Will cast a furtive look at the window. His father was still chopping logs to the steady beat of thunk, thunk, thunk. “Lord Lowry owns this inn, and it’s all my family has. If we don’t do what he says, he could take it away.”

Wren’s hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. She knew that feeling all too well.

“He won’t find out,” Hal said.

“He wanted information about Danubian patrols,” Will said in a rush. “My dad is from Danu, so I know the border well. And, well … Lord Lowry doesn’t know I have magic. Pa just told him I’m fast. I am.”

“What kind of information did he want?”

“Times and routes. But most important, he wanted to know what kinds of magic they used.”

“Wait, what?” Wren’s blood ran cold as she remembered the notebook they confiscated from Will. Una’s name had a dark slash through it. Wren cycled through the names of the missing soldiers. Byers. Williams. Turner.

All of them had magic.

“Hal…? How many of your missing subordinates had magic?”

He shot her a wary look. “All of them.”

“That son of a bitch,” Wren whispered. “It doesn’t account for his servants, but Lowry is only targeting soldiers who’re mages.”

For one moment, Hal became someone she didn’t recognize anymore, his face eerily blank, his voice low and chilling. “Why?”

“I swear, that’s all I know! He never told me anything.” Will’s voice was pleading. “I didn’t even know about anybody disappearing. Honest!”

As much as she didn’t want to, Wren believed him. “What about the goddessblood in your garden? Was that something Lowry wanted as well?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“Will,” Hal said softly. “I understand you’re worried for your family, but we’re investigating the cases of six missing people. If you help us indict Lowry, you won’t need to depend on him anymore. You won’t need to be afraid.”

Will gazed up at the water-stained ceiling imploringly, as if the Goddess herself might still intercede. “You promise you won’t tell Pa I showed you?”

“We promise,” Wren said hastily.

“Alright. Follow me.”

Wren and Hal exchanged a glance before obeying.

After Will fetched the key from a drawer in the counter, they slipped behind the counter and through the locked door. It opened into a room, dimly lit by what little sunlight lanced through the shutters. On all sides were wooden shipping crates stacked and looming like a crooked toy box version of Knockaine. When they reached the back, Will stood on his toes and pulled a heavy box from a rack. He lowered it to the ground and swiped the thin layer of sawdust from its lid. Beneath his smeared handprint, the label bore the address of Colwick Hall.