hypocaust kept the stones comfortably warm. The eggs had hatched before the
start of winter and the room itself, filled with the fingerling snakes, had
become the favorite haunt of the Beysa and her immediate entourage.
It had also become, because of the skill of the Beysib snake-handlers in
preparing decoctions of any venom or herbal, the meeting place of all the palace
healers. Jihan brewed Niko’s vile unguents there and occasionally, when the
other residents of the Ilsig Bedchamber objected loudly enough, administered
them there as well. Molin knew he had guessed correctly when he saw Beysib
snake-handlers milling forlornly in the hypocaust antechamber.
“You took your own time getting down here,” Tempus grumbled as the priest
entered the room. He might have added more, but he fell silent when Kama eased
through the doorway as well.
Molin took advantage of the lull to look around. Crit caught his eye first
because he, like Tempus, was staring at Kama as if she’d grown a second head.
Jihan was here as well, though her smile was warmer than Torchholder had seen
before. She set down a mortar brimming with dark, spiky leaves and embraced Kama
as a long-lost friend. Her movement allowed him to see the real reason they were
all in the uncomfortably warm room: Nikodemos.
The Stepson lay on his back, trussed like a roasting chicken and, though he
seemed to be sleeping quietly enough now, his face was bruised and his hands
covered with blood. Molin took a step closer and felt Tempus’s hand close around