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No one in the room answered him.

Colsar looked at Uralish. At the dampeners. At Syle. At the room.

He kept his face arranged into nothing.

"Arabar," he said quietly.

Arabar was already at his side. Colsar did not look at him. He kept his eyes on Orsin and let his expression carry the rest of it.

Find Asharin. Now.

He felt Arabar's small nod. Then he was gone, slipping out before anyone tracked the movement.

Larafyn cleared his throat. "Your presence is timely, Prince Colsar. There are matters of treason to address."

"Treason," Colsar said.

"The asset transfer. Asharin's signature was used without authorization. The murder of Lord Mysin, for which the penalty under Veynar law is death." Larafyn held his gaze. "Among other things."

"Do not accuse him while she is dead and cannot defend herself," Syle said.

"She signed it," Larafyn said. "That is not in dispute. What is in dispute is who instructed her to."

He looked at Colsar coldly. "And Prince Colsar has never lacked audacity, is that not true, Highness?" He took a sip from his goblet. "I am sure my brother and Jessamy would agree."

"Yes, they would, if they were alive. But they're not. Traitors don't get to live long in my presence," Colsar said coldly.

Yvara's smile did not waver.

Colsar looked at her. He looked at the smile. He looked at the Baron standing beside her.

He thought about Asharin.

He thought about the table in Urasal. The laces he could not tie. The way she had kissed him before she went back through the ward.

He thought about the marriage papers filed before dawn.

"A Rathmor must hold the throne," one of the council members said. "The throne requires a feeder. Fiorakis is the obvious choice. Whatever else is disputed, that is not."

"She is an infant," Larafyn said.

"She is a Rathmor feeder heir. There is no stronger claim."

The argument continued. Colsar let it. He stood near the door and said nothing and kept his face arranged into nothing and waited.

A Morrak came through the high window.

It swept low over the table and Orsin raised one hand without looking at it and it dropped. No sound. It simply fell and lay on the floor and did not move.

The room went quiet.

Then the doors opened.

Sevrin looked at the room. He looked at Larafyn. He looked at the Baron. He looked at Yvara. His expression did not change.

He looked at the Morrak on the floor, motionless.

Then he looked at Orsin.