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“Oh.” Maximus sat up, careful not to disturb Artemis. His mind felt muddy, but whatever Alderney had come for must be important.
“I’ve provided your visitor with luncheon and he seems quite content, so I believe you have time to perform your ablutions and make yourself presentable before entertaining him.”
“Thank you, Craven,” Maximus said a little wryly as he rose, nude, from the bed. “You know about Captain Trevillion?”
“Indeed,” Craven replied, back still turned. “I have looked in on the captain and he appears to be resting peacefully. The doctor has sent word he will return this afternoon to see to his patient.”
“Good.” Maximus felt better knowing the captain had survived the night.
Craven cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help but notice that Viscount Kilbourne was no longer in the cellar.”
Maximus stilled, water dripping from his face. “What?”
“He appears to have somehow freed himself from his chain with the help of a mallet and chisel and escaped.” Craven very carefully didn’t look at Artemis, still burrowed beneath the covers.
us rose and stepped over to the mare. She’d stopped thrashing and lay, her great sides heaving. Her right front foreleg was held oddly, either broken or very badly hurt. An ugly hole marred the mare’s smooth chocolate hide at her chest, and her mane trailed, wet with blood, on the cobblestones. For a moment he saw his mother’s hair trailing bloodily in the wet street channel.
He shook his head and stepped closer. Cowslip rolled her eye as he neared, afraid and hurt.
He drew his short sword.
Maximus knelt, covered her eye, and slit her throat.
Chapter Eighteen
Lin screamed as the red-hot coal singed her palms, but she did not let go of Tam. King Herla flinched at her cry and made as if to tear the burning coal from her hands.
“No!” Lin said, holding the burning coal away from the king. “He is my brother and I must save both him and me.”
At her words his eyes saddened, but he nodded and withdrew his hand.
And the cock crowed.…
—from The Legend of the Herla King
Artemis woke in the early hours of morning to the sound of splashing. She rolled over in Maximus’s great bed and saw him standing by his dresser lit by a single candle. He was bare to the waist and splashing water on his chest and hands… water that was running down his chest in red rivulets.
She sat up. “You’re hurt.”
He paused, then continued sluicing himself, apparently without regard for his carpet. “No.”
She frowned. Something was the matter, he was too quiet. “Then whose blood is that?”
He looked at his dripping hands. “Captain Trevillion’s and a horse named Cowslip.”
She blinked, wondering if she’d heard right. But as she stared at him he said nothing more. She wrapped her arms around her bent knees. She remembered, vaguely, meeting the dragoon captain years ago in St. Giles. He’d seemed a stern man. She shivered. “Is Captain Trevillion dead?”
“No,” he whispered. “No, but he’s very badly injured.”
“What happened?”
“I found him.”
“Who?”
He finally looked up at that, and though his face was drawn, his eyes burned. “Old Scratch. The man who killed my parents.”
She let out a sigh. “Then you captured him?”
