felt stuffy. He wished his host would prop open one of the flaps over the windows.
“I’m sorry, Hagan. I didn’t tell you the truth before. My father
…” He took a breath, unable to believe what he was about to do. “My father was Baron Du’Vartha.”
If the old man was shocked, he didn’t show it. He combed his fingers through his beard and nodded as if he dined with nobility all the time. His daughter glanced up for a moment, and then dropped her gaze again.
“Liana, clear this off, won’t you?”
With a sharp glance at her father, the girl threw on a knitted shawl and carried the dirty tableware outside.
Hagan lit his pipe from a candle and took short puffs. Looking at him, secure in his home, surrounded by a growing cloud of smoke, Caim saw a different side to his host. There was an air of gravity about him, like a magistrate at his tall bench.
“It’s said none survived the attack on Du’Vartha’s manor. Not even the animals in their pens, all dead by fire or sword.”
Caim put both hands on the table, palms down. A rivulet of sweat ran down his spine. “I survived. And so did my mother.”
The old man leaned forward, and the top of his shirt gaped open to reveal a bronze torc around his neck. “I never heard that, and I know just about everything that happens in these parts.”
“What do you know about what happened?”
Hagan took another pull at his pipe. “Not much more than the tale I spun for you before. The baron made no secret that his wife came from the north, but she didn’t look like any Northman bride. Dark features, night-black hair. Eyes deeper than the sea. Some said she was a witch.”
Caim thought back to the woman at the prison gate.
Hagan coughed into his fist. “When the empire took the clans over the mountains to make war in the north, men came back with tales of all manner of unnatural things they’d seen. And now with the witch in Liovard-”
The door of the hut slammed open. Caim spun out of the chair, both knives leaping into his hands. Two cloaked men stood in the doorway. The first was tall with big shoulders and a double-bladed axe held in one hairy hand. No logger’s tool, the axe was made for hewing down men. The smaller man behind him clutched a sword. Both men were hooded, revealing little except that the bigger man sported a dark beard down his chest while his comrade was smooth-shaven.
Caim edged toward the wall where his bundles sat. Then he recognized the short sword in the smaller man’s grip by its poor-quality steel and flimsy guard. He had seen it before. At the roadhouse. The thin-shouldered youth.
The men stumbled sideways as Liana jostled them from behind. She gave them both hard looks as she pushed between them with an armful of plates. The big man recovered first and pointed his axe at Caim.
“We’re here for you, outlander.”
Hagan stood up. “What is the meaning of this? This man is my guest.”
“Don’t get involved, Father.” The smaller man pushed back his hood to reveal a slender face topped by the same mop of pitch-black hair Caim had seen at the hostel.
Hagan looked over. “This is my son. Keegan.”
Caim lowered his knives. “I saw him at the roadhouse, though he didn’t stick around to see how it all ended.”
Up close, Hagan’s son was a solid young man in his early twenties. His hands were small, with long fingers, more delicate than Caim would have guessed on a country lad.
“Never mind me,” Keegan said. “I saw what happened at Orso’s and told Ramon. He thought we should follow the stranger.”
“What were you doing there?” Hagan asked. “I told you I didn’t want you going there anymore.”
“Ask him how he took down five of the duke’s soldiers, Father,” Keegan said. “Not to mention Lord Arion his self.”
A sinking feeling hit Caim in the stomach. The duke’s son? Oh, gods. Kit, what kind of shit-storm did you let me walk into?
Hagan pounded his fist on the table. “Keegan, I will not-!”
Keegan pointed his sword at Caim. “Father, if you were more concerned about your people, and less about the honor of your house, you’d wonder the same thing.”
Liana came over holding a damp rag. “You’re always looking at things the wrong way, Keegan. If he fought Lord Arion as you say, then how could he be working for the duke?”
“It might have been a trick.” Keegan looked to the big man. “To make it look like he was on our side.”
She clicked her tongue. “Sounds like an awful lot of trouble, and no little risk, just to catch some blueflies like you and your friends.”
“I gave the order.” The other man said, still watching Caim. “We’ve been hearing about spies sent by Liovard to search us out. If he’s one of them, we’ll deal with him.”
“Stop this foolishness,” Hagan said. “You’ll not harm a guest under my-”
“It’s all right.” Hands by his sides, Caim took a step toward the men. “You want to know how I got out of there alive? It’s because those soldiers talked when they should have fought.”
He took another step. “And they fought when they should have retreated.”
A third step put him within reach of the axe. “And because, for all their size and bluster, they were piss-poor fighters.”
The big man watched him with a stony expression. Sweat beaded along Keegan’s hairline. His pupils were wide with… fear? Anticipation?
“Caim!”
Kit appeared beside the door. “Men with torches and weapons outside. Lots of them!”
Caim clamped his jaws shut before the questions spinning through his mind could escape in front of these people. He didn’t want to risk hurting Hagan’s family, but he didn’t fancy a trip to a dungeon cell, or a gallows.
Kit hopped up and down. “They’re surrounding this place. Maybe it’s time to call your little friends?”
Caim didn’t even consider it. He wasn’t going to unleash the shadows inside this house. But what were his options? The thought of running on his bad leg was almost worse than rotting in a cell. He made up his mind. The look on Kit’s face was worth the cost to his ego as he let his knives drop to the floor and raised his hands.
“All right. I’ll go with you.”
The big man grabbed Caim and spun him around, and Keegan produced a coil of hemp rope.
As they bound his wrists behind his back, Caim said, “Bring my things.”
Keegan picked up the satchel and slung it over his shoulder, but he left the knives and bundles where they lay. Caim started to object, but the big man prodded him with the butt of his axe.
“Move.”
Hagan sat down in his chair with a deep sigh. Liana had gone over to stand beside her father, one hand upon his sloped shoulders.
As Caim was ushered past them, he said, “Thank you for your hospitality.”
He passed through the doorway, and the light of a dozen torches shone in his eyes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A draft blew down on Josey’s neck as she tried not to be sick. Around her stood the members of her war council accoutered in their fine ball regalia, with capes thrown hastily over their shoulders as they answered her emergency summons. The reason was laid out on the table before them.
Poor Fenrik.
After the attempt on her life, Josey had waited in a salon with her maids and a team of bodyguards as the palace grounds were scoured. Now the notables of her court gathered in the armory hall where the remains had been brought for examination. Candlelight reflected off the weapons and polished coats of armor that hung on the walls. Looking down at the body, Josey couldn’t believe that Fenrik, a man she’d known and trusted her entire life,
