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Heath was still mulling over it all as he walked from the castle back toward the family manor. It wasn’t a long walk, and the route was so familiar, he paid little attention to his surroundings.
So little attention that he failed even to notice the sound of pounding hooves until a shout of warning pulled him from his musing. He gasped at the sight of a runaway horse charging toward him at full speed. There was no sign of a rider or owner—the creature was unsaddled, and seemed to be completely out of control.
By the time Heath looked up, it was almost upon him. He threw himself to the side of the cobbled street, crying out in pain as one flailing hoof actually grazed his arm. A narrow escape indeed.
The thought had barely crossed his mind when heavy fabric fell on him, blacking out his vision completely. As he struggled with what he suddenly realized was the collapsed awning of the potter’s stall next to which he’d been walking, something flickered at the edges of his awareness. Something familiar and yet foreign, its presence barely reaching his consciousness through the panicked feeling of blindness and suffocation.
Heath stilled, trying to clear his thoughts and focus. The hoofbeats had faded—he was in no further danger from the runaway horse. And although the awning was heavy, and his breath was coming in frantic bursts, it wasn’t actually enough to crush him, or suffocate him. Panic was uncalled for, and would achieve nothing.
But just as his breathing started to slow, he heard another scream of warning. He made one more futile attempt to get the fabric off him, but he was too entangled. Letting go of all thought of tracking down whatever elusive sensation had piqued his interest a moment earlier, he focused his attention inward instead, trying to tease out the magic Reka assured him was strong inside.
“I need to see,” Heath muttered, opening his eyes against the blackness and staring straight up.
At once, his vision flared to life. He could tell that his physical eyes were encountering nothing, but at the same time he could see with perfect clarity what was on the other side of the muffling fabric.
His eyes widened at the sight of a tall stone chimney teetering directly above him. It had been built onto the blacksmith’s forge which sat beside the potter, but something had caused it to come adrift. Even as Heath watched, it began to fall outward, and he was right underneath it.
Heath didn’t try again to get free of the awning—there was no time for that. With an almighty heave on the thick blanket of fabric, he instead rolled to the side, throwing his body across the ground with all his might. To his great relief, the fabric came with him. He rolled over and over until he was completely wrapped up in it, unable to get any further and with no hope of extricating himself.
But it had been enough. With a deafening crash, the chimney fell. Heath watched it happen with his other vision, and felt the pattering of stray chunks of stone as they scattered onto the top of his fabric cocoon. He was relieved to note with his extra sight that the onlookers had all been able to run out of the way of the falling stone, unhampered as they were.
As soon as the sound of crashing rock was silenced, exclamations rushed in to fill the space. After scanning the area to assure himself there was no immediate threat, Heath let his magic drop, his whole body drooping. It was still terrifying to be so enclosed, but he knew he’d escaped a gruesome death by a hairsbreadth.
Running feet approached him, and soon many hands were attempting to roll him free. Heath could only be grateful when, after a few painful tugs and drags, a commanding voice rose above the babble, bringing order to the chaos. Under the speaker’s instruction, someone began to cut Heath free.
Whoever it was mercifully managed to avoid slashing him as well as the awning, and soon Heath emerged into the light with a shuddering gasp.
“Thank you,” he said earnestly, turning to search for whoever had taken charge.
“Lord Heath!” The city guard was vaguely familiar to Heath. Probably a friend of Percival’s. The man looked astonished at the identity of the near-victim, but Heath didn’t stay to speak with him.
“I’m all right,” he said quickly, in response to several inquiries. “I’m not hurt.” He ran a hand over the place where the horse’s hoof had got him, and held in a wince. “Not seriously hurt. I’ll be fine.”
“You were very lucky!” said another onlooker, with sympathy in her eyes as she glanced at the ruined building and crushed stall nearby. “The blacksmith and the potter less so.”
Heath followed her gaze in alarm, but was relieved to see the men in question exclaiming in horror over the ruined workspace and smashed wares. At least she was speaking of their businesses, not their lives.
“I’m sure the king will be speaking with the blacksmith about keeping his building up to code,” the guard said sternly, his eyes also on the men nearby.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Heath said quickly. The guard looked at him in surprise, and he faltered, “These things just happen…sometimes.”
He immediately wished he hadn’t spoken. The guard looked suspicious, his eyes passing thoughtfully between the slashed awning and the collapsed chimney. But Heath hated the idea of the blacksmith—who’d just suffered what could be a devastating loss—being blamed for what Heath was already afraid had been no accident.
Shaking off all suggestions that a physician be summoned immediately, Heath once again thanked his rescuers and hurried toward his home. He was shaken more than he cared to admit, but less by his near miss than by what it might mean.
He was relieved not to see Percival when he joined the rest of his family. Percival had made himself scarce since the house had been invaded by not one but two noisy infants. In fact, as soon as Heath entered the manor, he could hear one of them screaming at full volume.
Laura greeted him by way of holding the other child out at sight of him. “Heath, can you hold Jacqueline? Germain won’t be satisfied with anyone but me, it seems.”
Heath took his weeks-old niece carefully, lowering himself into a chair. She was so tiny and delicate, he couldn’t help being nervous she would just break. But he didn’t complain. He knew the strain must be wearing on Laura and Edmund. They’d never planned to have their baby—or rather, babies—in Bryford. They were making no secret of their eagerness to return to their home, but the physician was still cautioning them that it was too soon after the birth for Laura to travel, and the babies were too young.
“Thanks, Heath.” Laura let out a sigh of relief as Germain—having successfully made it into his mother’s arms—stopped crying. “You’re my hero—whoa.” Laura swung around, studying Heath properly. “What’s going on? Your emotions are…a mess.”
Heath felt an involuntary shudder go over him. “I just had…an accident,” he said.
Most unfortunately, his father had just walked into the room, and he gave Heath a sharp look. He must have sensed the deception in Heath’s words.
“All right,” Heath said quietly, his eyes now on the duke. “I’m not entirely sure it was an accident.”
