“That’s just it.” His voice lowered. “It only works so long as…”

Behind her, William’s rhythm changed, he held a breath for too long and she knew exactly what it meant.

“You know something.”

“I … no, it’s just a rumor.”

She twisted around to look him in the face. There was no moon out tonight, only the fires at the gatehouse below gave his features any definition of worry. “What is it?”

“You obviously cannot tell anyone, Arable. But de Lacy suspects Chancellor Longchamp will soon replace him, with someone more … loyal. Or corrupt, I suppose, depending on how you look at it. Once that happens, this little equilibrium will be over.”

Someway, he thought he should smile about that. He thought it was something worth making a little joke about. Arable had no words to speak so she simply shoved him away.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? How long have you known about this?”

William stammered for an answer. “It was … it was when the Earl of Warwick first arrived. The day after the stables,” he added, as if that ought to make anything better.

She could scarcely believe it. “That was two weeks ago! Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“What?” His face implied it had never crossed his mind.

“You didn’t think that was something I should know about?”

“It wasn’t really my secret to tell.”

“Do you understand what this means?” She backed up against the battlements, trying to find something more stable than him to support her. “I am here, I am only here, William, at Roger’s hospitality. He knew my father. He knows who I am. If he were to leave…” Her words failed her—she could only begin to grasp the fear of having to run again.

“What is there to be afraid of?” he asked.

“Are you serious?” She was shocked he could be so ignorant. She had spent half her life running from her family’s name. It wasn’t just William’s father, it was anyone who sought to earn favor with him. Even so many years later, Lord Beneger was known to reward those that brought him any news of a Burel, or of their misfortune. They had not talked of it for seemingly mutual reasons, but Arable suddenly wondered if William was even remotely aware of the suffering she had endured over the years in the shadow of his father.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and at least it seemed genuine. “I didn’t think about that.”

She shook her head, stupefied. “I don’t know how that’s supposed to make me feel better. You’ve known this for two weeks. Two weeks, and you didn’t think about what this would mean to me.”