"I am Lady Emelyne Carey, knight of the Order of Saint Kilda. This is my companion, Katrina Peirse." Red haired and slender, Lady Carey held herself with unnatural stillness, an improbable, immovable monolith in a quivering human sea. A step behind her, the oval of her companion's scarred face was visible beneath a wolf's head cowl. "You have my word that none among you is responsible for this tragedy… If a tragedy has indeed transpired here."
"You doubt it?" Maud asked, finding her voice.
"If you believe it, old friend, how can we not?" Warmth slid deliberately into Lady Carey's expression, kindness like a diaphanous gown donned over metal plate. "But we owe it to Master Laurence here to investigate."
Old friend. Maud's skin prickled. She felt eyes on her—Emelyne's, Katrina's—and all but heard the questions hovering in the air. The people of Holsworth knew enough of her past not to pester her about it, but their curiosity was as present as a living, breathing dog snuffling at her heels.
"Then we'll investigate," Maud bit out. Turning, she held her hand out to Alais. The night was charged with danger. She wasn't about to abandon Alais with whispers of witchcraft in the air.
Emelyne and Katrina, two inseparable sides of the same bloody coin, trailed them out of the square.
*~*~*
"Am I to believe you two just happened to walk into Holsworth tonight?" Maud pitched over her shoulder.
Their shadows stretched long over the path, blending gradually with the half-wild landscape as they left the town behind them. The clomping of horse hooves accompanied their moonlit stroll.
"You can believe what you'd like," Emelyne replied with infuriating nonchalance. "Is it entirely safe to leave Mr. Laurence with those people?"
"Those people," Maud shot back, "are my neighbours. You'd do well to show them a little respect." From the corner of her eye, she saw Emelyne and Katrina trade glances. Before she'd left the Order, their favourite indictment of her character had been to call her unreasonable. That she was unchanged ought to have sent them packing.
Rather than mount up, Emelyne chose to insist. "It is curious, is it not, that there should be more of these unexplained events since the coronation than before it?"
"Is that what the Order believes?" Maud twisted her horse's reins around her hand. "That evil stirs now the Regent's finally gotten the boot?" She knew nothing of the newly crowned king beyond what little gossip moved with travelling merchants, but she knew his uncle, the now jobless Regent. She knew him very well.
Under the Regent's brief reign, the Order of Saint Kilda had gone from a force equal to the Church and military, to a forgotten branch of the latter. Their training grounds had been confiscated—to prepare men for the war with France—and their treasury sacked to shore up the state's coffers.
There's always a bloody war with France. It was no reason to destroy the country's only bulwark against supernatural threats.
"The Order believes it is high time its wayward daughters returned home," Katrina answered, archly. "And we're here to make sure they haven't forgotten their vows."
They, Maud thought, or I? Perhaps there were others who'd fled. If so, they had run far, too far for Maud to ever hear of their exodus. Her own was no point of pride. She gritted her teeth against the derision in Katrina's voice.
She had thought long and hard before abandoning the Order; unlike the first time she'd fled home, disappointing only her parents and older brother, she'd known that to forsake her shield-sisters was to carve out a piece of herself.
She'd done it anyway.
"You three know each other, then?" Alais had been silent since they'd left town—brooding, Maud had assumed—but the distance from Holsworth must have been enough to bolster her confidence. Her hand still in Maud's, she turned to Emelyne. "From before?"
"Maud and I grew up together," Emelyne replied in her honeyed voice. "We even trained together."
"Yet you wield no sword…"
"I am a mage," Emelyne confessed, the way a woman of her standing might have said she preferred the waltz to the quadrille: more coquette than brazen, less blunt than self-assured. "This," she added, tilting her staff toward Alais, "is my weapon of choice."
"Keep that thing away from her," Maud snarled.
Arching her brow, Emelyne swung back the staff. "It's quite harmless."
"Nothing about your kind is harmless," Maud said and relinquished her hold on Alais's hand. "We're here."
The farmhouse wasn't much to look at. Sprawled over a single storey, it emerged from between two wooden outhouses with a thatched roof and uneven stone walls. It would have looked shabby even on a good day. This was not a good day.
The front door gaped open. All windows were dark. No whisper of smoke wreathed up from the chimney.
"Wait here," Maud told Alais.
"I don't know that I should." Agitation hummed in her voice. "Benjamin's a friend—"
"Someone should keep watch over the horses," Emelyne said. "I'd suggest Katrina, but… Well, you've seen her."
And if Alais hadn't, that incentive was enough to guarantee the sweep of her gaze over Katrina's lithe and agile form in the split second before she disappeared into the farmhouse.
Emelyne flashed Alais a smile and followed suit.
"If you hear anything," Maud warned, lowering her voice, "ride back to Holsworth. Don't come in there."
For a moment, Alais looked set to argue. She nodded, pulling her shawl tighter around herself. "Maud—" She licked her lips. "Why are they here? Why now?"
Because the rightful king sits the throne again. Because his uncle is no longer the lesser evil between a madman and a child. Maud curled her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She had long promised herself never to lie to Alais. "They're here for me."
"To take you back."
"To take me back."
Alais's expression shuttered. "I see." She said nothing further as Maud turned on her heel and followed Katrina and Emelyne into the farmhouse.
*~*~*
Maud pushed past the farmhouse door, quivering with fury. "Witchcraft my arse! This was man-made! That bastard. That wretched bastard—"
"What is it? What did you see?" Alais darted up from her perch on the edge of the trough, one of the horses startling as she stood.
"Dead. The lot of them." The children and wife, too, just as the townspeople had said. They'd been hacked apart, blood and viscera everywhere, the whole house a hellish landscape. Maud gripped the rotted wooden fence with both hands and dug her fingers in tightly. For all her taunts, she'd retained a sliver of hope.
Perhaps Laurence had indulged in one drink too many. Perhaps he'd endured a lucid dream.
"Good Lord…" Alais had the good sense to muffle her prayer behind her hands. "What will you tell the townspeople? They're sure to hang him if they hear he's guilty."
"He's not." The farmhouse door banged open as Katrina stepped out.
Maud rounded on her. "You saw what he did!"
"Emelyne says he was bewitched." And Katrina, judging by the casual hitch of her shoulders, saw no reason to disagree. Impervious to the fire in Maud's eyes, she leaned against the side of the house and calmly dug out her smoke-pipe and tobacco.
Maud toyed with the prospect of pummelling that smug look right off her face. All that stayed her hand was Alais, watching their exchange with wide eyes.
"Is that possible?" she asked, her voice hushed with timid hope.
"No," Maud grunted. It was cruel of Katrina to even suggest it.
"Yes." Emelyne leaned on her staff as she emerged from the shadows of the farmhouse. "And I have proof." In her right hand, she clasped a child's wooden doll by the arm. Blood marred the front of its ruffled cloth gown, yet even soiled, the toy looked too expensive for a man of Laurence's income. "The head detaches," Emelyne added. "And her belly's hollow."
Alais scowled. "That's odd… Why?"
"So it can be filled full of bones or carved roots or…" Emelyne held up the doll to eye-level, her lip
s curling in distaste. "In this case, a lock of blond hair in a bird's nest. The foul thing still smells of pigeon droppings."
"Someone gave it to the farmer," Katrina explained tersely. "To unhinge him."
"You're certain?" As little as she cared to indulge a wild goose chase, Maud had seen too much in her years with the Order. She knew the evil that could be wrought with but a middling grasp of the occult arts.
Emelyne nodded. "Take heart," she told Alais. "I'm more than willing to speak up for your neighbour. A terrible thing has been done to Mr. Laurence. It would be a great travesty, indeed, if he were to be punished twice."
Katrina kicked away from the farmhouse wall. "Rather lucky we were in town, eh?"
Relief dissipated before it could take proper hold of Maud. "I am not going back with you," she shot back.
"We didn't ask."
"So don't. I'm done with the Order. I've made a new life for myself—a peaceful life, until you two showed up." Maud folded her hands into fists at her sides. "You're not welcome here."
Emelyne looked taken aback. "You blame us for this?"
"I knew you'd gone native, girl," Katrina snorted, "but this is sapless paranoia, even from you."
And if that jab wasn't bad enough, Alais saw fit to add, "They're not to blame. Maud, surely you must—"
"I never said they were!"
Clasping a hand around her elbow, Alais stopped her retreat. "Hear me out. I'm saying they're not to blame because I know who is."
Maud shook off her grip, heart sinking into the pit of her stomach. It took every ounce of self-control that she possessed not to walk away. Speak.
"A few days ago," Alais went on, "when I went into town, there was a merchant. No one I'd ever seen before, which I found odd, though not as odd as his wares. Silks and jewellery, perfume and porcelain… Not the sort of thing that's usually sold in Holsworth," she added, glancing to Emelyne and Katrina. "I saw him sell far more than dolls, to many around town."
Emelyne stepped forward, her expression grim. "Then there could be others. And we've no idea where he might be headed next."
"No," Alais agreed, "but I heard him refuse rooms at the inn, saying he preferred to make camp on holy ground. One more thing I found strange about him, I suppose…"
Maud frowned. "He wouldn't be sleeping in the church." The vicar would never allow it.
"There's that old Roman abbey, near the woods?" Alais pinched her mouth. "I know it's not my place to say this, but… Maud, you can't let him go unpunished. Not after what he's done."
Duty and valour sank their hooks into Maud's flesh. For the better part of four years, she had excised the Order from her life, denying herself the family she'd built among its exclusively female members. Believing herself alone in her refusal to compromise with the Regent, she had severed all ties and put Sir Maud Kingsley to bed.
And here was Alais, tugging on that old thread, worrying an old wound.
Maud sighed. "Let's see about this abbey, then."
*~*~*
Alais's prediction proved true. As they approached the old church ruin, the timid flickers of a campfire began to illuminate the path ahead. Maud held up a hand. She did not mean it for Alais, who'd kept so close behind her as to see the trouble that potentially lay ahead, but for the other two. The last thing they needed was for Katrina to open fire and kill an innocent man.
"Wait here," Maud whispered, and gave Alais's hand a tight press. She did not pause for her acquiescence before disentangling herself.
The abbey wasn't much to speak of: four stone walls beneath a roof that had long given way to the harsh winds that rippled across the moors; its central nave had been largely reclaimed by nature. Weeds sprouted from the moss-covered masonry and heather formed a wild carpet around the structure of what must once have been the altar. Two horses grazed placidly beside a wooden cart. The lighter of the pair picked its head up at her approach.
Maud stilled and waited for the animal to calm before she proceeded.
The closer she ventured to the campfire, the clearer the setup became. A single figure sat on a barrel, cooking some small game on a pair of sticks suspended above the flames. No merchant had ever passed through Holsworth and gone to this much trouble. The town had a perfectly serviceable inn, with a functional public house and a decent menu. There was no need to sleep in a tent such as the one Maud spotted leaning against one of the church walls when there were beds on offer there.
Something was amiss here. Maud cleared her throat. "Good evening, sir."
The figure by the fire darted to its feet. In so doing it, he kicked his precarious-looking spit, sending his supper directly onto the crumbling logs. Annoyance flashed across his flushed face an instant before he focused on Maud again, one hand already clutching the dagger at his belt.
"I mean you no harm," said Maud.
"Be gone, then!" The merchant's voice was like sandpaper, with a southern accent that reminded Maud of the many months she'd spent training by the coast. "I'm warning you! I'm armed!"
"I can see that." Maud held up her hands. "But I assure this is a peaceful country." Or it had been, until a few days ago, before the Order decided to send its minions after her. "You have nothing to fear, sir. May I ask your business here?"
"None of yours!" Agitation burned in the merchant's eyes. "Are you alone?" he asked, nervously licking his lips.
Maud nodded. "I live nearby. I saw your fire and thought to see if you were in need of assistance—"
"What're you? Some kind of Good Samaritan?" His acerbic tone told her how little he made of that suggestion.
"A Knight of the Order of Saint Kilda." She lowered her hands. The pretence of harmlessness could only do her so much good with that confession hanging in the air. "A man was recently driven mad in the town near here. The locals have reason to believe he was poisoned by an object imbued with magical character." Reaching into her tunic, Maud produced the doll. Its wooden head tipped a little drunkenly to one padded shoulder, the yellow mop of hair no longer a tidy cluster of ribbons, the dress wrinkled.
Recognition flashed in the merchant's expression. "Never seen that before." He was lying.
"No?"
With a flick of the hand, Maud lobbed the doll in his direction.
It wasn't much of a projectile, but the merchant sucked in a frightened breath and pulled back as though it might burn him on contact. The doll fell limply to the ground. He kicked it into the fire, recoiling from the flames that leaped from its shiny, inert body.
"Are you mad, woman?"
Maud cocked her head. "It was enchanted. I didn't say it still is." She watched the merchant register his mistake—too late to pretend otherwise. "You've blood on your hands, sir. Three children and their mother, God rest their souls."
The jig was up. The merchant bared his teeth in a smirk. "The hell do I care for three whelps and some whore? It worked. Just like I knew it would." His snort echoed around the campfire. "What good is power if you don't use it, eh?"
"You can ask yourself that all you like—from your cell in Northallerton Prison." Maud took a step toward him. "While they ready your noose."
The merchant's body locked with tension at her approach. "I'll never see the inside of a prison! He'd never allow it!"
He? Setting aside confusion, Maud lunged for him. She was unafraid of flames or megalomania, but years of peaceful country living had cost her. She was too slow. Before she could grab him, the merchant dipped a hand into the pocket of his overcoat and flung out a palmful of red-tinged soot.
Skidding in her tracks, Maud instinctively thrust a hand up to cover her eyes. Her lungs seized. She knew better than to breathe in the unnatural fog.
When she looked again, the merchant was gone.
"There!" Emelyne shouted from the shadows.
One of the horses whinnied, rearing up on its hind legs and disgorging its payload into the dirt. Katrina slapped its behind, sending it bolting down the hill. The other animal followed, frighte
ned by the silhouettes suddenly melting out of the thick, black night.
The merchant scrabbled backwards on hands and knees, retreating into the glare of the sputtering campfire. He swung his gaze from Katrina, wearing her wolf's head cloak, to Emelyne in a high-waisted gown with bouffant sleeves, a shawl draped around her shoulders in deference to the evening's chill.
"This ain't all of you's, is it?" His lips peeling back in a smirk, he muttered something under his breath—an incantation, Maud realised a beat too late—and tossed a clump of straw tied with yellow ribbon into the fire.
At first nothing stirred. Maud breathed a sigh of relief. She'd never cared for the arcane. Like Katrina, she didn't have an ounce of occult sensibility in her body. "Enough of this cat-and-mouse nonsense," she snapped and made to grab the man by a bony elbow.
No sooner did her fingers brush his arm that Alais flung herself out of the shadows with a blood-curling shriek.
For a muddled instant, Maud thought that Alais had gone mad and decided to attack the merchant with her bare hands. But it wasn't the merchant she charged at, nor were her hands empty when she tackled Maud to the ground, her short, skinny build surprisingly powerful when she wielded it with no concern for her own safety.
The sword sheathed at Maud's belt instantly lost all purpose.
"Alais!"
Her name in Maud's mouth yielded no recognition. Her eyes were bloodshot with unnatural rage, her teeth bared like an animal's. The knife she usually secreted in her boot gleamed in her fist.
She aimed a piercing blow for Maud's right eye, but Maud dodged it easily, the shiny tip piercing the hard-packed dirt. Alais raised the blade again, her whole body animated by blind wrath. From the corner of her eye, Maud glimpsed the merchant produce another clump of straw—a puppeteer's jinx, it had to be—and gleefully lob it into the fire.
Katrina brought up her recurve bow, the arrow already notched, and sighted Emelyne.
"No!" Maud cried out. She managed to grip Alais's wrist, but reversing them was all she could do before Katrina loosed the bowstring.
With a flick of the elbow, Emelyne flung out her staff, crystal at its summit shimmering with unnatural light. Katrina's arrow curved and found purchase through the merchant's eye socket.
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