Noncire cleared his throat. “Perhaps, your highness—”

“Perhaps what?” Gavril interrupted rudely. “Do you intend that I should listen to the advice of this pagan who would be a king?”

Dain’s eyes narrowed at the insult. Behind him, Sir Terent inhaled sharply. For a moment, as Dain glared at Gavril, he saw only haze and fire. Then came a vision of himself, clad in rags, with a leather collar buckled around his neck and a chain leading from it like a dog’s leash.

This, Dain realized, stunned by his first direct glimpse into Gavril’s mind, must be what Gavril really thought of him. This was what Gavril actually wanted from him. To the prince, Dain would always remain a pagan dog, fit only to sniff out the whereabouts of the missing Chalice.

Rage burned inside Dain, rekindling his hatred of Gavril, which he’d banked low on this expedition for Pheresa’s sake. Now it came up inside him like the spew of a volcano, hot and violent, and it was all he could do not to draw his weapon and challenge the prince then and there.

Somehow, his good sense held him silent, though it took a severe struggle with himself to control his ire. His chest felt on fire, and his voice was hoarse when at last he said, “Tomorrow I shall ride to Thirst, and deal with matters there as are needed. I am sorry your highness does not feel the lady merits its hospitality. No more will be said.”

“Your time would be better spent searching for these mysterious eld-folk you claim can cure her!” Gavril said. “At Savroix, you boasted you could find them.  Yet where are they? Why do you not produce them? Instead of causing trouble among my father’s subjects, why don’t you confine yourself to accomplishing your sole task on this quest?”

Dain glared at him, stiff with frustration. It was futile to keep arguing, he realized.

Just as he started to back Soleil away, however, Megala stood up in the front wagon and screamed. “My lady!” she cried out. “My lady! Help her!” The driver of Pheresa’s wagon yanked his team to a lurching halt. Gripping the encasement to keep her balance, Megala screamed again.  Horrified, Dain cried out, “Pheresa!”

As Dain spurred Soleil in that direction, one of the guardians groaned loudly, clutched his head, and fell off his donkey. Church soldiers, frozen till then, rushed to his aid.

Dain reached the wagon and flung himself off Soleil just as the guardian priest was lifted from the mud. The man’s hood fell back to reveal his face, withered and drawn as though he’d aged a century. Dain stared at him with astonishment, for to his knowledge none of the guardians were old. This man’s eyes were open and staring fixedly, and his head lolled as though he were dead.  Others crowded around, everyone talking at once. Dain elbowed and pushed his way through the confusion and climbed into Pheresa’s wagon just as Megala screamed again.

She reached out her hands to Dain. “Help her,” she pleaded. “Help my sweet lady!”

When Dain twitched aside a corner of the blanket, he saw Pheresa writhing inside the encasement. Her eyes were shut, but she was red-faced and clawing the glass with her fingernails.

Flinging aside all caution, he reached for the lid, but strong hands seized him from behind and pulled him back. Furious, Dain struggled, but Sir Terent had him clamped in a stout hug and would not release him.

“Let me go!” Dain shouted. “Damne! Let me go!”

“I won’t let you kill yourself. Come away!” Sir Terent shouted back.  Cursing, Dain twisted to get free. As he did so, the blanket slid off the glass entirely, revealing Pheresa in her agony to everyone.  “Cover her!” Gavril commanded, riding up on his black horse. “In Thod’s name, cover her now!”

Megala bent to pick up the blanket. A knight swung himself into the wagon and helped her spread the cloth over the encasement.

Meanwhile, Dain was hauled bodily out of the wagon by Sir Terent. As soon as Dain’s feet hit the ground, he struggled and cursed with all his might, but Sir Terent’s hold was an expert one, and Dain could not break it.  Sir Polquin arrived at a run, took one look at them, and helped Sir Terent manhandle Dain over to one side, well out of the way.  Sputtering and fuming, Dain cursed them both. The royal physicians came hurrying past him, and someone shouted for the men crowding round to let them through.  Men and horses milled all around, and the servants came crowding up to whisper and gawk.

When he felt Sir Terent’s hold slacken, Dain wrenched free. “How dare you pull me off that wagon!”

“I’m sworn to keep yer grace alive,” Sir Terent said simply. “If you touch her, you’ll die.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Dain would be in danger only if he tried to draw the poison afflicting her into himself. But he did not have the healing gifts, and he knew he lacked sufficient skill to withstand the eld-poison in her veins. He started to explain all this yet again to Sir Terent, then told himself it was of no use.

Frowning, he turned and headed back in Pheresa’s direction, where men were still shouting and hurrying to and fro. “I must know what—” “No, sire!” Sir Terent called out in alarm. He ran to block Dain’s path, and there was fear in his face. “In Thod’s name, don’t risk it!” Amazed, Dain stopped in his tracks. He had never seen Sir Terent like this before.

“Please,” Sir Terent pleaded.