Owen frowned. "Did you know du Malphias was on his way when you sent me?"
"It had been rumored, but he sailed after you did. Had I guessed at the depths of his depravity I would have…" His uncle's head came up. "No. I was going to say I would have informed you, but the truth is, I would have chosen someone else. I never imagined you to be as clever as you are."
Owen shivered. "Are you well, Uncle?"
The man laughed, and openly so. It had to have been the first time Owen had heard that sound. "I deserve that. I treated you poorly, Owen, for reasons that, I guess, you should know.
"My brother, your stepfather, is a drunkard and a horrible gambler. Your maternal grandfather, Earl Featherstone, had lent Francis a great deal of money-more than our father was willing to repay. When your father died, your grandfather purchased Francis' marriage to your mother at the price of his debts. I, and my father, had hoped to use Francis to secure some other alliance. My discomfort at being thwarted was something I took out on you. I convinced myself you were a stupid boy and that if you were dead, it would be the best thing for all involved. I do not, however, stoop to murder."
Owen gulped a decent slug of the whisky, letting it burn his throat so he would not scream. My existence thwarted his ambition, so that justifies how I was treated?
Deathridge steepled his fingers. "So I have several things to tell you. The first, which will be made public when you return to Norisle, is that the Queen is going to make you a Knight of the Norillian Empire. With that shall come a modest land grant here. You know what you have seen and what you like; please choose a place. A thousand acres. You might name it after the family estate."
"A knighthood. Do not tease me."
"No, it is quite true. Her Majesty recognizes the threat these pasmortes represent. Du Malphias had been rumored to be collecting bodies and looting graves back in the days of Villerupt. We saw no evidence of anything untoward, so suggestions of necromancy had been dismissed."
Owen raised an eyebrow. "What about his ability to use magick beyond the realm of touch?"
Deathridge recovered his glass and drank. "That I find the most disturbing of all. There are always rumors of magick that powerful."
"The Shedashee can do it, after a fashion."
"This gives the rumors more credence, certainly." Deathridge put the glass down again. "This brings me to one charge I have for you, one that you must reveal to no one else."
"Yes?"
Deathridge closed his eyes for a moment. "When you take the fortress, du Malphias will attempt to burn his papers. You must, at all costs, prevent this. We need his documents, to analyze and determine what breakthroughs he has made. The very future of Norisle will depend upon it."
"That is a very important job, Uncle. I should think you save it for yourself."
"I would, but I will not be joining you on the expedition."
Owen frowned. "But you said your job was to advise…You're not going with Forest's troops, are you?"
"As much as I might like to, no." His uncle sighed and almost seemed to shrink. "The packet boat did have the information I informed the Prince of concerning Tharyngian troops. It also contained a letter directing me to return to Launston with all haste. One of my political allies-one of Rivendell's enemies-suffered a public scandal. I will remain here long enough to organize supplies for the expedition, then I will return to Launston to salvage what I can."
Deathridge covered his face with his hands, then looked up. "How smart is Prince Vlad? Is he sane? He seemed so, but many fear he has adopted Tharyngian ways."
"He's very smart, and very sane."
"Ambitious?"
"Not in any way you might think." Owen smiled. "His ambition extends only to his studies. He gave me a list of plants and animals to bring back for him. He understands politics, but only uses that knowledge to do what the Crown wants."
His uncle nodded thoughtfully. "Good. And he is not too much under the influence of the Kessian?"
"Von Metternin? He uses the Count as an advisor, but even the Count is in awe of the Prince."
"This is important, Owen." His uncle's expression sharpened. "What did they think of du Malphias' plan to create his own nation?"
"The Prince laughed when I told him. He said it was impossible. Aside from Tharyngia lacking the necessary number of people, Mystria is too large, with too many regions and interests. The Continent would sooner be united than Mystria."
"Very good." His uncle smiled quickly. "And the Kessian's thoughts?"
"He feels the same, as best I know."
"Good." Deathridge stood and plucked the book from the mantle. He handed it to Owen. "Do you know this book?"
Owen ran his fingers over the cover. A Continent's Calling. "Yes. I used it as a key for coded messages to Prince Vladimir."
Still standing, Deathridge took up his glass and sipped more whiskey. "Did you know that the author, Samuel Haste, does not exist? It is a nom de plume."
"I wasn't aware of that fact."
"If you knew who had written it, you would tell me, yes?"
Owen nodded despite goosebumps puckering of his flesh. It occurred to him in a flash that the book's true author might be Doctor Frost. I would never betray him. "Of course. Is there a problem?"
"The document is seditious. Be careful. Do not let Rivendell know you have read it."
"I won't."
"One last matter."
Owen looked up. "Yes?"
"If Lord Rivendell were to lose his mind and lead the expedition to ruin, do you think Prince Vladimir could take over? Allowing that he would use Count von Metternin as an aide. Would you be able to command troops in his name?"
"Yes, to the first. A conditional yes to the second, since colonels will be commanding the regiments."
Deathridge smiled coldly. "I yet have it within my power to do certain things, Owen. Before I leave, I shall write out a sealed order and give it to the Prince. It will grant you a field promotion to General in the event that Rivendell is relieved of command. I will brief the Prince on this matter."
Owen blinked. "Are you certain, Uncle?"
"I am. You have to be my man here, Owen. You have to be Norisle's man here. If we fail to deal with du Malphias, our position in the world is compromised. My enemies do not see it that way, but it is quite clear. I know it, and I know their will is such that when adversity strikes, they will withdraw and merely hasten a collapse that never need happen.
"You, Owen Strake, have seen the evil that is Guy du Malphias. It falls to you to eliminate him. It is our family duty to thusly serve the Crown."
Owen shook his head as if to clear it. Is this truly my uncle?
He knew there had to be more going on than he was seeing. Before he could even begin to puzzle it out, his uncle set the whisky down and extended his hand. "I must be leaving."
Owen stood and shook his hand. "But I thought… Dinner?"
"One last ruse, and you will understand." Deathridge smiled curiously. "You will still have dinner, and you will enjoy the company."
Deathridge exited to the foyer. Owen made to follow, but a voice from behind, from the dining room, stopped him. "Owen."
He turned, his heart instantly in his throat. There she stood, perfect and smiling, a gown of white reminding him of the day they wed. "Catherine!"
She flew to him and he gathered her into his arms. She clung to him, burying her face against his chest, her body wracked with sobs. She grabbed handfuls of his coat. She seemed so small and delicate. All he could do was hold her and stroke her hair.
"Shhhhh, nothing is wrong, beloved."
She pulled back and looked up, her cheeks wet. "I thought I had lost you."
"No, darling, no."
"Owen, I sent you from me and then when you were hurt, when you almost died. It was my fault. I had hurt my husband, my love."
"Hush. I am fine."
"You don't know, Owen. But for the kindness of your Uncle Richard, I should have been undone." She stroked his face, holding it in both hands. "It really is you, isn't it?"