, filling the hall to bursting.
    Miranda stared bewildered at the wall of backs blocking their way. “All right,” she sighed, slumping against the wall, “I give up. What is going on?”
    Marion hurried forward, tapping the shoulder of a man at the back of the crowd wearing a blacksmith’s leather apron to ask what was happening.
    “Didn’t ya hear?” the man said. “Lord Renaud’s back.”
    Marion’s face went white as cheese. She thanked the man and hurried back to Miranda. “Lord Renaud is back,” she whispered.
    “So I heard,” Miranda said. “But let’s assume for the moment that I know nothing about this country. Who is Lord Renaud?”
    “King Henrith’s older brother.”
    “
Older
brother?” Miranda frowned in confusion. “Is he a bastard or something?”
    “Of course not!” Marion looked mortified.
    “Then why did Henrith become king, and not him?”None of the research she’d done on Mellinor had mentioned any variance in the normal lines of succession. Of course, she hadn’t had time to do much research in her rush to beat Eli.
    “Lord Renaud was first in line for the throne, but then there were, um”—she glanced pointedly at Miranda’s rings—“problems.”
    “I see,” Miranda said quietly,