There was only one way to get to the place he had described to Robin, in the rafters that soared over the great hall, and that was by climbing one of the buttresses outside to reach the top of the windows. Long ago, Morgan had broken one of those windows and covered the break with a small spell of illusion.

The challenge would be to reach the buttress and climb it without being detected. Once he had reached the rafters, the shadows would hide him from the people down below.

He finished his second-to-last bottle of the hunter’s spray as he prepared for the journey. The sun was setting when he stepped out of the cottage. As he strode toward the castle, a slim black cat bounded up the path to him. The cat’s form shimmered and changed, and suddenly it was Robin who jogged up the path.

Morgan stopped, and as Robin joined him, he rapped out, “Well?”

“All went very well,” Robin told him. “I slipped through the kitchens carrying the jewel in my mouth, and when I reached her door, I scratched until she opened it to let me in.” The puck’s gaze gleamed. For all the danger in the situation, he looked like he was enjoying himself. “She was most surprised when I spat out a diamond.”

“She didn’t touch it, did she?” Morgan demanded. “You told her how to activate it?”

“Indeed,” Robin said. “And indeed. She was calm, sorcerer, and relieved to hear you were safe. She looked ready. She also has a plan for when to activate the spell. A nervous musician may take a few moments of privacy to ready herself just before a performance, perhaps even make a trip to the privy.”

Relief eased the knot of tension between his shoulders. “Good. You did well.”

“You do not need to sound quite so surprised.” Robin fell into step beside him. “I am capable of good deeds as well as ill.”

“You have a long way to go to make up for what you did.” He shot the puck a hard look. “Don’t get too complacent.”

Robin’s face tightened. “Understood.” After a moment, he asked, “Have you thought any further about the Athame?”

“That’s all I think about,” Morgan replied shortly. “That, and how to help Sidonie.” And how to stay free as long as possible. “Why, have you?”

“Yes, I have had a thought or two. I don’t believe it is one of the Deus Machinae. It has been too stationary for too long. The Machinae are active manifestations of the gods’ will. They were meant to tumble through the world. When they come into someone’s possession, and they’re prevented from that movement, they create more and more havoc around them until the person who holds them undergoes some kind of crisis and releases them back into the world. I don’t witness that kind of dynamic in Isabeau’s life.”

Frustration clawed at Morgan. If the puck was right, all the research he had been doing would have been for nothing. So much precious time had been wasted. “So you believe the Athame is something else.”

Robin glanced at him, feral eyes gleaming. “If Occam’s razor is to be believed, the simplest explanation is usually the best. In that case, Isabeau herself may have given you the answer, and the blade is quite literally Azrael’s Athame—Lord Death’s Knife.”

Morgan tilted his head, thinking that through. “When I first met her, she mentioned Azrael and his Wild Hunt. She said, ‘When Lord Azrael rides, nobody on this earth is ready.’”

“She was correct,” Robin whispered.

“At the time, I hadn’t paid much attention to it, but that moment keeps coming back to me in my dreams.” Morgan rubbed the back of his neck. He was getting a headache where his skull connected to his spine, deep in his hindbrain where the most primitives urges dwell.

Where the lycanthropy virus lived.

“Perhaps your soul knows more than your mind has allowed. Azrael’s Athame helped to create you, and Sidonie said you create the other Hounds.” Robin frowned. “But you and the other Hounds are different from the lycanthropy plague that was loosed in England hundreds of years ago.”

Coming to a halt, Morgan turned to face Robin. “I’ve thought for some time that that strain of the virus has spread from the bites of the other Hounds. I create Hounds only when Isabeau orders. What happens when those Hounds attack others who survive?”

“They are a weakened form of what you are. They do not have the same strength or control that you do. They suffer bouts of frenzy as they lose themselves during a full moon, and they live the normal span of a human’s life.” Robin’s gaze met his. “You and the other Hounds let loose that bloodcurdling sound when you lunge to the attack, so like the baying I’ve heard on those distant past winter nights. What if you are, indeed, Death’s Hounds, and as long as Isabeau has possession of Azrael’s Athame, she controls the Wild Hunt?”

Not long after that unsettling conversation, Morgan knelt on the massive rafter high over the great hall, while Robin crouched beside him. The puck wrapped both thin arms around his legs while his eyes gleamed with interest.

It was a good vantage point from which to watch what happened down below. Morgan got a clear view of the high table, where Isabeau, Modred, the visiting nobleman Valentin, and other notables sat.

He could also see the musician’s alcove where Sidonie would be seated. The alcove was located on a mezzanine above the ground floor near the high table but still far below where he and Robin were perched. Various personages from town clustered around the other tables, prominent merchants and officials, along with other courtiers, Hounds, and those from the castle household who were elevated above the class of servant.

While Morgan had been careful to use the hunter’s spray to hide his scent on the journey to the castle, he knew he was perched too high for the Hounds below to catch his scent. He doubted anyone at the evening’s gathering would think to try to telepathize to him here, of all places, but to be safe, he pressed one finger to the sapphire in his pocket to keep the null spell activated, while he plugged his ears with beeswax. He was determined no stray comment would entrap him.

When servants began to carry out huge platters of food and jugs of wine and beer, the alcove curtains parted and Sidonie stepped out. Behind her, in the shadows, Kallah handed her the lute. She nodded to the other woman, and Kallah let the curtain fall into place.

A hush fell over the people below as they turned to gaze up at this new entertainment. Morgan caught sight of Freya in the crowd. Her expression was avid.