Byrd shook his head and answered hesitantly, his brow wrinkling as he eyed Leesil.
"Faris thinks it's all nonsense… but he believes Darmouth is convinced that your woman can deal with this… vampire, supposedly. Any truth to it?"
"Yes," Magiere snapped, her self-control faltering. "And call me 'his woman' again, and I'll fix you so you've no interest in one of your own."
Byrd didn't even react to her warning. "Anyone before ever try to locate you like this? To hire you?"
"We spent years on the backroads, working the remote villages of southern Stravina," she answered. There was no point letting Byrd know it had all been a ruse until last season.
"We never worked this far north," Leesil whispered, "No one here would've heard of her by rumor. Someone told him we were here… told him of Magiere."
"And now Darmouth has invited me inside the keep," she said, and instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say.
Leesil's gaze lifted to her face as if her voice had startled him. His eyes widened, and his head shook. Not truly in denial but more like the shudder within him had grown suddenly.
"This is over!" he tried to shout, but it came out harsh and grating rather than loud. "You're not meeting Darmouth in that keep or anywhere else. We're leaving tonight."
Before Magiere's anger fueled a retort, Byrd pushed her aside to face Leesil.
"Don't be a fool! She's fierce and clever, and she's been handed an invitation to the last place your parents were seen. She can handle Darmouth. I didn't think Nein'a's son would go belly-up so easily."
Leesil tensed, and his features slackened for an instant before his eyes locked on Byrd. He started to lean forward as if ready to lunge.
Magiere shoved Byrd back. "Shut your mouth and get away from him!"
For a second, Byrd peered straight in her eyes, waiting. He backed up to lean against a cutting block table at the kitchen's side wall.
"Am I right?" he asked her. "You think about it… and maybe get him to do the same."
Magiere's instincts rose like hunger in her throat. Leesil's self-control had slipped farther than she'd ever seen before, and it had something to do with the woman's name Faris had mentioned. Getting inside the keep might be her only avenue to help him find answers, but now Byrd was suddenly pushing too hard. Why had the man lost his temper the instant Leesil mentioned leaving?
Wynn stepped away from Byrd to the kitchen table, but she was watching Leesil as warily as the innkeeper. Leesil lowered his head, hands gripping the table edge as he clenched his eyes shut.
"I am coming with you," Wynn said quietly to Magiere. "So is Chap. We may recognize things of interest while you are negotiating services with Darmouth."
"No," Leesil said hoarsely. "Wynn, don't-"
"We'll have Byrd feel this out," Magiere cut in, "and try arranging an audience. If it smells bad-or we don't like the way he handles it-then we're gone. All right?"
"Why ask me?" Leesil said coldly. "You've made up your mind."
He shoved off the table so hard it slid several inches, making Wynn jump back and Chap sidestep out of his way. As he swatted the doorway curtain aside and left, Magiere watched in stunned silence. Worse still was that she didn't know whether to leave him be or follow and force out of him whatever had just pushed him over the edge.
Magiere turned on Byrd. "Set it up. Tell me as soon as you hear anything."
Byrd's eyes were on the kitchen curtain, still swaying in Leesil's wake. He glanced at her, nodded with a frown, and left. It wasn't until Magiere heard the inn's front door slam shut that Wynn came up to her.
"Chap and I are going with you," Wynn insisted, and grasped Magiere's arm. "You will need us."
Magiere looked at her, and finally nodded. "Yes, Wynn, I know."
Hedi sat at a mahogany table in the small common area of the Bronze Bell Inn. It was little more than a wide alcove just off the foyer and the main hallway running between the front and rear doors. She wore a midnight-blue velvet gown with a matching wide ribbon around her neck to hide her recent wound. She picked at an apple tart with a fork as she waited for Emel's return.
The clop or hooves grew loud outside the inn, and the creak of the front door followed. Hedi was slightly surprised when Lieutenant Omasta strode through the foyer into view. Emel was close behind, and the subtle widening of his eyes and clench of his jaw muscles told her something was wrong.
"What has happened?" she asked.
She stood up, her head barely reaching the top of Omasta's leather hauberk, and stepped around him to Emel standing in the hallway. There were four of Omasta's guards waiting near the front door and no sign of Emel's own men.
"I've been ordered to escort you to the keep, lady," Omasta explained. "Lord Darmouth will ensure your safety until this beast in the city has been dealt with."
"I am safe enough here," Hedi replied evenly, holding in her rising panic. "I have the protection of Baron Milea's own contingency."
Emel shook his head slightly, just once.
"Baron Milea remains here," Omasta said. "I have my orders, lady. I've brought a horse for you."
"She will need her personal effects," Emel said. He took Hedi's hand and walked toward the foot of the stairs.
Omasta fell in behind them. "Of course. I will assist with the baggage."
Hedi climbed the stairs with Emel. It was clear that Omasta would not leave her alone with the baron. Something more had happened for Darmouth to want her locked inside the keep for her own "safety."
Emel looked strained as he led the way to her room and began gathering her clothes and belongings. Omasta remained out in the upper hallway but kept the door open. There would be no chance for a single private word with Emel.
Once Hedi was packed, her panic rose again. She tried to think of a way to postpone her departure and have even one moment alone with Emel. When no ideas came to her, she was left with only the most cliche of feminine ploys.
Hedi put a hand to her throat, rolled her eyes closed with a soft exhale, and slumped to the floor in a heap.
She heard Emel kneel beside her, felt him take her hand, and he shouted at Omasta, "Get cold water and a towel… to the kitchen, man!"
A moment's silence followed, then heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway.
Hedi opened her eyes and pulled herself up by Emel's grip, leaning close to him with a whisper. "What has happened?"
"Shhhhh," he answered, and there was as much fear in his green eyes as she felt herself. "I should have told you last night. Darmouth has chosen you for a wife. He wants a legitimate heir."
Hedi stared at him. Had she even heard him correctly? Too many thoughts raced through her mind, and Omasta would return any moment.
"Do not let them lock me up!" she insisted.
"We cannot refuse," Emel said quickly. "I would end up rotting on the keep wall, and you would still be trapped."
"I would rather be dead," she answered too loudly, and Emel raised a finger to his lips, "than be breeding stock for that aging savage! There must be-"
"Go with Omasta, and wait for me," he said. "Smile for Darmouth, flatter him, play the bride-to-be if you must, but do whatever keeps him pacified. I will find a way to get you out, and we will disappear, but we cannot let him suspect anything."
Omasta came running back to the doorway. "The maid is coming. Are you… all right, lady?"
He saw her hand clasped in Emel's as she leaned close to him, and the concern vanished from the lieutenant's face as his eyes narrowed. A serving woman followed on his heels with a pitcher and towels. Emel turned his back to the door and looked Hedi in the eyes.
Go, he mouthed silently, and stay alive.
Alone in the dark room upstairs, Leesil dropped on the bed's edge. He was awake, yet visions like nightmares thrashed about in his mind. There had been so many victims, and then so many years of drinking himself into unconsciousness just to forget. Sometimes he couldn't remember all of their names. Only those who came after him in his sleep.