Lady Maggie.

Doran jogged up the steps to the curtain wall and passed through the keep tower’s wide-open gates. After the bright daylight, the interior was steeped in pleasantly cool shadows. Summer was coming and with it, Kair Toren’s heat. Not that the heat bothered him, but he missed the southern coast. The low hills of the Golden Valley ringed in terraced fields that curved like ribbons along the slopes. The turquoise waters of Ceter Lake, where the air smelled of flowers and blooming trees. The golden sand beaches, gently sloping into a warm ocean where bright fish flittered through the translucent depths.

Kair Toren had a rougher coast, the hills more rugged, the sea darker with a harsher surf. The city itself felt rougher too, unlike the idyllic white walls of Dilem. He’d been in this damn place for too long. He knew he was homesick, and she made it worse.

Doran passed through the tower and stepped out onto the terrace overlooking the Citadel Garden. A large table waited for him by the stone rail, offering a glittering glass pitcher of red wine, another of water, and two plain wooden cups. Merro Ridan sprawled in one of the two chairs, his mane of blond hair hanging loose, Doran’s formal breastplate resting on the ground next to him.

Ridan gave him a wave. The wine pitcher sitting on the table was a third empty.

Doran took the other chair and nodded at the wine. “Started early, I see.”

“It’s fucking hot, and your armor is heavy. Do you want me to pass out from the exhaustion?”

“Keep drinking and you might.”

Ridan rolled his eyes, picked up a jug of water and splashed some into his cup. “Better?”

“I’m looking out for you. Be grateful.”

“Oh, I always am.” Ridan took a long swig. “Are you going to tell me why I had to drop what I was doing and play dress up?”

“What were you doing?”

Ridan grimaced. “Having a chat with our Redeemer guest.”

Ah. That. “Anything?”

Ridan shook his head. “It’s a waste of time. I can apply pressure, but you can always tell when a man won’t break. We’re not getting anything out of that one. We can either cut his throat or cut him loose.” Doran stretched his legs. Trying to gather information about the Order of the Redeemers had proved irritatingly difficult. He appreciated loyalty, expected and respected it, but fanatics grated on his nerves. The way Redeemers revered Silveren was unnatural. He might as well be one of the saints.

He couldn’t get a read on the man. Silveren was… slippery. He trailed the Second Prince like a morose shadow, avoiding attention, dodging conflicts, like he was made of smoke. Half of the time, you forgot he was in the room.

They had invited one of Silveren’s kardars over for a stay. He wasn’t a prisoner, but he’d been strongly encouraged to partake of their hospitality. The man proved savvy enough to understand what the invitation meant.

Like most Redeemers, he had a sordid past. In his former life, he’d been in charge of a fort, tasked with collecting taxes from the nearby domains, which he had embezzled. That by itself was enough of a crime, but he’d dipped into the garrison’s supplies, and when the raiders came, the fort fell. He’d barely escaped Sauven’s wrath and found a place in the Redeemer Tower.

As potential informants went, he seemed like a sure bet. Greedy. Opportunistic. Untroubled by honor. And yet nothing they’d offered him so far had moved him to break his loyalty to Silveren. He was steadfast.

Doran poured a splash of wine into his glass. Looking for informants wasn’t uncommon. Silveren and he were playing an old game, and they both knew the unspoken rules. Killing the Redeemer kardar would escalate things. There would be a time for that later. For now, he would keep it calm and civil.

“Cut him loose.”

Ridan nodded.

That’s what Doran had always liked about him. No matter the circumstances, Ridan always preferred an underhanded solution. Scheming came to him like breathing, and combined with a healthy appetite for violence, he made for a dangerous opponent. But he didn’t let his urges cloud his judgement. Ridan wasn’t conniving; he was shrewd and calculating, the kind of advisor who never lost sight of the big picture. They were rarely at odds.

Ridan studied him now. “Do you want me to try another one?”

Doran shook his head. “Not now. Silveren will be wary. We have time.”

Eventually, he would have to take the Redeemers on, but open warfare was never his first choice. He preferred to trap and contain, and in the case of an entire knight order, the most prudent course would be to remove them from the field. An expedition outside the borders, a long campaign somewhere far enough away, something to keep them busy…

Eventually an opportunity would present itself, and the old buzzard sitting on the throne trusted him enough to be swayed. At the right time, it wouldn’t take much. A word, a carefully planned encounter, and the Redeemers would be off, leaving him free to fight his private war.

“Well?” Ridan toasted him with a cup. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Who is she?”

Doran smiled at him. “I have found the one.”

Ridan blinked. “The one what?”

“The one I want.”

Ridan choked on his wine. “Will wonders never cease? Come on, give us more. Who is she? Which family?”

“I don’t know.”

Ridan set his cup down with some force. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I looked into her and found nothing. She’s hiding.”

Ridan’s eyes lit up. “She’s a mystery then. You never could resist a secret. What’s her name?”

“Maggie.”

Ridan frowned. “Odd name. Where is she from?”

“I don’t know. She speaks like she’s lived in Kair Toren all her life, with the best tutors and a proper education, but she isn’t from the city. If she was, she would know what I look like.”

“Of course she would. Perhaps she would have commissioned a drawing of you. Pinned to a wall above her bed so she could gaze upon it as she pleasured herself.”

Doran allowed himself a small smile.

“Is she even a noble? Can you at least tell that much?”

“She is. And from a prominent family.”

“Oh?”

“It’s the way she speaks. She looks you in the eye. She doesn’t fawn, preen, or second-guess herself.”

Ridan nodded. “She isn’t checking in her head whether her words align with her conduct lessons?”

“Yes. She was guarded but sure. Several days ago, I went to see her with Berengur, and she was exactly the same then.”

Ridan sighed. “Still looking for his long-lost brother?”

“Not anymore.”

Ridan glanced at him, surprised.

“She told him where Pelegrin has been, and why he chose to stay there.”

She had told Berengur a lot more than that. The way she’d spoken moved him. He’d kept turning her words over in his head on the way back to the Citadel.

“How would she know that?” Ridan demanded. “I’ve had people looking for Pelegrin for months. Nothing. Not a trace.”

“You said it yourself. She’s a mystery.”

“A mystery with access to a wide web of informants?” Ridan tapped his finger on the table for emphasis. “This worries me. Is she an imperial agent?”

“No.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“She doesn’t have the ruthlessness.” Doran recalled her limping and smiled again. “She is smart and sharp, but there is little pretense there. She’s genuine.”

Ridan groaned. “By the Aspects. She’s got her hooks in you. And what did this paragon of virtue ask in return for Pelegrin’s location?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s worse. She’s playing the long game. What did she want today?”

“She came to warn me. We have a man hunter.”

Ridan sat up straighter.

They had run across that type of predator in Dilem. It was a gruesome affair, savage enough for Doran to seek outside counsel. Fortunately, a priest of the Scholar in Dilem had made a study of man hunters. They were rare, afflicted with a particular sickness of the mind, often unable to distinguish between lust and murder. For them it was one and the same, and they chased the thrill of torture and death as if possessed. Sooner or later, they made mistakes and they got caught, but not before they’d reaped their bloody harvest.

“This one hunts knights,” Doran said.

“Shuhoven,” Ridan breathed. “Damn. I never liked that asshole, but he was good.”

“So is the hunter. He has magic, and it makes him faster. Eliarde is his next target.”

“According to your Lady Maggie?” Ridan leaned forward, no trace of humor on his face. “Let me guess, she warned you and asked for nothing in return? Does this not worry you? You have been baited, you have taken the hook, and now she will reel you in.”

“Don’t get ideas.”

“Let me kill her. It will be clean and quick. Think of what’s at stake. Of what we’ve worked for. Think of how high you’re aiming. Why would she show up now, when you are on the cusp of attaining your goals?”

Doran shook his head. “You’ll understand when you meet her. Merro, I mean it. No accidents. Not a hair on her head. She is mine.”

“Fuck me.” Ridan stared at him. “Of all the women you have had, why this one?”

He had enjoyed many women. Some were beautiful, some intelligent, ambitious, innocent, dangerous. But he’d never wanted to take any of them home. The game of seduction had grown stale ages ago, so much so that he could predict how things would end from the first conversation. Years had passed since any woman could hold his interest.

There was something about Maggie that pulled at him. They sat in the garden, talking, and he kept picturing her on the balcony in Ar-Vellen, with the sapphire blue sea behind her. He wanted to show the castle to her, to see her smile at him, to carry her off to his bed and have her until she was exhausted.

If she hadn’t left, he could’ve sat in that garden with her for hours. She was gone now, and the moment he had loaded her into a carriage, he’d realized he’d wanted her to stay. He would rather be talking to her now instead of Ridan, and it irked him that she wasn’t here.

He didn’t feel like explaining all of that, and Ridan wouldn’t understand it anyway.

“It is reason enough that I want her.”

Ridan slumped in his chair. “I swear, you will put me into an early grave. Have you communicated your interest?”

“I hinted.”

“And?”

“She ran away.”

Ridan threw his arms up. “At last, there is justice in this world. The one woman you finally want doesn’t want you. I’ve changed my mind. I like her. Just a bit. Not enough to keep me from killing her…”

“Merro,” Doran sank some command into his voice.

Ridan grinned at him. “I got it, I got it. Not a hair on her head. Can I at least look into her? Is that allowed?”

“Yes. Find out what you can. Be discreet.”

Ridan put a hand on his heart. “When have I ever been otherwise?”

“I want to know who she belongs to, and where she comes from. Tell me as soon as you have something.”

Ridan beamed at him. “As you will, my lord.”