“That sounds prudent to me, father,” Rosslyn said, letting out a little sigh of relief.

With Adon’s help, finding the traitor should be easy.

“Then you trust the rapport you have built with him,” the King said with a small smile.

“I do,” she replied. “How much am I allowed to tell him?”

Her father paused for a moment, then said, “Everything. There is too little to tell otherwise. Anything less, and he might make some mistake that will cost us.”

Rosslyn nodded.

“And Lord Callum?” she asked. This was the man who had become her father’s primary advisor in recent months.

Her father sighed, then said, “He had as much access to my food as anyone in the palace, so find a way to test his loyalty before you trust him. After that, feel free to tell him everything.”

I am glad that the experience with Lord Baranack has made him more careful in addressing these matters, she thought.

Something occurred to Rosslyn then.

“How long?” she asked.

“How long?” he repeated.

“Um, how long had Sir Domnhall been under the weather, before his death?”

“I could not say with any precision,” the King replied after a moment. “More than a few weeks, certainly. Some months, perhaps. I would not think I could have been so blind as to miss it for years…”

“No,” Rosslyn agreed.

I certainly would have noticed if Sir Domnhall had been ill for years, myself. And I suspect that a poison that Sir Domnhall could endure for years would not be sufficiently potent for the Demon Empire’s purposes.

“Oh, um, how did the tour of Wayn go?” her father asked awkwardly.

Rosslyn looked at her father blankly for a moment. “I would say that it was an interesting and diverting experience for all of us,” she replied carefully.

“That does not sound particularly promising,” he observed.

It was not a particularly promising day, Rosslyn thought. Not that it has derailed the entire visit, but the brothers and I had much less common ground than I would have expected.

“We are still getting used to each other,” she said.

“Well, if it does not work out, you know that you have other options…”

Rosslyn nodded. The conversation was becoming a bit difficult for her. They had discussed this subject before, though always somewhat obliquely. She did not want the conversation to become more explicit. This was her father, after all. These matters were awkward for the two of them to talk about.

“Can I offer you healing?” she asked after a moment, a little lamely. She knew her father’s magic was much stronger than hers, so she felt faintly silly for even offering. But the poison might have affected his powers. He had mentioned how Sir Domnhall had grown weaker over time. The poison was probably weakening the King too.

Instead of answering Rosslyn, her father pulled her into an unexpected embrace. Her body took a moment to relax—still in tension from the long day in the city—but then she held him tightly in turn.

His stubbled cheek against hers was pleasantly rough, and he smelled indefinably like home. Rosslyn was so small in his arms that for a moment, she felt like a young girl again. She realized that she and her father must not have hugged so tightly for a long time—besides when she had awakened from her healing sleep.

“I will be all right,” he said quietly, his breath warm against her ear. “The healers will make sure of it. They will be with me night and day after we resolve the matter of the assassin. I have already spent a little energy healing myself, but there is little either of us could do on a relatively short time horizon. I will let the professionals handle the rest of it. In truth, I expect the process will be quite messy—and perhaps drawn out over days or weeks.”

Rosslyn nodded. It made sense that removing poison that had seeped into her father’s body over a period of weeks or months could be “messy” and time consuming. That was probably a polite understatement. The King was undoubtedly in for a great deal of pain, as his body removed contaminated material. That was what the healing process for severe poisoning looked like, she dimly recalled.

Father and daughter separated and looked at each other with affection.

“Thank you for worrying about me,” he said, smiling softly. “Traditionally, I believe it is supposed to be the other way around.”

Well, then, do not eat poisoned food, she thought.

Of course, she was too polite to say something so impudent to her father. She knew Sir Domnhall had been familiar with the taste and symptoms of many poisons, so the Empire’s agent must have used some rare and subtle toxin on her father and his taster. This had probably been unavoidable.

“You are my father,” Rosslyn said instead. “It is only natural. As it is natural that I would find the person responsible for doing this to you—” Then she tilted her chin to indicate Sir Domnhall—“and avenge a loyal subject’s death.”

“Be careful, Rosslyn,” her father said. “The assassin may have more than just slow acting poison at their disposal.”

“You will not lose me today, father,” Rosslyn promised. She semi-consciously touched her fingertips to the eyepatch she now wore. She already had experience dealing with assassins. “Would you like me to send in my stepmother?”

The King thought for a moment.

Then, softly, he said, “Test her too. Trust no one until you have verified their loyalty.”

Rosslyn raised an eyebrow, then gave a slow nod.

“Yes, sir,” she said, keeping her expression carefully neutral. After fighting alongside Carolien against a squad of assassins, she thought there was virtually no chance her stepmother would be a part of any plot by the Empire against the Kingdom.

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But there was no reason to take chances, even infinitesimally small ones. Carolien’s powers were not beyond Rosslyn’s or the King’s. It was not as if she could have helped much, if at all, with his healing by being told what was happening sooner.

Rosslyn’s father had told her to purge the household staff if need be. He was committed to avoiding any more close calls.

She rose to her feet.

“There is one more thing,” the King said before she could leave.

“Yes, father?”

“We received word regarding the group of adventurers we hired to clear the dungeon. You know how little many of us tend to think of them. Naturally, we asked that eyes be kept on the dungeon to see if they accomplished the mission.”

Rosslyn nodded.

“Well, our skepticism was fully justified this time,” he said. “The group was witnessed deserting the challenge, fleeing from the dungeon’s entrance only a few hours after they were sent in.”

Rosslyn inhaled sharply. That could be a problem.

“We still have time,” she said, thinking aloud.

“So it seems,” her father replied. “It is possible that Sir Domnhall died because the Empire has ordered an increase in the dosage of poison administered with my meals recently.”

“If so, it might mean that the attack is more imminent than we realize,” Rosslyn finished. “They want you out of the way so that we will be headless at the key moment.”

“They underestimate you and your supporters, of course,” the King replied with a thin smile. “Still, I think that may be the plan.”

“Thank you for informing me, father. We will find some solution to this.”

“If you have to take action while I am indisposed, I authorize you to dispatch a unit of knights to perform the task the adventurers could not.”

Rosslyn thought that would come with its own risks—it could leave the capital undefended at a key time—but she simply nodded. She took her father’s main point. If she had to make decisions in the name of the King, he had given her his blessing—had put his trust in her.

As if I ever doubted it, she thought, recalling Matilda’s spiteful words.

“If you want your father to take you seriously again, you have to prove that you are more than a broken toy, Princess. If I were him, there is no way I would allow you to ascend the throne after me. I would already be planning how I would replace you with someone worthier.”

This situation made Matilda’s lie—or perhaps her self-deception—more obvious. There was no one the King trusted in his moment of weakness more than his eldest daughter.

Perhaps Matilda was simply far harsher and more ruthless than King Alistair. One thing Warrior Queen Maud had never been was soft.

As Rosslyn walked from the chapel, her mind focused on the task ahead. She felt certain that a certain combination of words would provoke any traitor to naturally think of what they had done wrong. She would simply have to rehearse those words in her head and say them in a way that the traitor would find provocative, then have Adon there to catch the slip.

It could be as simple as asking, “Do you know about my father being poisoned?,” at least for the people who are meant to know about it, Lord Callum and Carolien.

Rosslyn walked to her own room, retrieved her sword and dagger, then moved along, still deep in thought.

As her feet carried her to the mystic beasts’ room, she stopped, looked inside, and had to suppress a quiet urge to panic. They were not there.

Had something happened to Adon and the spiders, too? If the Demon Empire knew about the mystic beasts, they would be natural targets of attack, especially if the Emperor knew that his assassin was about to be caught.

Rosslyn stooped to look under the bed, mind still racing through possibilities. The floor showed no trace of anything but dust.

If there were more enemies in the palace than the poisoner, or if the poisoner had somehow subdued the mystic beasts and fled with the beasts in their possession, the Kingdom’s position in the coming war could be materially weakened—in addition to the fact that Rosslyn would be personally upset by such events.

She quickly quelled her agitation, however.

Adon would have put up a fight. Goldie, too.

Then she noticed that Goldie’s children—with the notable exception of Samson—were, in fact, present. They were weaving a web in one of the corners where the wall met the ceiling.

So, it is just the confirmed mystic beasts that disappeared, then.

That observation seemed to verify that the assassin was not the cause of their absence. Surely, Goldie’s other children would have been targets for the killer if Adon, Goldie, and Samson were. Samson’s existence proved that Goldie could give birth to other mystic beasts; it would be foolish to ignore her other children—the most vulnerable targets—and only kill the strongest ones.

Rosslyn pivoted to considering where the arthropods might have gone, assuming that they had left the room of their own free choice.

Once she shifted her mind to that question, the answer was obvious.

As Rosslyn opened the door to the garden, her eyes immediately confirmed that Adon, Goldie, and Samson were there, in the distance. The butterfly fluttered above the two spiders, who stood on a bush. The evening light cast them all in a golden glow. There were no humans in sight.

All seemed to be well.

They probably just went out for some fresh air. From their perspective, today was a day like any other.

Rosslyn approached. As she narrowed the distance, Adon noticed her presence and flew in her direction, cutting the gap between them more efficiently since he could simply glide over obstacles.

Hello Princess, he sent. There seemed to be a moment of hesitation before he added, I hope your outing with the young lords went well. Please don’t mind Goldie and Samson being silent back there. They’re very focused on their magical training right now.

“Hello Adon, it is good to see you and your friends,” Rosslyn replied. A part of her was tempted to ask about the magical training, but the task she had been set was far too urgent.

In her mind, she added, I intend to tell you things that cannot be spoken aloud right now, so please read my thoughts for this conversation, and ignore whatever I happen to say with my mouth. Whatever words I speak will be purely for the sake of any possible observing eyes.

What’s wrong, Rosslyn? Adon sent immediately.

“It is a beautiful day,” she said aloud, as if Adon had commented on the weather.

My father has been poisoned, she thought loudly. The poisoner must be someone who works in the palace and has access to his meals. His poison taster died today, and my father has entrusted me with catching the poisoner.

Is your father all right? Adon asked.

He has been better, of course, but he is in good spirits, and his condition seems to be stable, Rosslyn thought.

Does he need healing? Adon transmitted.

Rosslyn smiled. “You are very considerate, Adon,” she said quietly, almost whispering.

His thought process about her father’s affliction had been almost the same as hers, even though the King was not Adon’s father—even though Adon owed him nothing, had no connection to him but being born in the same place as him and having interacted with him over the last couple of weeks.

He has great empathy, she thought very, very quietly, trying to keep that thought at her deepest level of interiority.

At her normal volume, Rosslyn thought, He is suffering now, so that the two of us can have the chance to smoke out the would-be assassin responsible for his condition. He has the power of healing magic himself, so he will use it if need be. But he has chosen to forego healing until I resolve the matter of finding the traitor.

I see, Adon replied.

Would you please help me, Adon? Rosslyn thought.