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said, shrugging. “The thing now is what’s to be done with Mery.”
    “I think she should stay with us,” Leoff said.
    “Personally, I’m inclined to agree with you,” the lady said. “I’ve no use for another brat underfoot. It’s bad enough taking her brother in, but we’ll soon have him married off. Still, she is William’s bastard, and she is family, so my husband has other thoughts on the matter.”
    “She’s safe here,” Areana said. “And she’s still heir.”
    “And you will be her parents?”
    “Yes,” Leoff said.
    “In fact, perhaps. But technically, hasn’t Duke Artwair made her his ward?”
    “That’s true,” Leoff said.
    “One would imagine Artwair would have reason for doing that. And for giving you this lovely house on the grounds of his even more lovely estate.”
    “My husband and the duke are friends,” Areana said. “The house was a wedding gift.”
    “I’m sure it was,” Lady Graham sighed. “But he’s also keeping her close.” She looked up sharply. “What’s wrong with the girl, by the by? I’ve heard some very strange stories. Something about a music that kills?”
    Leoff pursed his lips. The story had gotten around, somehow, but he didn’t know if he should confirm it.
    “They say that Prince Robert forced you to write a melody that slays anyone who hears it, and that Mery played it and did not die,” she amplified.
    When he didn’t react to that, she sighed and signaled for her maidservant, who produced a folded paper sealed with wax.
    He took the proffered document and found Artwair’s seal on it. He broke it and read the contents.

    Dear Friend, feel free to relate any and all particulars concerning Mery to Lady Teris Graham. She deserves to know the facts of the matter, and I trust her to be discreet.
    —A.

    Leoff looked up, feeling abashed. “Sorry, lady,” he said.
    “Your discretion does you credit. But do go on.”
    “It’s as you said, except that Robert did not commission the piece. He wanted—or claimed to want—another singspell, one that would counteract my earlier work and make him popular with the people again. I think he always knew I would try to kill him.”
    “Ah. He tricked you into writing it. But it didn’t kill him because he’s already dead.”
    “Something like that. But it slew everyone else in the room.”
    “Except you and your bride here—and Mery.”
    “The music advances,” Leoff said. “It’s not a single sound but a progression that leads toward death. The last chord kills, but only if the entire piece is heard. I taught Mery and Areana a counterchord to hum to dilute the effect. We almost died, anyway. And Mery—she was playing the hammarharp, so she got the worst of it.”
    “Yes, I suppose she did.” Lady Graham leaned back and had another sip of tea. “What do you suppose Robert will do with the music?”
    “Something very bad,” Leoff said.
    “I’m trying to imagine. A band of pipers marching across the battlefield? A choir of trumpets, and everyone on the defending wall dropping dead?”
    “It’s not impossible,” Leoff replied, feeling sick. “Hard to coordinate, but someone skilled enough in arranging and composing could do it.”
    “Someone like yourself?”
    “Yes.”
    “Maybe that’s why you’re here, so well protected. Maybe Artwair has commissioned you to write the piece again.”
    “I won’t. He knows that. He knows I would die first.”
    “But Mery might remember it?”
    “No.”
    “She is a prodigy.”
    “No,” he repeated, almost shouting.
    “Not even to save Crotheny?”
    “You stay away from her,” he snapped.
    Lady Graham nodded and drank a bit more tea. “What about your counterchord? Could you compose a music to neutralize whatever Robert may be up to? If he is up to anything other than his own amusement?”
    “I don’t know,” he said.
    “Have you tried?”
    I don’t want to be tricked again.
He wanted to shout.
I don’t want to be used again.
    “You