Chapter 12

Parsifal

Hovering in midair, Thelia flails her arms, but they only move a little—like she’s stuck on a giant, invisible spiderweb.

“Help!” she calls again. She rips one arm forward, trying to free herself, and succeeds only in peeling off her sleeve. She wriggles like a trapped fly. “I’m stuck. It’s going to tear my skin right off.”

This is surely the demon plane, and we’re locked in a prison that looks like Four Halls.

I can’t watch her flail anymore so I slide to the floor, putting my head in my hands. “Percy!” Her voice rips a hole through me, and I clutch at the opening it leaves behind. If I close my eyes, maybe I can pretend for a moment this isn’t real. Maybe I can find some kind of equilibrium again, start over, and wake up ready to solve this mess.

Behind me, the door opens. I spin around to find Sapphire striding in. “What is . . .?” they start. Faster than a lightning bolt, they’re at the window. “Thelia!” I’ve never heard Sapphire use our names before.

Without hesitating, they jump out the window. One hand grips the windowsill as they slide down the stone wall, keeping flush against it. I lean over the side and watch. With their free hand, Sapphire grabs one of Thelia’s arms and pulls.

She roars in fury. “My skin is stuck!”

“I know.” Sapphire’s not sympathetic. They pull her arm free and she lets out a shriek. Next they grapple with one of her legs, then the other. Even the one time I spied on horrible old Delia’s sparring lessons, I’ve never heard Thelia make a noise of such terrible agony.

Finally, Sapphire’s able to loop an arm around her waist, and with one last pull, Thelia’s second arm comes free—leaving behind pieces of her clothes, strands of hair, and bloody bits of skin.

She fiercely holds in her sobs, her body limp, as Sapphire climbs back up and passes her through the window to me. I try not to touch the fresh wounds on the backs of her arms and legs as I bring her in. Her long hair sticks out everywhere, stiff and wild at the same time.

Once Sapphire’s back inside, we carry Thelia to her bed and lay her on it, face down and wounds up. She lets out an anguished howl. Sapphire holds up one hand and the door flies open. In sails a bowl with a bundle of rags, landing on the table by the bed. Sapphire reaches down and taps the side of Thelia’s temple. Her head falls limp and she goes silent.

“You knocked her out?” I gape at Sapphire.

“What wo-o-ould you do?” They dip a rag into the soapy water and begin cleaning off the raw spots on Thelia’s arms, where beads of blood rise to the surface all along her flesh.

“Why didn’t you do that earlier?” I ask. “You could’ve saved her a lot of pain.”

Sapphire scoffs. “Then she would not have learned anything.”

I take a long breath to shove my temper back down into my stomach. I peer out the window, seeing what Thelia saw: freedom.

Four Halls has become a prison beyond my worst imaginings.

Bayled

More of the Baron’s soldiers appear in the flurry of white, all dressed for winter. One raises a spear and points into the dense, snow-covered trees. Without a word, my men start walking.

I square my shoulders and dig my feet in. “Where are you taking us?” The soldier pressing his dagger into my side slides down his hood.

It’s a woman—oh, it’s Captain Tarkness. When the Baron first visited Four Halls, the Captain’s role as his right hand was a popular topic of gossip.

“Red will be the one to talk with you.” She prods my side with the point of the blade and I jump forward. She doesn’t sound angry or cruel, but stern, like my mother was. The steely, measured voice of a diplomat.

The Baron’s fortress is one squat tower hidden behind two fearsome wooden stakewalls, their points facing out to stop unwanted cavalry. But inside, the castle has low ceilings and thick stone and a fire blazing in the main hearth. For the first time since we left Melidihan, I feel warm. The captain calls out, “Red, come down!”

A man descends the stairs, dressed in a scarlet jacket and handsome riding boots, with wisps of silver hair at his temples. He recognizes me at once. “Bayled Vasha.”

No “Master” or “Young Master” or “Ward.” Just my name. I always liked that about him.

The captain salutes. “We caught them sneaking through the woods.”

“We were on our way here to talk with you,” I say.

The Baron quirks one of his thick, sharply-arched eyebrows. “About what?”

“About the fact that you failed to answer the King’s call to arms.” What audacity to feign ignorance.

“I see.” He tilts his head at our prisoner. “And who’s this?” She bares all her teeth at him.

“This one tried to kill General Vasha,” Harged chimes in, much to my irritation. I shoot him a look to shut up, but he’s oblivious. “She works for that craggon Nul se Lan.”

The Baron’s gaze flicks to me. “The King’s heir tried to have you murdered?” He walks up to the prisoner and peers down. “Why did your master command you do this?”

She says nothing and sets her jaw. Red turns around and gestures at Captain Tarkness. “Please, Captain.”

She nods and approaches the prisoner, removing her sword from its sheath. By the time I realize what she’s about to do, it’s too late to stop it. The Captain slides her sword through the braided woman’s chest. The prisoner smiles, blood seeping through her lips.

Everyone in Stone Company, even Sasel, gasps. The prisoner falls forward to the floor, never to get up again. Harged tenses up behind me like he’s ready to fight.

“Was that necessary?” I ask. “She was a prisoner. She presented no danger to anyone.”

The Baron levels his gaze on me. “Not at this moment. But she did before and would again. You should have killed her as soon as it was clear she wouldn’t talk.”

I take a step forward, and the Captain seizes the rope still tied around my hands. “You’re the one I should kill,” I snap. “Deserting is a crime punishable by death.”

This threat doesn’t seem to faze him. “Captain, Bayled and I will discuss this further in my study. Get these soldiers something to eat, please.” The Baron waves at Harged. “You can relax, Halen. I won’t kill your general tonight—unless he tries it first.”

Sapphire

The Commander told us humans are stupid, slaves to their instincts, like orkuks. They will take orders if you offer them something good enough. They only learn lessons the most difficult way—through experience.

Parsifal, however. He only says a tiny fraction of the many thoughts that I see flickering behind his eyes. Always he is observing, cataloging, planning. I have to be careful what I say around him, because he could use it against me later.

He stares down at Thelia while I rub salve on her wounds and bandage them up. “What was that outside the window, Sapphire?” he asks quietly.

The more they know, the more they can scheme and manipulate me. I peel the bits of torn fabric away from Thelia’s back. “A net. To keep humans from leaving.”

“First that blue shield to hold in the Magic, now this invisible net? What happens if we leave, Sapphire?”

I retreat from the bed, finished with my work for now, and make my way to the hearth. With a wave of my hand over the logs, they catch fire.

Parsifal follows. “Don’t avoid me.”

“You are covered in Magic.” I reach out and brush a finger down his shoulder, trying to indicate the thick layer of Magic draped over him like a second skin. The sensation of him under my fingers is lightning, and Parsifal jolts back. We both felt it. “That Magic makes you dangerous.”

“Is that why I can do . . . things?” he asks.

“Probably.” I should not be telling him anything he doesn’t need to know. We will handle it, as soon as the host arrives and builds the new sanctuary. I just need these two to stop getting into trouble until then.

“That’s why you’ve trapped us in here?” Parsifal asks. “You don’t want us running around out there doing Magic.”

I weigh what I want to tell him with what I can tell him. The language barrier keeps getting in my way. “Yes. Without control, Magic is very dangerous. But soon we will take it all off, then you can leave.” They cannot know how excruciating the cleansing process will be, or they will never cooperate. But I wish I could assure them that after they are brought before the Magicker and scream until they are hoarse, they will get to leave this place whole.

That was the plan—clean, relocate, and be done with it. Simple. But in this moment, I realize it is not simple at all. We will build them a new home, of course. But their real home—this castle, the Holy Kingdom—will be gone.

Their short lives will never be the same, and they will hate us forever for it.

Parsifal’s flat nose wrinkles in confusion. “Take it off us? I don’t—”

“Get some rest,” I interrupt, ushering him back to his room. “We can talk more later, when Thelia is well again.”

I check on the King next. He writhes in his bed, not noticing when I enter. I wave my hand and a tray of food flies in, bearing bread and a bowl of soup, and lands on the bedside table. The surfeit of Magic here may not be reliable, but its omnipresence makes my work easier.

I kneel by his bed and touch his arm to get his attention. His eyes creak open, coated in a layer of yellow-green muck.

“We’ve captured your daughter,” I tell him. “You have no reason to resist the Commander’s wishes now.” All he has to do is capitulate and order the surrender; then we can cease worrying that the sworn lords will come to their sovereign’s rescue. The more humans who stream into Melidihan, the more we will have to subdue, sanitize and relocate—and the greater predicament it becomes.

The King’s reddened eyes close again. “Corene,” he whispers. “I want to see her.”

I already know what the Commander would say: absolutely not. We must keep the Princess feeling hopeless and isolated so she will do as Commander Valya asks.

“You can see your daughter once you announce the surrender,” I say. He gives no response. I cannot stay longer, as I am behind in preparing meals for the rest of my charges.

I hand the King a spoon and turn to leave.

“Please,” he moans after me. “My daughter.” I close the door and seal it.

Now comes my worst task. Down to the dungeon, where the Princess leans against the bars of her cell, sunken eyes staring out. I’ve done what I can to clean up the filth down here, but there is only so much time. Now that Thelia has torn herself up, I’m afraid to leave my charges in North Hall alone for too long should some further horror befall them.

Be grateful, Ellze said. Indeed.

I push a bowl of food through the panel in the cell door, but the Princess does not respond. I walk over and press her arm through the bars.

“What?” she growls.

I step back. “Ensuring you are still alive.”

Her head lolls away so she can look down at the floor. “I’d die if I could.”

So dramatic. I take out her old, dirty bowl. “Your friends are fine, yo-o-ou know.”

The Princess looks up. “What friends?”

“Thelia and Parsifal. I have them. They lied for you, though they knew all along where you were hiding.” I am not certain that this is true, but I sense the Princess will tell me.

She snorts. “Easy not to tell when you’re sleeping in a bed and eating three meals a day.”

“They were kept in this same cell.”

A sigh escapes her. “Whatever. My cousin’s a biylar bear—one head saying how great you are, the other biting your face off. If she knew there was something in it for her she’d have turned me in.”

I find myself surprised at her venom. The Princess is wrong, but I will not tell her. “Do you know where your father’s army is?” I try one more time.

She scoffs. “As if I’d know. Didn’t anyone tell you being the Princess makes me the least important person here?”

I do not press; I think I can get more from the two upstairs. If I feed them the right answers to their questions, something will give.

Thelia

I wake lying facedown on my bed. My whole body throbs. When I try to roll over, I understand why. The bandaged wounds down my back scream with pain, and I let out a moan, turning back onto my stomach.

The door opens and our food cart rolls in. I didn’t think I’d ever describe an inanimate object as “shy,” but that’s how the cart seems as it inches toward my bed, trying not to let its wheels squeak.

“Parsifal,” I call out. “Breakfast.” I bury myself under the blankets again. Everything hurts. The cart bumps into the bed lightly and I thrash out with one foot. It wheels back to avoid getting kicked and spins in feverish circles.

“Come on,” Parsifal says, peeling back my blanket. “You should eat. And you’re giving the food cart anxiety.”

I manage to eat a little before I give up and put the plates back. I want to sleep forever and forget this ever happened—just sleep until whatever the long ears have planned for us is done.

Long after the cart’s gone comes the zzzt of the Magic seal unraveling, and the door opens again. “Hello.” It’s Sapphire’s voice. I pull the blankets over my head. “Thelia? Are you well?”

I stay silent. I feel the mattress squish as Sapphire sits at the end of my bed. They must weigh a lot—I bet it’s all that metal in their skin. “How are your wounds?” Sapphire asks.

“Still sting.”

“That should stop soon.” They peel back one of the bandages. “Loo-o-ooking better.”

“What about all this?” I roll onto my side and gesture at my hair, which explodes from my head in every direction. Huge chunks stick together. Each time I’ve tried to peel them apart, they won’t give, and I get a sticky mess on my hands. “How do I get the goop out?”

Sapphire reaches out and touches a few locks of my hair. “It has hardened.” No shit. “The only way to remove it is to cut the hair off.” Sapphire produces a small knife.

It feels like I’ve swallowed a rock. Mother always praised me for my voluminous dark locks, tumbling effortlessly to my waist. You have the last few pieces of my people, she’d say as she braided it before our practices. Those dark eyes, that high nose, this beautiful black hair. Fit for a Queen.

With my face cut open—and my beauty ruined—my hair was all I had left in her eyes. “Please,” I say, but I have no energy to resist. What’s one more humiliation anyway?

Sapphire pats the sides of my head. I can’t tell if it’s to comfort me or appraise the damage. The sensation doesn’t feel . . . gross or uncomfortable, like I’d expect. I must be numb.

They start to cut. Exposing one chunk of my long hair, Sapphire finds the sticking point and chops. Lift, search, chop. Some bits of the sticky mess lie flush against my neck, and Sapphire has to go deep to cut them out. When the deed’s finally done, there’s enough of my hair on the floor for a rug.

I look down at it, feeling blank. No Queen of the Holy Kingdom has ever had short hair like a man. But my head feels light as a feather.

Parsifal

“It’s hot horsefish,” Thelia says, staring at herself in the mirror. Her hair now sits unevenly above her shoulders—some chunks shorter, some longer, still sticking out in every direction.

After putting the pieces of the window back and stitching it together with some kind of Magical hand-waving, Sapphire has left, again, for only demons know what. At least their salves have worked, and Thelia can move again.

“Who are you?” I ask, peering at her in the mirror. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Parsifal.”

Thelia scowls at my reflection. “Stuff it, Percy.”

“You’ve always had it long, but I think it looks better like this.”

She rolls her eyes. “Flatterer. I kept it long because Mother wanted it that way. I wonder what Daddy will think when he sees. I’m worried about him.” How she can think of him now, when we’re trapped inside by a giant Magical spider web, mystifies me. But she’s always hungered for his approval.

The broom hastens in and begins brushing up the chopped hair on the floor.

“Hey!” She kicks at it. “That’s mine!” The broom just dodges her and continues its work.

“What are you planning to do with it?” I ask. “Knit something?”

“It’s the principle.” She gets up and hobbles around after the broom, but her injuries make it hard for her to keep up. Suddenly she freezes, staring at the wall.

A hole has opened up in it.

No, not a hole. A mouth. With teeth. And a lolling pink tongue. In one swing, the broom sweeps the pile of Thelia’s raven-black hair into the open mouth. Not all the hair makes it in, but the enormous tongue shoots out, curls around the rest, and licks it up.

The floor is clean except for a very large spot of drool. We both stand there, staring, as the broom hustles away. The mouth shrinks, the stones around it flattening back out, until it’s gone. The wall looks the same as before.

“What was that?” Thelia asks.

“A hallucination?” I pat the wall where the mouth was, but it’s simply a wall. “I mean, neither of us really knows what’s in the food the long ears have been feeding us.”

She stares at the spot. “It ate my hair.”

“Seemed to enjoy it too.”

Thelia sinks back into the chair at her vanity, staring into the mirror like she’s been struck by lightning. I find myself gazing at her wildly-chopped hair, like she woke up on the wrong side of the bed five times in a row. It gives me an idea.

I dash back to my room and open my desk drawer, looking for some way to halt what feels like a nonstop downward spiral. I root through old quills, used papers, clips, and bindings. There they are—scissors.

I return to Thelia. “Sit still. I’m going to fix this mess Sapphire made.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t send me away. Her injuries must have drained her of some of her fight. So I take a breath, turn her away from the mirror so she can’t watch, and start snipping.

The elf hasn’t left me a lot to work with. Some sections on the top of her head are cut barely longer than the length of my hand. Others hang loose down her neck. Keeping it as long as I can on the sides, I trim the back close so it won’t look awful when it grows out.

Her hair is shorter than mine now. I’m surprised at how good it looks. Smiling, I turn her back around to face the mirror. “What do you think?”

She stares at herself a long time without speaking. My satisfaction vanishes. “Did I mess it up that badly?” I ask.

“No, Parsifal.” She meets my eyes in the mirror, trying to smile. “It’s wonderful.” But she can only do it for so long before she drops her head into her hands. “They’ve taken everything from us.”

So much for lightening the mood.

As I’d hoped, the broom comes back, drawn by the allure of another mess to clean up. It sweeps up the small pile of short, black hairs, carefully dodging Thelia’s feet.

There’s a shloop! as the stones in the wall separate and curl up into lips. Once more, the hole opens in the center, and a tongue lolls out. Thelia lets out a little gasp.

I approach the mouth, holding my hands up in a signal of peace. The tongue stops mid-lick.

“What are you?” I ask. The tongue retracts and the teeth close. “No, wait!” It’s here to eat. What could I offer it?

I take a chance and toss the scissors in my hands. In a single swoop the tongue lashes out and catches the scissors. The mouth swallows them. Both sides of the mouth curl up slightly. Is it smiling?

“Thelia! Bring me more stuff.” I grab an inkpot off her desk and throw that next. The mouth smashes the glass between its teeth, sucking down ink. It licks its lips, smearing black everywhere.

The tongue lolls back out again. Waiting. I can relate.

Thelia hobbles over. “Are you absolutely rung up the parapets?”

“Of course. Aren’t you?” I tear one of the wood arms off the chair at her vanity, tossing it into the mouth. As it chews, the smile grows wider. The mouth has grown in size. It wants the rest of the chair.

I heave the whole thing over my head as Thelia shouts, “Parsifal!” The chair goes flying. The stones part so the mouth can open wider and wider, until it’s almost as big as the wall itself. Inside the gaping maw the chair goes. The teeth slam down, chewing, scattering splinters everywhere.

Thelia and I look at each other. “What is it?” she asks, breathless, as the mouth shrinks, leaving behind only a plain stone wall.

I remember what Sapphire said about the Magic spillage and everything becoming coated in it—including us. “It’s the castle,” I say. “Magic has brought the castle to life.”

Bayled

“A drink?” Red asks, pouring a glass of dark alcohol.

“If you insist.” I’ve never been a big drinker like Thelia and Parsifal, but even with a fire in the sitting room hearth, I wouldn’t mind the warmth in my bones.

He puts the glass in my hands and sits down across from me. “Now, where were we?”

Baron Durnhal has always been a little too clever for his trousers. I frown and say, “Hm, I don’t know—what about you cutting down my prisoner? Or how a cratertooth tried to have me killed? Or perhaps we could start with how you deserted us in our time of greatest need?”

The Baron gives me another inscrutable look. “Where are the others? Tell me, Bayled, where are the other lords who responded to the King’s call and sent their men off to join his army? Where are they now?”

I hate rhetorical traps. It’s just the sort of thing Thelia does. “I don’t know,” I finally admit. I hate how childish I sound. “Nul se Lan seized the army and left as soon as the elves captured Melidihan. They’re gone.”

“Ah,” Red says, his face still betraying nothing. He sips his drink. “You have always been too trusting. I expect that’s how you ended up in this situation.”

“Maybe you’re right. I certainly never thought you’d turn out to be a man of such poor character.” I won’t let him deflect the conversation from his own crimes.

He sighs. “When the command came to join up, I knew what I had to do. Not for the Kingdom, but for the Crimson Woods.”

“You knew the punishment.”

“I’d rather risk that than let my people be fodder for King Hindermark’s harebrained plan.” He sets his drink back down with a clink. “His tactic hasn’t changed in a decade. Hurling soldiers into battle like rocks, thinking that the more of them you throw—even if your aim’s shit—the more damage you’ll do.”

I’m reminded of the thousands of men we picked up along the Low Road, carrying nothing but pig knives or rusty swords, none of them trained for war. Pebbles in an avalanche.

“We could’ve won it,” I say. “If I hadn’t left my army to come after a deserter—”

Red shakes his head. “No human army can win against The People. The oldest living creatures on Helyanda? You’re as much of a knob as the King if you believed that.”

I had to believe it if I was going to lead. “You’re a traitor,” I say. “Why should I hear this as anything other than an excuse for betraying us?”

He shrugs. “Maybe to you I’m a traitor. To the people of the Crimson Woods, I’ve kept us alive.” He stands up and walks to the fireplace, poking a log to scatter the ashes. “You should do the same.”

Only his people, his barony, matter to him. I’m disgusted by his indifference to the rest of us.

“No.” I get up and join him where he looks into the flames. “I have to get to Melidihan.” And find Corene.

Red chortles, as if this is all just a game. “There’s no point in playing at heroism when The People are involved. If they have truly taken Four Halls, you don’t have a chance. Go home.”

“That is my home.”

“No,” he says. “The Northern Republic.” I shake my head. I don’t know that place anymore. It’s where I’m from, but it’s not who I am now. “You’ll be safe there.”

“Safe?” What a pointless word. “And abandon everyone I care about? Go back to a country that I don’t remember—that doesn’t remember me—without the woman I love?” I turn to face the Baron. “I’m going to do what I can to salvage the Holy Kingdom. That’s my duty.”

“Stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” he says into his glass. “You’ll die.”

I shrug. “Dying was a distinct possibility when I led the Kingdom into war.”

Calmly, he says, “The Holy Kingdom doesn’t care about you, Bayled Vasha.” It’s supposed to hurt, and it does. I don’t let it show. “You’re a foreigner. The King never intended to actually pass the crown to you. You do realize he’s just been using you this whole time? He saw you as a path to the vast riches and commerce of the Northern Republic. He made you his heir because he thought it could lead to wealth, and perhaps to annexation.”

It’s so hard not to laugh. “Annex the Northern Republic? The Republic crushed the Kingdom in the war.”

“As if that could stop a man that greedy from scheming. You’ve always just been a pa-chi-chi piece on the King’s board—and a much easier one to move around than Hareed and Nella Vasha.”

“My parents?” I ask. “What do they have to do with—”

“Didn’t you ever think it was odd?” Red asks. “After all the times your father put out a candle to make a welcoming home for Magic, it only caught fire when you were out riding with your friends?”

My mouth bobs open and closed, but I can’t put the words together.

“But when Hindermark saw he could annex the Klissen much more easily,” he continues, “he dropped you for Nul se Lan.”

I shake my head. This is horsefish. It has to be. “He’s been like a father to me,” I say, but it sounds pathetic.

“Has he?” Red asks. “Making you keep the Kingdom’s ledgers, solve his problems, clean up his messes?”

It hurts too much for me to go down that road now. I shut my eyes, try to tamp it down, and say, “He doesn’t matter. My people are the ones who need my help.”

“I’ve tried to tell you it’s pointless, Bayled. No mortal can win this fight.”

“Is that why you left Four Halls last spring?” I demand, white-hot anger coursing through me. “Because you knew the elves were coming?”

He startles. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. There were rumors that The People were gathering their forces, but everyone had heard them.” He turns to me, and the reflection of the flames turn his eyes red. “No, I left for . . . personal reasons.”

“Corene said that you left to get away from Thelia, that you’d found a more suitable woman for marriage,” I blurt.

The Baron snorts. “There are no other women, I assure you. There will never be other women. Thelia was my exception.”

“Exception?” He raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and my face flushes. “Oh.” Corene probably didn’t know this about him. Why would she tell me something that wasn’t true? “Then why did you really leave?”

“I was warned,” he says, watching me carefully. “Someone told me I would regret marrying Thelia.”

“What did they say?”

“That her mother is an orphan from the Midland Hills,” he says, swishing his liquor around. “That she’s descended from Magickers. That her blood is cursed, like her ancestors’ was. That she’s been trained in every art a woman should never be trained in—in kroga, in the sword, in manipulation and trickery.”

My heart grows heavier and harder, like stone. It sinks into my stomach as he speaks. He’s not wrong. He’s just also not right. “That’s what drove you away?” I ask. “That she can’t control who her parents are, and she can protect herself?”

The Baron laughs and returns to his comfortable chair. “Is that supposed to be a joke? Everything she said only made me like Thelia more.”

She?

Red digs a hand into the thick, plush fabric. “Except for the last thing. She insisted that everything Thelia ever told me was a lie so she could marry me for my title and wealth.”

I can’t believe it. Not after what Thelia told me about her feelings for the Baron. “The word of one person was enough to outweigh everything you felt?”

“I had no reason to doubt. Why would the Princess want to sabotage her own cousin’s love life?”

The Princess. I try to find words, but I don’t have any. Corene, sabotage Thelia? I search my memory for a reason. Could she really have thought she was protecting the Baron? From her own best friend?

“Corene said she knew Thelia didn’t love me,” Red says, “because Thelia loves you.”

My mouth falls open. The idea is so preposterous that I burst into laughter.

“Are you mocking me?” Red asks quietly.

“No!” I take a deep breath to stop cackling. “It’s just . . . impossible. Thelia doesn’t even like me.”

“How do you know?”

I remember the morning she told me about the Baron like it was today. “I’ve known Thelia since we were children. She never had one crush. She didn’t like anyone touching her—certainly not me. She was in love with you.”

He stares at me, and in his open face I see an opportunity. Thelia is a gaping sore spot for this hardened man, and I can use that, if I place my stones right.

“She told me so in confidence,” I add. “And I believe it was the truth.” I have him now. Thelia would be so proud.

“But how . . . how can you be certain?”

“She let you touch her, right? Kiss her?” Red’s face goes, well—red.

“Many times.” He stares into the flames flickering inside the fireplace. “It was always like a little thunderstorm.”

I feel sick to my stomach. Red truly loved Thelia, and Corene spoiled it. She must have meant well, but—I need to finish this. “Then you left,” I say, pressing him. The Baron turns away and grimaces. “You could’ve taken her with you, to your safe little fortress guarded by all your clever traps. But you didn’t.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t.” I put my glass down on the table. “I won’t try. Your romantic problems aren’t my concern. It’s time I be off to bed. If I’m going to ride back to Melidihan, I’d better get started early.” I pause for effect. “So I can save the woman I love.”

Red’s still staring at the hearth. “Good night,” I say. “Thank you for the hospitality.” I let the door fall closed behind me.