At that moment the doorharp sounded.
Reynardus scowled. Everyone looked at the door. Rapping came.
Thealia glanced at Reynardus. “It must be important.”
He shrugged. “Come,” he called.
The door opened only enough to let a Castle serving woman, Umilla, slide in. She was a bowed, thin woman dressed in bright green that emphasized her drab coloring. Her hair was streaked white and black—a sign of the greatest of Power or the most fragmented.
Several Marshalls gasped at her presumption.
Umilla twisted her hands in the dress that hung from her frame. When she spoke her voice was dry and whispery. “There’s a feycoocu in the Castle,” she said.
Everyone stared at her. When the silence stretched, she turned and shuffled away.
“Stop, girl,” Reynardus shouted. “Say that again, and speak up. I didn’t hear you.”
Umilla only turned her head. “There’s a feycoocu in the Castle.” Her words were only a little louder, but the spells in the Chamber amplified them and repeated them: There’s a feycoocu in the castle. There’s a feycoocu in the castle.
Reynard stood. He leaned forward, both hands on the table, his Power focused on Umilla. “A magical shapeshifter? Are you sure, girl?”
“Blessings. It’s been more than a century since we’ve been so graced. A good sign that our Summoning was right. A feycoocu can only help our cause,” Partis said.
Snorting, Reynardus said, “You always take the optimistic road, Partis.” He turned back to Umilla. “Serving girl, come here.”
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