Shadows and Light

Chapter Eleven

Liam shifted in his chair as another eastern baron droned on about how about his county’s prosperity had increased since he’d destroyed the vile creatures in the Old Places who had caused his people so much harm and how important it was for all the barons to take strong action to protect the people in Sylvalan’s towns and villages from the Evil One’s lures.

None of them actually came right out and said they’d hired men called Inquisitors to murder women who had a gift of magic and owned vast tracts of land that the barons couldn’t touch. None of them actually said it was the women in their communities who were suddenly too weak-willed and weak-minded to avoid this evil that most of the barons beyond the eastern part of Sylvalan had never heard of except in these chambers. But that’s what was being said under what was actually spoken.

Liam shifted again. Ignored the sour look from the old baron sitting in the chair on his right. The man reeked of cologne, adding another stink to the body odor and brandy that had been generously imbibed during the midday break. If this was all the barons’ council did, why make the effort of the journey?

Because you and the people who matter to you have to live with whatever decrees are made here. Why else would the western barons travel so far twice a year?

Gritting his teeth, he sat up straight and forced himself to pay attention. Not that he hadn’t been hearing the same thing all day yesterday as well as this morning. Kill the witches, acquire the Old Places for your own profit, strip all the other women in your county of the right to be anything but a man’s property, and the men in your county will prosper. And since they were all men here, they had everything to gain and nothing to lose.

Nothing except their honor, their sense of what was right and wrong, and the trust of the women who were a part of their lives.

The baron finished his speech and returned to his seat in the council chamber. A smattering of applause came from the part of the chamber where the eastern barons sat. There was nothing but stony silence from the rest of the room.

Liam raised his hand, as he’d done over and over again yesterday afternoon and this morning, indicating he wanted a chance to speak.

The Baron of Durham, who presided over the council meetings, looked straight at him before calling on Baron Hirstun to speak.

Another eastern baron. More verbal puke about the dangers of the Evil One and the need to exterminate all the witches in Sylvalan so that the people who look to the barons to keep them safe will not fall prey to the cruel magic these terrible females spawn.

“I am pleased to report that all paintings and books that have been deemed unsuitable have been properly destroyed so that they no longer create unhealthy thoughts in those whose minds are too delicate to shoulder the burdens of keeping our counties—and our country—prosperous,” Hirstun said. “I am also pleased to report that the procedure the esteemed physicians in our communities have learned recently to curb female hysteria has been entirely successful.”

Procedure? Liam wondered, noticing how many of the eastern barons were nodding their heads in agreement. What procedure? If the eastern barons were going to try to push through a decree that all the barons would be expected to follow, they could damn well be more specific about what they were ordering done—and why. They’d spent the past day and a half filling the room with words and saying nothing. When a vote was finally called, how was anyone supposed to know what he was agreeing to?

Straining to hold his temper, he tugged at his collar, felt a trickle of sweat roll down his neck. Mother’s tits! Why did they have to make the chamber room so warm?

When Baron Hirstun finished and returned to his seat, Liam wasn’t the only one to raise his hand to speak. He noticed several of the barons from the north and midlands now wanted a chance to take the floor—and not all of them were younger men.

The Baron of Durham didn’t give any of them so much as the courtesy of looking their way before calling on another eastern baron.

Heat flooded through Liam, the kind of heat that usually presaged a spectacular loss of temper. Unable to remain seated, he leaped to his feet, pushed past the two other barons who were on his left, and found himself standing in the aisle with his fists clenched, almost panting with the effort to draw in enough air.

“We have heard from the eastern barons,” Liam said loudly. “We have heard the same things over and over again—words with plenty of fat and no meat. It’s time to let others speak.”

“You are newly come to your title, and this is your first time in the council,” the Baron of Durham said coldly. “It is customary for the senior members of the council to speak first. And it is a measure of wisdom that those who are so junior they haven’t even learned how to properly address the council should just listen and heed the words of those who have far more experience in ruling the land and the people who live there.”

“Then let the senior members from the north or south or midlands speak,” Liam insisted.

“You, sir, are out of order,” the Baron of Durham shouted. “You will be seated!”

“No, sir, I will not.” Liam strode down the aisle. When he reached the front of the room, he turned to face the other barons. Grim faces. Furious faces. He was burning up. With anger. With fever. He couldn’t tell. Didn’t care.

“It’s true that I’ve newly come to the title,” Liam said, struggling to hold his temper. Ranting would only kill any sympathy he might find in the barons beyond the east. “And it’s true that this is my first time attending the barons’ council. But becoming a baron doesn’t mean I relinquished my sense of what is decent, of what is right. I didn’t relinquish my education or my understanding of the world I live in and the people who live in it with me. I’ve listened to what has been said here in the past two days. I don’t have any answers, but I do have one question that I think needs to be answered.” He held out one hand in appeal. “What has happened to us? What has happened to our pride in our country and our pride in our people? We’re being told that women are too weak-minded to entertain ideas. We’re being told that the only creative things they are suited for are the embroideries to decorate their homes. No. Not even their homes. Their fathers’ homes. Their husbands’ homes. We’re being told that their writings are emotional scribbles that cause unhealthy feelings in others. We’re being told that girls should not be permitted to attend school for more than three years—just long enough to learn their sums and to read and write so that they don’t have to impose on the males in their families to keep the household accounts or write the invitations for a dinner party. We’re being told that women don’t have the intellect to run a business. We’re being told that the only purpose women have is to provide a comfortable home for their fathers and brothers or their husbands once they marry. This is what we’ve been told in these chambers over and over again.”

Liam paused, took a deep breath, then continued before the Baron of Durham could start demanding that he take his seat. “My question to all of you is this: When did we change? Women are weak-minded? How many of our schools are well run by women who have studied and trained to teach the children? Women are weak? Tell that to the farmers’ wives who tend their houses and children and still go out to help their men with the planting and harvesting. A year ago, we had women novelists and poets and playwrights. We had musicians. We had painters whom we hailed as brilliant, remarkable talents. A year ago, we had women successfully running their own shops. Can you actually sit there and tell me that those women lost all of that talent, lost all of those skills in the past year? That women have changed so much they can no longer do what they’ve been doing for generations?”

He shook his head. The anger was draining out of him, sorrow taking its place. “They haven’t changed. But I’m afraid to think what we’ll become if we agree to the eastern barons’ solution for prosperity. If women are no more than a body in bed to use and breed, are men really any different from the rutting bull that covers the cows? Will we really feel more like men if we see fear instead of affection in the eyes of our mothers and sisters and wives? Will we really go home in a few days, look at the women in our villages and in our family, and suddenly see weak creatures incapable of making a decision without first getting our approval? I don’t think so. So I ask you again: When did we change? Why did we change? And if we continue to do these things that will tear our people and our families apart, will we truly be able to look in the mirror and not see something monstrous and evil looking back at us?”

He looked at the barons. Grim faces. Thoughtful faces. Uneasy faces.

“I never heard of the Evil One until I took my seat in these chambers yesterday morning,” he said quietly, “but I’d like you to think about one last thing. If there really is such a creature, where did it come from? What if these ideas about women and the things that are being done in the villages in the eastern part of Sylvalan are the work of this ... thing! What if it’s like a plague that buries itself in a man’s mind and makes something terrible seem right? If that is the case ...” Liam swallowed hard. “If that is the case, then the ones who died were the victims of this madness, and the ones who did the killing, or ordered the killing to be done ... they are the Evil One’s servants. They are the ones we should be on guard against.”

The heat inside him was gone, leaving him feeling sick and shaky.

Silence.

Finally, the Baron of Durham said, “This meeting is adjourned until tomorrow morning when the votes will be taken on the decrees that have been proposed.”

His legs shaking, Liam walked up the aisle toward the chamber’s door. Alone. No one else rose from their chairs; no one spoke. But his eyes briefly met those of an acquaintance, a baron about his age who had wed at Midsummer last year. Donovan gave him a barely perceptible nod. Encouraged, he glanced at the far end of the room where the western barons sat. None of them were looking his way—except Padrick, the Baron of Breton, who held his eyes for a moment before looking away.

As he reached the chamber door, Liam noticed the blond-haired, blue-eyed man staring at him with brutal intensity. It was the same man he’d seen in the bookseller’s shop.

You’d have no trouble using a scold’s bridle on a woman and claiming you were doing it for her welfare, Liam thought. You’d enjoy using your fists on her even more.

He opened the chamber door and quickly walked through the corridors until he reached the doors that would take him out of the building.

Perhaps he was becoming ill. He had no reason to think those things about a man he didn’t know. But there was something about the man that made him uneasy, something that didn’t feel right.

He saw a hackney cab draw up a couple of buildings away to let out a fare. He ran to catch it before the driver turned the horse back into the flow of carts and carriages. As he opened the door and climbed inside, he thought he heard someone call his name. But he didn’t turn to look, and he didn’t hear the hail again. Just as well. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to think. He just wanted to get back to his town house and rest until this shaky feeling went away.

Ubel stared at the closed door long after the Baron of Willowsbrook had left the room. Finally, he turned to study the remaining barons, his blue eyes assessing the damage that had been done by Baron Liam’s passionate speech.

The eastern barons were protesting to everyone around them that just because they’d only recently been able to put a name to the source of trouble that plagued Sylvalan didn’t mean it hadn’t always been there.

Fools. They were spilling oil on a small fire, encouraging it to turn into an inferno. If any of them had thought to say the obvious—that it was Liam who was under the influence of the Evil One—and had expressed concern for his family and the people he ruled, they may not have sufficiently persuaded any of the other barons to their side, but they wouldn’t seem to be the very thing Liam had accused them of being: men who were so greedy that they’d sanctioned killings for their own financial gain.

Of course, he could understand their fear. If they couldn’t sway enough barons to vote with them tomorrow to pass the decrees that would assure that the restrictions they’d placed on the women in their control would be carried out throughout Sylvalan, they would be standing alone. That would be bad enough. But if the other barons became incensed enough because of that bastard’s speech to demand that all rights and property that had been taken from women be restored...

A few short months ago, the eastern barons might have grudgingly given in to avoid the censure that could have proved troublesome to their purses. But since those barons had ordered the new procedure done on the females in the counties they ruled ...

They couldn’t admit they were wrong. Not after that. And if the other barons didn’t vote for the decrees, there was a strong chance that the people in those counties would turn on the barons. It had happened in a few villages in Wolfram after the procedure was ordered—and in Wolfram, the people knew the Inquisitors stood behind the barons’ orders. It had required cleansing two villages of the Evil One’s presence—cleansings that had left a handful of children as the only survivors by the time the Inquisitors were done—before the people had surrendered to the next step in assuring that men would remain the strong rulers of their families, their land, and their country.

But there weren’t enough Inquisitors here in Sylvalan to carry out such a cleansing to teach the people how pernicious the Evil One could be.

Ubel pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the barons. He was Master Adolfo’s eyes and ears in these chambers, and he needed to be alert.

Some of the northern barons—the ones who had already stripped the best timber from their lands—were listening to the eastern barons. And some of the southern barons, who had gone as far as eliminating the witches in their counties, seemed interested enough that they could be persuaded to take the next steps. But the midlands was rich farmland, and most of the barons who ruled there received a comfortable income from their estates and tenant farms. They had no incentive to change and become true men who didn’t have to pander to the females in their families. And the western barons...

He didn’t know what to think of them. Silent men. Uncomfortable men. If there was one of them who needed to be swayed to the eastern barons’ argument, it was Padrick, the Baron of Breton. The man listened to everything and said nothing, but Ubel had seen the way the other western barons subtly deferred to Padrick, almost as if they were a little afraid of him. So there had to be something more to the man than what could be seen on the surface. Which meant it was likely that whichever way Padrick voted, the rest of the western barons would follow.

Which meant the vote would go against the decrees the eastern barons had proposed, and the odds were good that, before the summer ended, the barons themselves would be burned at the stake by the enraged villagers they now controlled.

But Liam had done something even worse than put the eastern barons at risk, as far as Ubel was concerned. He’d questioned the Inquisitors’ motives. He’d accused them of being the Evil One’s servants. How could the Inquisitors do their great work if they had to fear for their lives every time they rode into a village? What Liam had done was remind the barons of that song that was still being sung in taverns—the song that referred to the Inquisitors as Black Coats and users of twisted magic. It seemed every minstrel knew every word and every note of that song, even when the man couldn’t recall where or when he’d heard it. It was as if it had ridden on the air to lodge in men’s brains. Now a baron was taking up the tune in a slightly different way, but the end result was the same—all the effort that had gone into helping the eastern barons say things in just the right way to get the vote they needed was likely for nothing.

It was fortunate that Master Adolfo had decided to use the yacht one of the Wolfram barons had put at his disposal. He had arrived in Durham yesterday afternoon, and although Adolfo refused to leave the yacht, Ubel was pleased to have the Witch’s Hammer so close at hand. There wouldn’t be any delay in conveying information or receiving orders.

There was one thing, however, for which Ubel needed no orders. The Sylvalan barons needed to be shown before they reconvened tomorrow morning that defying the eastern barons was the same as defying the Master Inquisitor. Once they understood how costly that defiance could be, they would also understand the need to vote as they should to ensure that Sylvalan did not remain infested with witches and other kinds of female power. Yes, they needed to be taught that there was a penalty for defying the Master Inquisitor.

And Liam, the Baron of Willowsbrook, would be that lesson.

Your father understood the necessity for making changes that will keep Sylvalan strong.

Liam stepped out of the club where he’d had dinner, turned up his collar against the drizzle that had begun falling, then looked around for a hackney cab that he could take back to the town house.

Baron Hirstun’s bitter statement had done nothing but convince Liam that opposing whatever the eastern barons were trying to do was right. As soon as Hirstun uttered those words, Liam had recalled with painful clarity the scold’s bridles his father had acquired for his mother and sister. Yes, his father would have enjoyed having a way to silence any opinion but his own—and he would have enjoyed even more being able to take control of Elinore’s inheritance to spend as he pleased. There was no doubt in Liam’s mind that his father would have voted for the changes the eastern barons were proposing. It must have been an ugly surprise to those men to discover that the son was a different kind of man from the father.

Liam sighed. Not a hackney cab in sight.

The sigh turned into a grimace as his belly clenched and a queer shiver went through him. Had the beef he’d eaten for dinner been a bit off? The sauce that had been poured over the beef hadn’t been to his liking, and after the first two bites he’d scraped off as much of it as he could. Not that he’d had much appetite anyway. It had taken hours for the sick, shaky feeling to go away this time. He wouldn’t have gone out at all if he hadn’t felt the need to listen to whatever comments might be dropped by the other barons in a last effort to convince their colleagues to support their side of the vote— whichever side it might be.

There was nothing more he could do tonight, and nothing he wanted more than to return to the town house to relax for a little while before getting a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow would be a difficult day, no matter how the vote turned out.

No point standing around getting wet, Liam thought as he started walking back to his town house.

There was a noticeable lack of traffic on the streets at an hour that, a year ago, would have been considered the prime of the evening. From what he’d gathered from the men who had been in Durham for a few weeks, there was also a noticeable lack of social activities. The women who were usually the premier hostesses who planned the balls and parties and musical evenings when the barons and other gentry gathered in Durham had made no effort this year. Even the ones who had planned such evenings at their husbands’ command had done so with so little enthusiasm that the affairs felt more like a gathering of mourners than a party.

Liam spotted a hackney cab heading in the opposite direction, but it was past him before he could raise his hand to hail it.

He grimaced as his belly clenched again and kept walking. Sweat suddenly broke out on his forehead. His legs and arms felt oddly heavy, as if he were trying to walk through deep water.

He passed a narrow alley between two shops that were closed for the night. A few moments later, he heard two pairs of footsteps behind him.

He tried to walk faster but couldn’t seem to get his legs to respond.

The footsteps got closer. His heart beat harder.

A little farther behind him, he heard the clip clop of a horse’s hooves and the rattle of wheels on the cobblestone street.

Maybe he should turn and face whoever was now following him. Maybe he should dash into the street and hope whoever was driving the vehicle saw him in time to stop the horse. Maybe—

“Boy!” a voice full of annoyance shouted.

Liam turned, staggered back a step as a wave of dizziness washed through him.

Two large, rough-looking men stared at him for a moment before taking another step toward him.

“Boy!” the voice shouted again.

A hackney cab pulled up. The door swung open. Padrick, the Baron of Breton, got out of the cab and strode toward Liam, his expression harsh enough to make the two rough-looking men hesitate.

“Mother’s tits!” Padrick exploded, brushing past the men. He clamped a hand around Liam’s arm in a grip hard enough to bruise. “When I told your father I’d keep an eye on you while you were in town, I had no idea he’d saddled me with a snot-nosed drunken wastrel! Well, your evening on the town has come to an end, laddy-boy, and I’ll not listen to a word otherwise.”

Stunned, Liam started to raise one hand toward his nose to see if he needed to use his handkerchief, but Padrick hauled him toward the cab with a force that almost pulled him off his feet.

“Get in,” Padrick snarled, shoving Liam through the cab’s open door.

Liam sprawled, his upper body on the seat, his legs on the floor. Padrick stepped on him as he entered the cab and slammed the door shut.

The cabby set his horse to a fast trot, quickly leaving behind the two men who had followed Liam.

With an effort that made his arms shake, Liam maneuvered himself into a sitting position. “I’m not drunk,” he said.

“No, you’re not drunk,” Padrick said with quiet anger. “You’re a fool. A courageous, passionate young fool. Where are you staying?”

“The family town house.” He was sweating heavily, and being rattled around in a fast-moving vehicle was making his gorge rise.

Padrick huffed. “If they were waiting for you at your club, they’ll be waiting at your town house.” He leaned his head out the window and shouted, “Cabby! Pull up at the end of the next block.”

Liam watched as Padrick pulled out a folded piece of paper and the stub of a pencil from his jacket pocket.

“Here,” Padrick said, pushing them into Liam’s hands as soon as the cab stopped moving. He left the cab, returning a few moments later with one of the cab’s lanterns. “How did you get to Durham? Horseback or carriage?”

“Horseback,” Liam gasped. Why was it so hard to breathe? “But a groom drove an open cart to carry my trunk.”

“Fine, then. Write a note to your butler. Tell him he’s got thirty minutes from the time he receives this note to have your valet pack your trunk and have the groom get your horse and the cart ready to travel.”

“Travel?” He wasn’t traveling any farther than it took to get to the town house.

“Tonight’s the Summer Moon, and the sky is clear. They’ll be plenty of light to travel by.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re getting out of Durham. Tonight. Before whoever decided you were an enemy gets a chance to finish the job.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Padrick grabbed Liam’s arm. “The only reason those two men didn’t drag you into an alley and beat you to death was because their minds were clouded long enough that they weren’t sure you were who they thought you were. But once it wears off and they realize they’ve been tricked, they’ll come after you again. Now write the note, Liam.”

Yes. Write the note.

He laid the paper on the seat, gripped the pencil, and struggled to make his hand shape the words. By the time he folded the paper and wrote the town house’s address on the outside of it, he was shaking badly.

Padrick took the paper and the lantern, went out to speak to the cabby. When he returned, the cab took off at the same brisk trot.

“Where are you taking me?” Liam asked faintly.

“To my room at the hotel,” Padrick replied. “It’s closer. And we should be safe there for long enough. I need to pack and settle my account, and you need— Well, I think I have something that will help you.”

Liam didn’t argue, didn’t answer. Mother’s tits. The club he belonged to was supposed to be one of the best in the city. How could they serve beef that had gone bad? Was that why they’d poured that sauce over it? Because they’d known it had gone bad? Irresponsible of them. And he would tell whoever was in charge exactly that.

He must have faded out for a bit, because the next thing he knew Padrick was hauling him out of the cab and into a modest hotel.

Only two flights up to Padrick’s room, thank the Mother, and every step a misery.

Padrick unlocked the door, pulled Liam through the small sitting room and into the bedroom. He pushed Liam to the floor near the window, then retrieved the chamber pot. He was back a few moments later with a small bottle in his hand.

“Drink this,” Padrick ordered, holding out the bottle to Liam.

Liam shook his head. He couldn’t drink anything.

Making a vicious sound, Padrick grabbed Liam’s hair, yanked his head back, and poured the contents of the bottle down his throat.

Liam choked, then gasped for breath when Padrick released him. “You bastard. I’ve already got food poisoning.”

“What you’ve got, laddy-boy, is poisoned food,” Padrick said harshly. “A meal prepared especially for you.”

Liam stared at Padrick. “Poisoned? Why?”

“Because you stood in that council chamber and said everything the eastern barons and the Inquisitors who seem to be controlling those barons didn’t want anyone to say. You made the other barons wonder if these new ideas were coming from their own people or from someone outside of Sylvalan who might have his own reasons for wanting to have our society ripped apart. You made them wonder exactly what was happening in those eastern villages. And you pointed a finger at the men whose appearance in Sylvalan started all these changes. I don’t think the poison was meant to kill you, which is a small blessing, just make you weak enough that you wouldn’t be able to fight or escape the men they sent after you.”

“Lucky you came along, then.”

“I was looking for you,” Padrick snapped. “I didn’t want to hear tomorrow morning that you’d been found in an alley somewhere with your head smashed in.”

Before Liam could say anything, his belly clenched again. He got his head over the chamber pot before he became violently ill.

“What did—?” Liam gasped. “What—?” Another wave of sickness threw his stomach past his teeth.

“A purge,” Padrick said. “Whether it’s a mild poison or something strong enough to kill you, you have to get it out of you as quickly as possible.” He pushed the window open, leaned out far enough to take deep breaths of fresh air.

Liam wondered why a baron would feel the need to carry a purge, but he didn’t feel well enough to ask.

“Are you through?” Padrick asked.

Liam nodded weakly. “It’s not just my dinner, it’s my stomach as well that’s filling the chamber pot.”

Padrick put a cover over the chamber pot, then helped Liam to the bed. “You rest a bit while I pack my things.”

“There’s no reason for you to leave. And we both have to stay for the vote. We have to.”

Padrick rested one hand on Liam’s shoulder and leaned over until they were eye to eye. “Get it through your stubborn head, Liam. One way or another, they’re going to make sure you don’t walk back into that chamber tomorrow morning. And not just for the vote. If you die, who becomes the next baron?”

“A cousin of my father’s. I think.”

Padrick nodded. “And if he’s a man who can be swayed— or bought—to the eastern barons way of thinking, what will happen to your family?”

Liam thought of Elinore and Brooke ... and shuddered.

“You’ll best serve your family and your people by staying alive. And that means getting out of Durham.” Padrick went to the wardrobe, took out the saddlebags, and packed swiftly. When he was done, he turned to Liam. “I have to go out for a few minutes. Will you be all right?”

Liam nodded. He felt hollow—and fragile enough to shatter. He knew Padrick was right, and yet... “You don’t have to go. You could stay for the vote.”

Padrick paused at the bedroom door. “Laddy-boy, if these Black Coats are as smart as I think they are, they’ll figure out quickly enough who helped you tonight. I don’t fancy getting a knife in the back because of it, and you’re in no shape to ride alone. Besides, getting myself killed would seriously annoy my wife, since I promised her I’d be careful while I was here. You rest for a bit. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Come on, laddy-boy,” Padrick said, hauling Liam to his feet. “Time to try your legs.”

Liam stared fuzzily at Padrick. “I thought you were going out for a few minutes.”

Padrick studied Liam carefully. “I’ve been out. And so, it seems, were your brains.” He paused. “Can you walk on your own? Don’t answer that. I shouldn’t have bothered to ask.” Settling his saddlebags over one shoulder, he draped one of Liam’s arms across his shoulders.

“If someone sees us ...,” Liam said weakly.

“You’ve had too much wine, which you inconveniently sicked up when you got to my room,” Padrick said quietly as he led Liam through the sitting room and into the hotel’s hallway. “I told a couple of the western barons who are also staying at this hotel that you’d received distressing news from home, but you’re too ill to travel by yourself so I agreed to go with you. They’re seeing to getting my horse saddled and hunting down a hackney cab for you.”

“Can you trust them?” Liam asked, gripping the banister as tightly as he could to steady himself as they made their way down the stairs. “What if they ...” He suddenly realized he was trusting his life to a man he knew only by sight, and Padrick was trusting men he didn’t know at all.

“They won’t raise their hands to do me harm,” Padrick said softly, grimly. “They know full well if they did, they could never go home again, they could never go anywhere near the western part of Sylvalan and be safe.” He paused, then added, “The barons aren’t the only ones who rule in the west, Liam, and they aren’t the most powerful.”

The words buzzed in Liam’s mind, but he couldn’t get them to make sense. The smell of sickness clung to him, making him wish he’d thought to rinse his mouth to cleanse it.

A hackney cab stood waiting. A saddled horse waited behind it. He didn’t see the other western barons. Either they didn’t want to be seen helping Padrick, or they’d been told not to be seen helping for their own safety.

He would have stopped to get a better look at Padrick’s horse, which was the finest animal he’d ever seen, but Padrick hustled him into the cab and closed the door.

Liam heard Padrick give the driver the address of his town house. The cabby clucked to his horse, and they set off at a brisk pace.

Liam closed his eyes, trying to gather his strength. The clip clop of the cab horse’s hooves soothed him, almost lulling him to sleep.

He opened his eyes. Only one set of hooves. Had Padrick stopped to talk to the other barons after the cab had set off? Had he been delayed by something simple like a loose cinch? Or had he been detained by another pair of rough-looking men?

Twisting around, Liam stuck his head out the cab window to look behind him.

Padrick, riding a few lengths behind the cab, made a sharp movement with his hand.

Liam drew back into the carriage, his heart pounding strangely.

Padrick’s horse made no sound as it trotted on the city street. No sound at all.

Not sure what to think, he tried not to think at all until he reached the town house. Trembling from the effort, he got out of the cab by himself—then realized the cabby had driven him directly to the mews behind the town house. He staggered over to the cart that already had his trunk in the back and leaned against it to take some weight off his shaking legs.

“Baron Liam!” Kayne, the upper footman who had been acting as his valet, touched Liam’s arm briefly, his worried expression making his plain face look harsh.

One groom ran to the kitchen door to inform the butler that the baron had arrived. Hogan, the groom he’d brought with him from Willowsbrook, stood nearby, looking surly.

His father’s man, Liam thought sickly. His father’s servants. Except for Kayne, who’d been hired the day after he’d arrived in Durham to replace the upper footman who had gone out to run an errand and never came back. The rest of the servants, Kayne had told him the next evening, were speculating that the man had run off with a parlor maid that he’d been courting, a young, pretty woman who worked for a family a few doors down.

Padrick rode up beside the hackney, handed the driver a few coins, then moved his horse to one side to allow the cabby to turn his horse and cab.

“Is everything ready?” Padrick asked as soon as the cab was gone.

Liam almost said yes. Then he looked at the saddled gelding and said, “Bring him over here.”

Hogan led the gelding closer to the lanterns.

“The saddlebags are empty,” Liam said sharply.

Kayne stammered, “There was no need to use them, Baron Liam. Everything fit in the trunk.”

Knowing his anger was unjust but unable to stop it from rising, Liam pushed away from the cart, stumbled over to the gelding, fumbled with unsteady fingers to untie the saddlebags, and finally pulled them off the horse. Heat crept through him, filled him.

Not now, he thought as he walked back to the trunk. Merciful Mother, don’t let my temper give me the shakes now.

“Not your fault, Kayne,” he said, opening the trunk. “You couldn’t know there are things I always carry with me.” Like the miniatures of his mother and sister. He rummaged through the trunk until he found the velvet pouches that protected the miniatures. He stuffed those into one saddlebag, along with a change of linen. The small case that held his toiletries went into the other saddlebag, as well as the purse that held the coins he’d brought with him.

Hogan took the saddlebags from him. Tied them securely to the gelding’s saddle.

By then the butler had reached the mews.

“Baron Liam,” he said. “Did the gentleman find you at your club?”

A chill went through Liam, smothering the heat. “What gentleman? What did he look like?”

“He had fair hair and blue eyes,” the butler replied. “He said he had an urgent message for you. When I said you were not at home, he asked for your direction.”

“So you told him where to find me,” Liam said softly.

The butler stiffened. “It did not seem out of place to do so. He was, as I said, a gentleman.”

Liam glanced at Padrick, who said nothing. Didn’t have to say anything.

“Yes, he found me,” Liam said. “He had ... troubling ... news, which requires my immediate return to Willowsbrook.” No reason not to confirm the story Padrick had already told the western barons.

“Let your groom take the cart and head out of Durham by the north road,” Padrick said. “We have another stop to make, so we’ll catch up with him as soon as we can.”

Another stop? Liam didn’t ask, certain he wouldn’t get an answer. He just looked at Hogan and said, “You have your orders.”

“Let me accompany you, Baron Liam,” Kayne said quickly. “It’s obvious the news from your estate has distressed you to the point of being ill. You should have someone along to look after you.”

Liam managed a smile. “My thanks for the offer, but there’s no need. I’ll be fine.” He mounted the gelding, waited for the wave of dizziness to pass, then looked at the butler. “If anyone asks for me, tell them that I’ve been called away.”

He looked at Padrick, who simply turned his horse and rode out of the mews and into the alley. After a moment’s hesitation, when he clearly heard the sound of a horse’s hooves, Liam followed.

The sickness from the poison must have affected his hearing, Liam decided. It wasn’t possible for a horse not to make a sound on cobblestone streets. He’d been so busy trying to stay upright in the cab, he’d become delusional. That’s all it—

As soon as they turned out of the alley and onto another street, Liam heard only one set of hooves on the cobblestones. His own horse’s.

Padrick urged his horse into an easy trot, a pace that covered distance without looking like the riders were in a hurry. A typical pace for young men in the city—when they weren’t riding like fools.

Liam gritted his teeth, concentrated on staying in the saddle. “This isn’t the way to the north road.”

“We’re taking the west road out of the city,” Padrick said. “We’ll circle around. The horses are fresh, so we should be able to catch up with your groom on the north road soon enough.”

“And if someone’s waiting for me on the north road?” Liam demanded.

“Then your man will have a better chance by himself,” Padrick replied sharply. “It’s you they’re after, not the people who work for you.”

You don’t know that, Liam thought bleakly. He continued to follow Padrick toward the west road because he was still too weak and sick to do otherwise. But when they left the city and he saw the road ahead of them lit by the full moon, he reined in, too uneasy to continue.

“What’s the matter?” Padrick asked, turning his horse so he and Liam faced each other. “Are you feeling too sick to ride? Here.” He extended a hand. “Give me the reins. I’ll lead your horse. You just hang on to the saddle. When we catch up to the cart, you can ride with your groom.”

Which is what I should have done in the first place. “I have a question that needs an answer before we go any farther.”

Padrick made an impatient sound. “What answer do you need that can’t wait?”

“Who are you?”

Padrick gave Liam a strange look. “Has that poison addled your brains? I’m Padrick, the Baron of Breton.”

Fear. Temper. Sickness. It was an uncomfortable mix sliding around inside him. “Let me rephrase the question,” Liam said. “What are you? You ride a horse that makes no sound on a city street. You indicate the other western barons wouldn’t dare harm you, which means you have far more power over them than anyone in the council realizes.”

“Not I,” Padrick said quietly.

“And you conveniently appear to help me, claiming I’ve been poisoned and those men had been sent to kill me. You seem to know too much and say too little. So I ask again: What are you?”

Padrick said nothing for so long, Liam wondered if he should try to make a run for it back into the city. Then, “I am the Baron of Breton. I am gentry.” Padrick paused before adding, “And I am Fae.”

Liam swayed in the saddle, not sure if it was shock or sickness that suddenly made him so weak. He was on a moonlit road, alone, with one of the Fae?

“So now you have to decide, Baron Liam,” Padrick said. “Are you going to risk riding with one of the Fae on the night of the Summer Moon, or are you going to take your chances and ride north alone, or back to the city, and hope you don’t meet anyone who wants to finish killing you? I’ll ride north with you to help you get home. Or I’ll keep riding west.”

It wasn’t a hard choice when there really was no choice. “If I’m going to be riding with one of the Fae tonight, shouldn’t it be a fair maiden who gives me a come-hither look?” Liam asked. Relief swept through him when he saw a glint of humor in Padrick’s eyes.

“You’re stuck with a man, and I save my come-hither looks for my wife.”

Liam grinned. The sickness was still there, and the worry about his family and what might happen in the council tomorrow, but he felt a little boyish excitement, too. “Let’s ride.”

Turning his horse, Padrick held the animal to an active walk.

Liam chafed at the slower pace, then realized it was a chance to ask a few questions. After all, he’d never met any of the Fae before.

“You’re riding a Fae horse. That’s why I couldn’t hear it on the streets.”

Padrick nodded. “A Fae horse has silent hooves, unless it wants to be heard.”

Liam admired the gelding. “I’ve never seen a finer horse. Well, maybe I’ve seen as fine.”

“Oh?” Padrick said, giving Liam a long look.

“When I bought my stallion, Oakdancer. There were some ‘special’ horses that weren’t for sale, and I saw them only at a distance. Oakdancer’s light on his feet, but not like your gelding.”

“Where did you acquire your stallion?”

“From a man named Ahern.”

Padrick nodded. “He must have seen something in you to sell you one of the half-breds.”

“Half-breds?”

“An animal bred from a Fae horse and a human horse. He raised the finest horses in Sylvalan. But that was to be expected, since he was the Lord of the Horse.”

“The—” Liam’s jaw dropped. “Ahern? The Lord of the Horse?” He thought back to the days he’d spent at Ahern’s farm when he’d gone to buy the stallion—and the odd way Ahern had gone about choosing the right horse for the rider... and the right rider for the horse.

“So you’ve already met the Fae, laddy-boy, even if you weren’t aware of it,” Padrick said.

Who could have guessed that gruff old man was Fae, let alone the Lord of the Horse? “I heard he died.”

“Yes,” Padrick said softly, grimly. “He died helping a young witch escape from the Inquisitors. Come along. We have a fair amount of road to put behind us tonight.” He urged his horse into a canter.

Touched a wound, Liam thought as he brought his horse alongside Padrick’s. Maybe it wasn’t just his own people and the witches who had reason to look hard at the Inquisitors. And maybe that was a good thing. “Do you think the Fae will help us?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard.

“I can’t say what the Fae in the rest of Sylvalan will do,” Padrick replied. “But I can tell you this—if the Inquisitors come to the west, they’ll die.”

Liam judged they’d been riding for an hour, taking farm lanes and going cross-country at times before they reached the north road. A few minutes after that, he saw the cart up ahead, overturned in the middle of the road. He saw the downed horse and the blood turning the road black in the moonlight—and he saw the man’s body.

He kicked his horse into a gallop to cover the remaining distance. It slid to a stop when it scented the blood, throwing him heavily against its neck. He slid out of the saddle, but managed to keep a firm grip on the reins. Not that it would do any good. The horse wouldn’t stand. Not with the scent of blood so strong in the air.

“Give me the reins,” Padrick said. “I’ll see to the horse.”

Liam handed the reins to Padrick, then stumbled toward the man in the road. Falling to his knees, he turned the man over gently, saw the cross bolts, heard the wheezing rattle of breath.

It wasn’t his groom. It was Kayne, the upper footman.

Kayne opened his eyes, stared at Liam. “They killed me,” he said, gasping with the effort to speak.

“Hold on,” Liam said. “We’ll find some help for you.” Hollow words since he knew they couldn’t reach anywhere fast enough to save the man.

“They killed me,” Kayne said again, sounding baffled. “I was riding out to warn them that they needed to watch for two riders, but they killed me before I—” He struggled to breathe.

Liam sat back on his heels. “You were going to betray me? Why?”

“They— They said I had the gift. That I didn’t have to remain a servant. They said if I did a good job of keeping a watch on you for them, they would train me to be an Inquisitor. I’d be a powerful man then, even more powerful than a—a baron. But... they ... killed me.”

Kayne stared up at Liam with dead eyes, his expression still baffled.

Padrick cursed softly. “He must have sent word to them somehow the moment he was told to pack your things.” He dropped to one knee, placed his hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Liam, we have to get away from here. Now. This attack couldn’t have happened that long ago or he wouldn’t have still been alive. There’s no way of knowing if the men working for the Inquisitors are ahead of us or behind us, but they can’t be that far away. And either way, we’ve got to put some distance between us and this road.”

“Hogan was a Willowsbrook man,” Liam said. “He wouldn’t have let someone else drive the cart and leave him behind to make his own way back home. Which means he’s wounded or dead, back on the road somewhere.”

“We can’t look for him,” Padrick said firmly. “And we can’t stay here.”

“I wonder if the footman Kayne replaced actually ran off with the parlor maid. Or was that the first death?” He shook his head, struggled to his feet with Padrick’s help. “Where do we go?”

“Where’s your estate?”

“Northwest. Near the Mother’s Hills.”

“Then that’s where we go. Without the cart, we don’t have to stay on the roads. That’ll make it harder for anyone to find us.”

Padrick led Liam to the horses and held the reins while Liam mounted.

“I’ll do,” Liam said, answering Padrick’s unspoken question.

Nodding, Padrick mounted his horse and turned toward the west. “Then let’s ride.”

In the early dawn, Ubel boarded the yacht and quietly entered the cabin.

“Well?” Adolfo asked softly, his doe-brown eyes giving no hint of what he was thinking.

Ubel bowed his head. “We failed, Master. That bastard eluded us. He shouldn’t have been able to, but he did.”

“It was a sound plan,” Adolfo said quietly, calmly. “Even if you didn’t receive my consent before starting it.”

Ubel accepted the gentle-sounding reprimand, knowing that, even crippled, Adolfo could inflict a harsh punishment.

But it angered him. He wasn’t an apprentice Inquisitor. More often than not, especially in these last few months, he’d made his own decisions about what needed to be done, had given orders to other Inquisitors. He’d never been reprimanded for it—until now. That, too, was one more thing he was going to lay at Baron Liam’s doorstep, one more thing the baron would pay for.

“It was a sound plan,” Adolfo said again. “Why didn’t it work?”

“He had help,” Ubel replied, resentment swelling inside him. “First with avoiding the guards who had waited for him at his club, then in getting out of the city.”

“Who?”

At least he could offer that much. “Padrick, the Baron of Breton.”

Adolfo poured a glass of wine, drank slowly. “So. There will be two barons missing from council later today. Probably not enough to change the outcome, not after that young bastard’s speech yesterday, but it means we can’t afford to have any other barons becoming indisposed right before the vote. That would cause too much talk, too much speculation of the wrong kind.” Setting the glass on the table, he reached down, pulled up a bag, and dropped it on the table.

Ubel heard the clink of shifting coins.

“There’s nothing we can do about the coming vote, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take care of other problems,” Adolfo said. “Send four men to Willowsbrook.”

Ubel smiled.

Adolfo shook his head. “We’ll prepare the ground this time. Ripen the people until they’re ready to listen. No one is to go near the baron’s family. Three of the men will draw as much magic as they can from the land and turn it back on the baron’s estate and the village. The other will find a reason to spend time in the village tavern and use his Inquisitor’s gift to plant a few thoughts in the minds of the people around him. By the time he leaves, I want the tavern owner to be certain that the cause of the village’s sudden ills is because the young baron is too weak—or too bewitched—to act against those who are the Evil One’s servants, and the Evil One has found a place to take root. Let him fight against his own people’s fears and troubles. That will keep him occupied for the time being.”

“And the other baron? What about him?”

Adolfo reached for his glass, took a sip. “He must be punished for interfering with us. You’ll see to it personally, Ubel. Take five men to assist you. I want no mistakes this time.” He sipped again. “It doesn’t matter if the four men reach Willowsbrook before the young baron, but it’s important that you reach Breton before Baron Padrick. If he’s still helping the whelp, he’ll be delayed a couple more days, so you shouldn’t have any trouble arriving ahead of him if you ride hard. I want it done and all of you gone before he returns home.”

“And what is it you’d like done, Master?”

“Give his people a gift that flies in the dark. Then find out what is most dear to him—and destroy it.”