“Morry!” Amberhill dismounted and knelt beside him. “Morry…” Gently he peeled away the mask, revealing the older man’s gray face.

Morry’s body quivered. “Betrayed,” he whispered. “Bad business, my boy. Bad men. Betrayed us. Not…not an honor abduction.”

“Morry?” A sob caught in Amberhill’s throat.

Morry’s mouth opened and at first nothing came out, then he whispered, “Remember honor, Xandis. Remember true honor.” He did not speak again.

Amberhill sat back on his heels and rubbed his face with his hands. All his fault. He moved his foot and his toe struck something that jingled. A bulging purse of gold. A mocking gesture from the men who had betrayed them.

He gathered Morry into his arms. At first Goss shied away, but then the stallion allowed him to place the dead man across his back. Amberhill took the purse of gold and led Goss through the fog.

He would not let Morry be found and the blame laid on him. He would find a place for him to rest until he could return his body to Hillander for a proper burial. He deserved no less.

All my fault.

Morry had been a devoted servant, had raised him when his own father was incapable. Had trained him in the ways of the Raven Mask. Now he was gone. Morry had said he didn’t trust the plainshield. Morry hadn’t thought the scheme worth any amount gold. He was right.

I did not listen.

It was one thing for the Raven Mask to steal jewels and trinkets, or even a piece of parchment from a museum, and quite something else to deal in human lives. He knew that now. Morry’s final lesson.

Without looking back, Amberhill led Goss out of the fog into the brightness of day. He would find a temporary resting place for Morry, then pursue the plainshield and his cohorts. When he caught up with them, he would make the plainshield eat the gold, one coin at a time.

“If you do not find my daughter, if any harm comes to her, the eastern lords will march on this city and see your crown removed.”

Lord Coutre’s face was so red Laren feared his heart would burst. Zachary sagged in his throne, rubbing his temple.

“You are under great strain, my lord,” Castellan Sperren said. “Do not use this time to make threats you will later regret. Under other circumstances, we would take your words as treason.”

Lord Coutre’s face only grew redder, his white eyebrows standing out in sharp contrast. “I shall say what I want! It’s my daughter who’s been abducted! What were you thinking by allowing her a ride in the country with the Eletian threat?”

“It was not the Eletians who took her,” Colin said. He displayed the crossbow bolt on his palm. It was common enough looking, and not of the sort of weapon Eletians were known to use.

Lord Coutre dismissed him. “What are you going to do about it?”

Zachary looked up and Laren wondered what thoughts flowed through his mind. Certainly he worried for Lady Estora’s welfare, but her abduction raised so many other questions: Who dared such a brazen act? Could it have been the Eletians? She didn’t think so, but she knew he must consider the possibility. If not, who else wanted the future queen? Some group, no doubt, that wished to destabilize Zachary’s power. Second Empire came immediately to mind.

There were likely other groups and individuals out there with all kinds of grievances. Enemies of Coutre, perhaps, who did not wish to see the clan rise to such prominence with Estora’s marriage to Zachary. Enemies they couldn’t even begin to imagine.

These possibilities and more must occupy Zachary’s mind. What enemy was he facing? Would Lord Coutre follow up on his threat if Lady Estora were harmed? It was not a complication he, or any of them, needed right now.

“We will find her,” Zachary said, his voice gruff. “I’ve a phalanx of Weapons assembling. And I will lead them.”

“No, you won’t,” Laren and Colin said simultaneously.

“They likely wish to draw you out,” Colin added, “so they can capture you, too, or worse.”

Zachary stood and upon the dais he towered over them. “I will not stay. I cannot just sit here and do nothing.”

Lord Coutre grunted. “Better that than you endangering the mission to rescue my daughter. Send your Weapons—they’ll do their job better if they don’t have to worry about you.”

They all looked at Lord Coutre in surprise, and Laren applauded his reasoning.

“I wish to go, too,” he added, “but I am an old man and would only hinder your Weapons. Wisdom is knowing when to go and when not to. I have a wife and children to comfort, so I will leave you now. But I want word sent to me the moment you know anything.”

They watched him as he made his way down the throne room runner. He moved slowly, was more bent than Laren remembered. Zachary sank back into his throne chair.

“I’ll send Ty and Osric with your Weapons,” Laren said. “They can bring word back.”

Zachary gave her the barest of nods. She called a Green Foot runner over to deliver her instructions.

“We’ve wasted so much time,” Zachary murmured.

“Necessary,” Colin replied. “The abductors may have a strong lead on us, but our Weapons shall be tireless in their pursuit. When the Weapons catch up with them, they shall be sorry they chose such a course.”

Such a fervor had grown in Colin’s voice that Laren could tell he longed to partake in the pursuit himself.

“Meanwhile,” he continued, “we shall bring up Weapons from the tombs to take their place and guard you. The gods only know what other acts these villains have planned.”