Behind him lay Fellsmarch Castle, surrounded by soldiers in their familiar striper scarves. Bought and paid for by Arden. Raisa was trapped inside, and Micah had no way to get to her. His heart thrummed painfully. He needed help, and he meant to get it.

He rode cross-country in the dark, taking game trails and grown-over tracks, giving Breaker his head over the broken ground. He kept one hand on his amulet, his eyes on the forest around him. He had no intention of being recruited as one of Montaigne’s collared mages.

On his way up Gray Lady, he was challenged by retainers from three different wizard houses before he’d ridden a mile. It was slow going because he had to disable magical barriers every few hundred yards. He passed the smashed remains of Darnleigh House and Kinley Manor on the lower slopes. It was no wonder the wizard aristocracy was on edge. He was grateful his Bayar ancestors had chosen to build higher.

The Bayar compound was well fortified with layers of magic, and protected by scores of men-at-arms in the Stooping Falcon colors.

“Where’s my father?” Micah asked Riverton, the steward, who greeted him in the Great Hall.

“He and the young Lady Bayar are in the solar,” Riverton said. The steward usually looked as sleek and well fed as a granary cat, but now he seemed jittery, almost queasy.

“Don’t worry,” Micah said, awkwardly patting Riverton on the shoulder. “It will all work out.”

“Oh, I’m not worried, my lord,” Riverton said, looking worried. “I have complete confidence and trust in your lord father.”

I wish I could say the same, Micah thought.

When Micah entered the solar, still covered in road dirt and sweat, he found his father and Fiona sitting at a small table, their heads together like coconspirators. He didn’t like that. He liked it even less when they spotted him and abruptly ceased their murmured conversation.

“Micah,” his father said, with a curt nod. “Good that you are back safely. Your mother has been in near hysterics for days.”

“You’re filthy,” Fiona said, stretching out her long legs. “Should I have Albert draw a bath?” She was wearing pristine red silk and black leathers, her hair caught into a shining braid.

“That will keep,” Micah said. “We need to talk now.” Pouring from the flagon on the sideboard, he took a long swallow of courage. Then crossed and sat down at the table, cradling his glass between his hands.

“All kinds of rumors are flying,” Lord Bayar said. “What is going on?”

That’s the question, Micah thought, studying the two of them. Fiona looked like a cat with a mouthful of feathers, and his father looked almost triumphant. No. Definitely triumphant.