His gaze narrowed. “Something has drawn him into serving this queen. You can see plainly he’s unhappy doing it, but there’s a connection between them. I haven’t figured it out yet.” He pretended to sip the goblet again and then took a piece of meat from the platter and tried it. “What do you think?” He chewed for a few moments, his gaze distant and brooding. “He serves her but betrays her at every opportunity.”
“But why would he do that?” Trynne asked in confusion. “Why take the risk?”
“I don’t know. We need to figure it out.”
“But how?” she pressed.
“The same way I figured out Morwenna had betrayed us all.” He took another piece of meat.
Trynne helped herself to the food and found that she was ravenous with hunger. The noise and commotion and threats were stifling, but they could not abolish her appetite completely. There was a surfeit of food, more to eat than could possibly be gorged by those attending the feast.
After a little while, another man clad in the queen’s uniform approached them. He was older than they, with long dark hair and a chin that had gone at least a day without shaving. He was handsome as well, another clue that helped Trynne see the kind of person the queen preferred to take into her service.
“My name is Deven,” he said. “Martin suggests getting some rest before the night watch begins. Follow me.” Then his voice lowered conspiratorially. “I too am one of the Evnissyen. I’m at your service.”
The final watch was from midnight to dawn. Deven woke them up in time, and they exchanged places with the previous watch guarding the corridor outside the queen’s rooms. She had not returned from the feast yet, so the three of them guarded an empty chamber.
Deven explained the procedures of inspection, checking each door and window, examining all the places large enough for a man to hide.
The queen and her ladies-in-waiting returned well past midnight and paid no mind to the guards in the passage. They were all sleepy and drunk except for the queen. Her senses were sharp enough to notice them, and Trynne breathed a sigh of relief when they locked themselves in the room.
“I’m the watch captain, so the others will check in with me soon, now that the feast is over,” Deven said, arms behind his back. “There is a procedure for everything. Martin is very thorough.”
“Indeed,” Fallon said, rocking back on his heels. “How long have you served Martin?” he asked.
Deven gave him a wary look. “Quite a long time, actually. He saw that I needed . . . protection when I was rounded up by the sheriff of Walin.” Silence descended between them for a moment.
“Martin said I could trust you,” Deven added, having apparently come to some sort of decision. He tugged at his collar, revealing the glint of silver mesh rings beneath the tunic. Trynne didn’t understand what that meant, but Fallon nodded knowingly.
“I see. So you did not leave with the other mastons,” he whispered.
Deven shook his head. “I heard the warnings to flee,” he said guiltily. “I felt duty-bound to remain at my post. By the time I went to Muirwood, it was nothing but ruins. Everyone was gone.” He sighed.
“The sheriff in that Hundred has many hounds and constantly tries to capture any who come there. It is still a beacon, even though the abbey is no more. I deeply regret that I didn’t leave when I could.
Now I’m too late.”
There was a noise down the hall. The soft scuff of a boot that was out of place. Trynne had been listening for the thud of sentries marching to report. Something didn’t feel right.
Gazing down the corridor, she saw someone approaching, trying to make little noise. The person carried no light. Trynne instinctively reached out with her magic, sending tendrils into the corridor for a warning of danger. The person approaching was a man, very healthy and fit despite his feigned clumsiness. She sensed the danger about him, sensed poison and daggers and even a cord for choking.
Fallon saw her look and walked up to her. “Who goes there?” he asked guardedly.
“A poisoner,” Trynne whispered back, keeping her eyes fixed on the strange man.
“What?” Deven asked, turning around.
The light from the torches suspended on the wall near the queen’s chamber revealed a courtier approaching, wearing a fancy doublet and comical-looking pointed shoes. As he appeared in the light, his gait began to stagger slightly—the mark of a man who’d been drinking, though Trynne sensed no intoxication. The man was dissembling.