"If you do not let me out," she cried, "Nicholas shall shoot you like a dog."
"It may be," he answered, coolly, "that I shall shoot Nicholas. At least there will be something to be wiped out between us. I shall not fear his vengeance."
"What do you mean?" she asked, suddenly cold with the first sensations of fear. The man's quietness was ominous, and she could see his face now. He put his handkerchief away and came over to her, catching her wrists with a sudden catlike movement.
"It is your own fault," he said. "You will remember that blow to your dying day."
They stood side by side at the window of one of the great reception rooms of the palace, the King and Brand. A driving storm of rain was beating against the glass, and the thunder rattled amongst the distant hills from peak to peak. Ughtred was looking more pale and harassed than when he had ridden, sword in hand, in front of his tiny army and watched the Turks closing in around them.
"What is the meaning of it, Brand?" he asked, sadly. "There is something astir which I cannot understand. See how the people throng the Square in front of the Reist house, and scarcely even glance this way. What are they waiting for?"
"The true meaning of it I do not know," he answered, "but there is treason abroad. I am sure of that, and I am sure that Nicholas of Reist is concerned in it."
The King bit his lip. If Nicholas of Reist were a traitor, what hope was there for Theos?
"I do not know these people," he said. "My men are all in the field, or under arms at the barracks. These are not native Thetians."
"They look to me," Brand said, dryly, "like a horde of Russian Jews from across the frontier."
"I am going to ride once more through the city," the King said. "Come with me, Brand."
They left the palace by a side door, and passed cautiously along the street, the King with his military cloak wrapped closely about him. All around was a constant muttering. The people talked together excitedly enough, but without elation. There were no signs that this was a day of victory. The King's face grew stern.
"I do not know this rabble," he said. "They are not my own people."
"They are the tools of Domiloff," Brand answered. "It is he who is at the root of all this trouble. It is he who has corrupted Nicholas of Reist."