Magnus sat in his private parlor at The Maggie. He’d been staying in Winros Minor for over a month, and he hated everything about it. The cold wind, the ceaseless bells…He even begged the innkeeper to stop giving him lavender-scented pillows. He couldn’t take the stench anymore.
As Magnus expected, Lord Fairhill reappeared as soon as he’d swapped Sir Edris’s pouch of slimy medicine. Lord Fairhill gave Magnus three gold for the task and many accolades. However, when Magnus indicated he was going to go home and find a more sensible job for the winter, Lord Fairhill was very clear on the matter: Magnus didn’t need a sensible job. He now worked for him, and Magnus was expected to do what he was told.
Magnus didn’t dare argue. He merely resigned himself to his new mission of roaming the crowded streets of Winros Minor and learning as much about Sir Edris as he could—his movements, what his plans were, the names of people with whom he interacted.
At first, what Magnus learned pleased Lord Fairhill. Sir David had ridden into town, had some sort of altercation with Sir Edris, and then challenged the famous knight to a duel. Lord Fairhill gave Magnus four gold pieces for that bit of information.
Then, an hour before the duel, Sir David had been found dead in his room—his throat slit ear to ear. That news didn’t please Lord Fairhill in the slightest. In fact, after hearing it, Lord Fairhill began drinking heavily, his mood turning sour. Since then, if Magnus mentioned returning to Eryn Mas, Lord Fairhill would grin menacingly and say with slurred speech, “You may certainly try.”
Sir Edris’s sudden disappearance was the worst of all. For a week, Lord Fairhill refused to leave his quarters at The Prairie Wind Inn. He made Magnus bring him food—and increasing quantities of wine. Lord Fairhill often paced his bedroom, a curved dagger in each hand. He hadn’t slept, or bathed, in days.
Then Lord Fairhill vanished as well. His things remained at The Prairie Wind, but he was nowhere to be seen. That was over a fortnight ago.
Magnus considered his lavish surroundings, wondering how long he should stay in Winros Minor, waiting for Lord Fairhill to materialize again. He felt like a prisoner. Sure, he could walk out anytime he liked. He could even take his horse and ride off in any direction he chose. Then again, there was something about his employer that scared the crap out of him. The lord knew things, things about his family and friends.
Magnus shuddered. No. He definitely wouldn’t make a run for it. Not yet. Not until he was absolutely sure Lord Fair—
The door crashed open. Magnus bounded to his feet.
Pale and hunched over, Lord Fairhill leaned against the doorway. He dripped blood. “Help me.”
Magnus stared at him, horrified.
“I said help me,” Lord Fairhill bellowed.
Magnus hurried over and draped one of the lord’s arms around his shoulder. He guided him to the chair in which he’d been sitting.
“By the gods!” Magnus said, seeing the gaping wound in Lord Fairhill’s thigh. “What hap—?”
With a bloody hand, Lord Fairhill grabbed Magnus’s neck and pulled him closer.
“This is what you’re going to do.” Gasping for air, Magnus tried to pull away, but couldn’t. The reek of alcohol on Lord Fairhill’s breath made his eyes water. “Go into the hallway and clean up the blood. There mustn’t be a trail. Do you understand me? There mustn’t be a trail.”
“The inn staff can get that,” Magnus wheezed. “Let me bring you to a doctor!”
Lord Fairhill slapped Magnus hard across the face, sending him staggering toward the still-open parlor door. Lord Fairhill pointed to the hallway. “Hide the trail. And if you get a doctor, or tell anybody about this, I’ll gut you like a pig.”