Mac tipped his chair back and leaned against the wall. He only half listened to Jillyn’s story about the happenings at Court, but Gerid sat forward in rapt attention, his mug held close to his lips, forgotten. Given a little time, Mac suspected the young lord would approach Jillyn’s father and both families would celebrate another marriage. That would be at least one marriage he’d be joyous for. The upcoming nuptials between Wyndham and that clanswoman was just heartbreaking. Neither seemed interested in each other, yet both were willing to sacrifice themselves on the altar of duty. And Adelicia and Gregor were no help.
Not that Mac had tried particularly hard to get either’s attention. Both looked happy, and happy with each other–and he could tell there was more to it than just the finalization of a peace treaty. They were truly in love.
Which left him with what? The knowledge that he’d wasted his life pining for a woman who didn’t love him. He knew in his heart, Adelicia had affection for him. But he’d never asked how much and propriety had kept him silent when others might have proclaimed their love.
All were decisions he’d made a long time ago and nothing he could take back. Besides, she and Gregor looked content.
What was done was done.
Now her son was a different story. There was no need for the young man to marry for duty, but it wasn’t Mac’s choice to make, nor was it his place to interfere. And really, if Kaelyn didn’t stand up and say the obvious there was nothing he could do. She was barely present as it was. Maybe she didn’t know that Wyndham’s engagement would be finalized tonight.
Mac had no idea what he we going to do about her. He’d thought taking it easy and spending the winter in one place would give her time to heal from the shock of disappointment. But it was more like the Goddess had taken Kaelyn away, leaving a shell that slept, and ate, and nodded at questions. No one, not even Wyndham, could draw her back from wherever she’d gone. Perhaps the gentle coastal life at his estate, Rosewood, in Quinlay would bring her back.
He missed her ferocious determination, the spark within her that drew strangers to her side in hope of aiding her. Unknowingly, to both of them, she’d given him his life back, forced him to have purpose. Perhaps he’d found another woman to dedicate his life.
But until she came around, he was left with his current situation, sitting in this pub with Jillyn and Gerid, while waiting for Bledig and Talar. Bledig had stepped out to talk to a friend among the clansmen’s delegation, and Talar had yet to arrive. It was a pity Adelicia knew her son too well and had commanded that he not leave the keep. It was another pity that Aric had been assigned to keep an eye on him. ‘Subdued’ was the word Adelicia had used.
It seemed like everyone was subdued tonight. Even the pub was only half full, and none of the guards were present to celebrate their Prince’s engagement.
“Did you hear me?” asked Jillyn.
Mac glanced up. “Ah . . . no.”
Gerid snorted. Mac shot a playful glare at him and he hid his laughter in his cup.
“Can I go to Rosewood with you?”
“Why?” This was a conversation he hadn’t expected.
“I want to spend more time with Bledig.”
Mac shot Gerid a questioning look, but the young noble didn’t notice, he only had eyes for Jillyn. “Why?”
“Is that all you can say?” asked Jillyn.
Gerid roared with laughter. “She wants to learn more clansmen history.”
“Should I presume you’ll be joining her?” asked Mac.
“If–”
The front door opened. Talar entered and headed for their table. He caught Mac’s eye and nodded.
The door flew open again and a man stood in the entranceway. Blood smeared across his left cheek and the right sleeve of his shirt had been torn off.
“Barbarians–” He gasped for breath.
Talar jerk his shirtsleeves down and rushed to the man’s side. “What did you see?”
“Prince Wyndham murdered by clansmen. The keep . . . fire . . . they’re–” The door slammed into him and he stumbled forward.
Bledig stood in the doorway, the black swirls on his cheek stark against his skin. Silence filled the pub. Mac’s heart pounded, then the room erupted into chaos. Men yelled and chairs and benches screeched against the floor. Mugs and plates were knocked to the ground as the patrons jumped to their feet, drawing weapons and rushing toward the door.
Talar leapt past the first man, grabbed Bledig’s arm and dragged him outside. The mob ran after, screaming and waving their weapons.
Gerid lurched to his feet and stared at Mac with wide eyes. “This is not good.”
“To say the least,” said Mac. “Come on.” He shoved his chair back, grabbed his eating dagger, and strode to the kitchen with Gerid and Jillyn in his wake. Mac really should have worn his sword tonight. Damn him for thinking his troubled days were over. Gerid had certainly understated the problem. If the keep was in flames then the guard had either been overwhelmed, caught unaware, or someone wasn’t doing their job. He didn’t know which to choose. Rumors usually only contained a small grain of truth but the disturbing lack of guards in the pub suggested a conclusion he wasn’t comfortable with.
He marched through the kitchen, eased open the back door, and glanced out. The alley where the tavern and nearby houses dumped their garbage was empty. Mac slipped out, Gerid and Jillyn close behind him. At the open end of the ally, framed by the leaning two-story buildings, sat the keep engulfed in flames. The wind shifted, wafting acrid smoke in his face. It mingled with the reek of garbage and clung to the back of his throat.
Coughing, he glanced at Gerid and Jillyn, who stared at the keep.
“You need to get out of here.” He had no idea what his priorities were. Did he race to his Queen, like his heart wanted him to? What about Wyndham? Or was his first priority Kaelyn?
“We’re not leaving you and Kaelyn,” said Jillyn. “And what about Talar and Bledig? What about Aric?”
“Aric should be doing his job and Talar and Bledig are beyond my help right now.” And so was his Queen.
The keep was on fire and likely the city around it. If they were still alive they would no longer be there. Besides, they had the entire royal guard to protect them. That left Kaelyn.
“I’m going for Kaelyn. Alone.” He turned to Jillyn and Gerid. “You need to get out of the city. Go to the hut where Talar’s been staying. Hopefully he and Bledig will think to hide there.”
“But–” said Jillyn.
“We’re not far from the east gate. Take it and go north. It’s too dangerous for you to go across town with me. I’ll meet you there with Kaelyn.”
Gerid squeezed her shoulder. “He’s right. We’ll be lucky to make it to the gate without trouble. Besides,” he said with a fierce grin, “he is the hero.”
Mac snorted. He didn’t feel like one. He was too old to be saving anyone from a burning city, even a headstrong fighting miracle like Kaelyn.
“Fine,” said Jillyn, her voice dark. “But all of you better show up.”
Mac pressed his dagger into Gerid’s hand. “You’ll get no argument from me. Now get going.”
Jillyn and Gerid peered out the alley then slipped into the street and headed toward the east gate. Mac squared his shoulders and sighed.
The street was empty, but he could hear shouting and screaming nearby. Please don’t let it be the crowd chasing Talar and Bledig.
He pushed that from his thoughts and stepped out into the street. He wasn’t there to help them and could only hope they’d escaped. He had his own job to do.
It felt strange, the area void of people but filled with their noise, like he was walking in a ghost town, hearing the cries of victims killed centuries ago. Memories of old campaigns flickered through his mind. The screams and yells, the reek of soot and blood and fear. Things the tales never mentioned.
The road turned, revealing more of the keep, the bones of the building dark within the fierce blaze. Wyndham was dead, perhaps along with Adelicia and Gregor. He didn’t want to believe it. His gut churned and he shoved the emotions back. He could wallow later. He needed to keep his head, think strategically. If the Queen and Prince Consort were dead it would be a devastating blow to Meriduin. The kingdom would have lost a compassionate monarch and the best strategist ever seen. Unless Reynold could quickly gain control, the merchant barons would make a move.
Mac skirted a square with a central well, staying close to the houses. Bodies littered the cobblestones, blood pooling around them. Bile burned the back of his throat. Men, women, and children, and not a royal guard among them. If the assailants were attacking everyone, Kaelyn certainly wasn’t safe.
Now he really wished he had a sword and it didn’t look like the townspeople had a blade among them–not even a small one.
He picked up his pace, keeping a wary eye for trouble until he reached their inn. It was quiet and the common room empty. He took the stairs up to their rooms two at a time, rushing to the door to his suite and shouldering open the door.
The room was packed with armed men and Kaelyn wasn’t in sight. He stumbled to a halt, grabbing the doorframe to keep his balance. He’d expected an empty sitting room with Kaelyn still in bed, if she was there at all.
His hand went to his belt for his sword before he could stop himself. He’d been foolish to think they were safe once they’d returned to Meriduin. Did he really believe that his and Wyndham’s announcement at court about Kaelyn’s death would discourage those who’d been trying to kill her?
He looped his thumbs under his belt in hopes it would make him appear relaxed. Most likely these men were after Kaelyn and not him. All he had to do was convince them that he didn’t know her whereabouts–which was currently the truth. Please let her have gotten away safely.
“It’s been a long time,” said a familiar voice.
Mac couldn’t place it. The men stepped aside and revealed King Harcourt sitting in one of the two chairs.
Mac blinked. It wasn’t Harcourt, or rather King Harcourt. Harcourt was dead–and good riddance to the cruel bastard. It had to be his son, a spitting image of his father.
“Why don’t you have a seat,” said Harcourt, patting the chair beside him.
Mac sat. Harcourt’s resemblance to his father was uncanny, down to the dark hair–cut short against his scalp like a soldier–square jaw and hawked nose. He wore standard royal guard clothes: a tunic and breeches, with a short tabard that hung to mid thigh. But on the tabard instead of the great eagle holding the winged serpent of wisdom in its claws, the serpent took the forefront with the eagle wrapped within the snake’s coils.
A shiver swept over Mac. “You are the very image of your father, Harcourt.” He couldn’t help but wonder how else he took after him.
“Thank you.” Harcourt picked lint from his breeches, then lifted his dark gaze to meet Mac’s.
Mac waited for him to get to the point, but he didn’t.
Fine. If Harcourt the Fifth wanted a game of nerves, Mac could wait him out.
Harcourt pursed his lips.
The men around him shifted, but kept their military-proper stances. If this was the absent royal guard it certainly explained a lot–and increased the likelihood that the rumor of Wyndham’s, Adelicia’s, and Gregor’s deaths was true.
Mac struggled to keep still.
Harcourt narrowed his eyes, and opened his mouth, but before he could speak a bloodied man dressed as a clansman rushed into the room.
The man dropped to his knees and bowed. “Your Highness, one of the clansmen escaped. He wasn’t with the envoy. We didn’t–”
Harcourt flicked a finger and the man fell silent. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll have to find out sooner or later that we’re coming for retribution. We won’t just sit here after they’ve slaughtered our brother, mother, and her consort.” Harcourt flashed a fierce grin and something glinted in his eye.
A chill swept through Mac. He glanced at the other men. No one seemed concerned about the death of more than half of the royal family, let alone the slaughter outside.
Harcourt sighed and turned to Mac. “I have a proposition for you.”
Mac swallowed a snort. Harcourt had a proposition for him. Ancient Father above, the boy was crazy. He’d just planned the murder of half of his family and the slaughter of a city, and he had a proposition.
“I need an experienced general for my army. One who can lead the south against the now inevitable northern uprising.”
“You’re aware you just murdered the finest general the south has ever seen?”
“An unfortunate necessity. Gregor and Adelicia shouldn’t have chosen the north over the merchant barons.”
“And that justifies murder and war?”
Harcourt sighed. “There’s war because the merchant barons are greedy and the soldiers are bored. Because with those factors, even with the peace treaty, war is inevitable. And if we lose–” He paused. Mac suspected for dramatic effect. “If we lose, then Mother, Gregor, Wyndham, and everyone down there would have died for nothing.”
Which didn’t really explain anything and certainly didn’t justify murder. Mac’s stomach twisted into a hard knot. The calculations, the plan, all matter-of-a-factly expressed by the now heir apparent. And all of it insane.
Mac’s muscles twitched. He struggled to stay calm. He was outnumbered, there was nothing he do for the moment except gather information. He just didn’t want to sit there and take it.
