“What could they be doing up here?” Maldynado frowned at Books, probably wondering why he was not asking the questions. “They didn’t look like they were continuing across the pass. They drove off the other way, going higher up in the mountains.”
Books straightened. He needed to pay attention.
“They didn’t see fit to tell us their business,” Vonsha said.
“Has anything unusual happened here that you or your parents have noticed?” Books asked.
“Well…” She studied him, perhaps wondering if she could trust him. “You know that Kendorians are sometimes spotted in imperial territory on the other side of the mountains, right? That’s why Fort Dretsvar sits at the bottom of the pass over there. Soldiers usually come through every month, some heading to the fort for a new assignment and others rotating out. They usually stay the night here, but my parents said there haven’t been any visitors for two months.”
“You believe there’s a problem at the fort?”
“If there is…” Vonsha frowned. “My parents live up here, in the path of potential trouble. They have few neighbors so, if something has happened to that fort, there’ll be nobody around to help them defend the property.”
“Vonsha,” Lord Spearcrest said from the hallway.
Books flinched. He had not heard the old man slip up on them again.
“I will discuss matters with these men,” Spearcrest said. “Privately.”
“Father, they came to see me and-”
“Now.” He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “Go help your mother in the kitchen.”
Vonsha sighed. “No matter how old you are, you’re still a child when you visit your parents’ home. Pardon me, gentlemen.”
As soon as she left, her father stalked in. He propped his lone arm on his hip and scowled down at them. An old service pistol that had not been there before hung from his belt.
Books stood. “My lord.”
Maldynado continued to lounge on the floor. He scratched an armpit.
“Who are you boys?” Spearcrest demanded. “And what’re you doing spying about up here?”
“We’re simply friends of Vonsha.” Books eyed the pistol, noting the cocked hammer. The old man stood far enough away that he would have time to draw and shoot before Books or Maldynado could cross the distance and tackle him. “I was in the accident with her at the real estate library,” he said. “I wanted to check on her.”
“That’s not the story you started out giving me.” Spearcrest’s hand descended to rest on the pistol butt.
Books tried not to wince. That was right. He had changed stories when Vonsha came out. He suddenly found himself admiring Amaranthe’s ability to think-prevaricate-on her feet. Oh, how he preferred the settled calm of a library.
“That is true,” Maldynado said. “We weren’t sure you’d see Books if you knew.”
“Knew what?” Spearcrest asked.
“His real reason for coming,” Maldynado said.
“Which is what?” Spearcrest spoke slowly, enunciating each annoyance-laden word.
Books raised his eyebrows at Maldynado, wondering where he was taking this.
“That Books came courting,” Maldynado said. “Your daughter’s not married, right?”
Books was not sure if his jaw dropped as far as Lord Spearcrest’s or not. It felt like it.
The old man opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. “No. She lost her husband in the Western Sea Conflict. She said… Well, it’s been so long, me and Mother just figured she wouldn’t remarry.” He turned an appraising eye on Books.
He squirmed like a sixteen-year-old boy come to ask a girl’s father for permission to take her to the stadium to watch the races.
“Some fathers are particular about who their daughters marry,” Maldynado said. “We weren’t sure, so Books figured on the story as a guise to get to know you.”
“I’d have preferred honesty,” Spearcrest said though his face softened a smidgeon.
“Yes, my lord,” Books said. “It was cowardly of me to spin a fabrication.”
“Vonsha’s old enough to make up her own mind on such matters. That’s truly your reason for being here?”
“What else would people come way up here for?” Maldynado asked.
“Nothing,” Spearcrest said. “Not a thing.”
He left abruptly.
Maldynado threw a smug smile at Books. “You’re welcome.”
“Welcome!” Books struggled to keep his voice down. “When he tells her-she’s going to think I want to marry her. That’s ludicrous. We’ve barely spent an hour together uninterrupted. I just want to…”
“Sheath your sword in her scabbard?”
“No!” Well, yes, but not just that. “I merely wish to get to her know better.”
“Without clothes on.” Maldynado winked.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Yes. But I kept Spearcrest from shooting you, so you’re indebted to me.”
“He wasn’t going to shoot me.”
“He had a hand on his pistol,” Maldynado said.
“Yes, but you were the one lounging on the rug like a spoiled hound. Not to mention how much of their food you’ve already eaten.”
Maldynado said nothing, though his mouth formed a silent, “Oh.”
Books sank back in the hard chair, wondering what he was going to tell Vonsha when her father shared the “news” with her.
• • • • •
Amaranthe and Sicarius hiked three or four miles with the trail growing narrower and rougher with each switchback up the slope. Dirty patches of snow hunkered in depressions. Trees rose anywhere there was soil-and sometimes even from rock faces and boulders. Despite the wildness of the land, someone had cut the low branches back from the path, and they even passed a rough-hewn bench in one spot.
Sicarius paused to examine something on the ground. Amaranthe readjusted her rucksack and wiped moisture from her eyes. Though all the training they did kept her breathing slow and her muscles from growing weary, the brisk pace and the steep incline had her sweating. Her shirt stuck to her back, and damp spots bunched beneath the rucksack straps. She would shoot herself with the rifle before complaining about Sicarius’s pace though.
“Anything interesting?” she asked when he stood.
“Fresh prints.”
“Lord Hagcrest, I presume.”
“Perhaps.”
He continued onward without expounding.
The trees thinned, and the trail led them into a clearing. A small, square log cabin rested on a flat stretch of moss and wildflowers. Though simple, the structure appeared in good repair, and the split-cedar shingle roof had yet to fade to gray. A smokehouse tacked with rabbit and raccoon hides shared the clearing, while an outhouse hunkered downhill.
“I guess we should be wary of that threat to shoot trespassers.” Amaranthe pointed to a stuffed bear head mounted under the eaves above the front door. “It seems our homeowner is a decent shot.”
Sicarius was already gliding about the clearing, eyeing tracks, touching trees, and sniffing the wind. Amaranthe headed for the front door. She figured the homeowner was unlikely to shoot a woman whereas a black-clad man roaming the perimeter might make a trigger finger twitchy. Besides, she earned more answers from talking to people than from poking around their properties.
She climbed three wooden steps to a limestone porch. “Hello, Lord Hagcrest? Are you home?”
Amaranthe lifted a hand to knock on the door, but stopped. It stood open a crack. Her nose caught a faint scent: blood.
Sicarius had disappeared. She chewed on her lip a moment, then set her rifle against the wall and drew the pistol. She stood to the side, closed her eyes, and listened. No sound came from the cabin. Pistol ready, she pushed the door open, then flattened herself against the outside wall, so she would not expose herself to anyone inside.