“As versus these Episcopals. They spread venom; represent the greatest danger we now have to face. Pavinius? I give him a snap of the fingers; he is too nice, with his Mayern foreigners and western herdsmen. The Tritulaccans? Nothing by themselves, they had never beaten Dossola in the former war but for the revolt of Mancherei, Mayern help and the treason of the Kjermanash chieftains. The court? Now sold to Tritulacca, and destitute by its own action. But the Episcopals are still not out of credit with the people, who have been lulled by their solemn mummery. We drove them from the assembly of the nation this morning, good. But now they may join Tritulacca in the name of what they call true religion.” “But what have I to do with the Episcopals?” asked the girl. “Child, fool, use your Art. Not to the death; they’d only fill the office with another man, but paralyze, cripple, drive idiot. The Arch-Episcopal Groadon, notably. His loss would hurt them most.” Lalette sat up. “Ser Mathurin, you do not by any means understand this matter of the Art. Groadon is protected by the holy oils, and nothing I can do will bite on him.” “It is you that do not understand. I do assure you that if Groadon be taken in a moment of anger, as today, or other violent passion, neither his oils nor any other thing can protect him from your ministrations. Be assured, we will provide the occasion.” Lalette’s mouth twitched. (She wanted to cry; “Not for any reward or punishment you can give!” but) it was a moment before she said; “Am I the only—witch in Dossola?” Mathurin made a grating sound. “No. I’ll be open; we are pressing the search. Have found three others—aside from those who claimed the Art, but could witch nothing more consequential than a frog or chicken. One is an old beldame who has nearly lost her wits, and can be made to understand nothing. One’s a young girl—witch enough, but never taught, did not know the patterns, and beside, she ran away. One we caught, not found—she was in Chancellor Florestan’s pay.” He drew a finger across his throat. “None of them heiress to a Blue Star.” “I am not sure I can follow all the patterns myself,” said Lalette. “I have used the Art—so little.” Mathurin looked at her sharply. “Hark!” he said. “I see your slowness, but you more than another should be on our side; as witch and woman. The Art has almost died out; driven down by priest and Episcopal. There are likely many with the right inheritance who do not know it. Never taught. Yet it’s a woman’s defence. We have the butler Tuolén’s Blue Star, for instance. But where’s the girl can bring it to life? We do not even know her name.”