Service trees that bushed upward were full of white blooms. They carried the faint sweet smell of spice and lined the road to Baron Serres' estate. Branches full of leaves and flowers blocked the view to the fields on the left and right. Pedals would eventually fall, flutter to the ground, and cover the path in white. The chateau was a large structure with a brick exterior. It had large windows on the first and second floors, and chimneys that rose from the peeked roof. Gables adorned the third floor. Overgrown vines had grown along the left front side of the building.

Hedges lined the circular path for carriages. Hitching posts were positioned near the gate that led to the stables behind the home. Dozens of horses grazed in a pasture beyond the buildings.

Evan pulled his chestnut mare to a stop and dismounted. He handed his reins to a tall redheaded footman who led the horse to the stables. He looked toward Felix, a well-dressed older man with pox scars on the right side of his face, gray hair that was darker in the back than the front, brown eyes, and a stern face. He was petite, thin, and barely reached Evan's chest. Felix carried himself with pride found only in a few who understood and embraced their roles.

"I'm here to see the baron," Evan said, and followed Felix inside. "How is he today?"

"Sedate, monsieur," Felix said. He nodded toward the servant who opened the door to the chateau. He paused a moment and took a deep breath. "He's not been well of late… please keep that in mind when you meet with him."

Evan raised his eyebrows and nodded.

Candles in the chandelier flickered as the subtle breeze from the open door caught their flames. The gold glistened beneath the lights, and highlighted the ornate decor of handwoven rugs, finely carved furniture, lace curtains, and gold stemmed candelabras that decorated the foyer. Carved religious symbolism lined the arched door that led to the parlor. The wood shined where hands had repeatedly touched: reflective of a compulsion rather than moments of contemplation.

"Baron Serres," Felix said, "Monsieur Evan Droit is here to see you." He stepped aside and quickly exited the room.

Evan looked at the painting above the fireplace. The ornate gold plated frame surrounded the serene scene of a lake with trees and mountains in the distance. It was a peaceful reminder of Nivernais before the peasants and farmers had taken hold of the grounds near the chateau. Evan smiled when the baron stood from his chair that faced the fireplace. Dressed in a fine green quilted doublet, breeches, white stockings, and black shoes, he looked comfortable.

Omar's long graying brown hair fell in clusters around his full face that was free of blemish. Blue eyes looked upward, and he smiled when he spotted his good friend.

"I'm surprised to see you, Evan," Omar said. He motioned with his hand for Evan to take the seat across him as he watched the flames of the fire. "I realize a fire isn't needed during the warmth of the spring months, but I find myself chilled with age."

Evan took a seat and leaned back against the red fabric. He relaxed and glanced toward the windows that overlooked the stables. "How are the horses?"

Omar smiled and raised his eyebrows. "You'll not find any better in all of France — after supper I'll show you some of my finest. I have a mare who will make you weep when you see her — beauty unlike you've ever seen before. If she took, she'll foal early next spring." He smiled. "My horses would put any of England's thoroughbreds to shame." He chuckled and rubbed his palm along his face. "Why the sudden need to visit?"

Evan turned and looked behind his chair toward the door.

"Felix will not disturb us until I call for him." Omar raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Don't fret. How is Tomas?" He looked toward Evan and met his eyes. "He's one of the finest horsemen I've ever seen… terrible with the blade, but magnificent on horseback." Omar smiled and rubbed his thigh. He shifted his feet toward the fire. "I watched him once ride a horse at a full gallop into the fray of battle — he never doubted his mount or himself."

Evan nodded. "He speaks highly of you."

"I'm the old madman with too few sensibilities left," Omar said with a chuckle, and returned to gaze to the fire. "I fear my friends are but a few of late," he said. His face fell as he continued to watch the fire.

Evan inhaled sharply, leaned forward, and rubbed his hands together. "Tomas has a favor to ask — he would be here himself if he could."

"Oh," Omar sighed, and leaned back in his seat, "What does he need?" He gripped the armrest of his chair and arthritic fingers twisted on his left hand as he adjusted his grip.

"Men will arrive here from Paris," Evan said, and licked his bottom lip. "They have information that Tomas needs." He met Omar's eyes.

Omar rubbed his fingers across his lips. "And how does he plan to gain this information?" He raised his eyebrows. "I do not have the stomach for…" he paused, "the brutal tactics I once craved."

Evan licked his bottom lip and picked dirt from beneath his thumbnail. "Four of the king's musketeers are traveling here to return you to Paris," he shrugged, "under the guise that the king has asked you to be a part of his council."

Omar frowned and shook his head. "King Louis?" He frowned. "No," he exhaled. "The king would not ask for my service on his council — now," he raised his eyebrows and smiled, "he may ask for my council on horseflesh…" He paused a moment. "Does the king require my council on horses? I made him an offer years ago… I never believed he would accept it."

"The king did not send them, Omar," Evan said, and shook his head.

Omar frowned. "Then what reason would they have to come?" He pulled his eyebrows together and deepened the crease between his eyes. He looked toward the flames as his head caused him pain. "I'm not the man I used to be…" he paused a moment, caught in thought, "I'm hardly a man at all anymore." There was a long pause, and Omar stared at the blaze like a man who knew his days were numbered and was content with that knowledge.

"They have information about the deaths of Tomas' family." Evan rubbed his temple and then rubbed his hand along the stubble on his jaw.

Omar parted his lips and exhaled. He pursed his lips and shook his head. "In my own grief, I'd forgotten…" he rubbed again at the fabric on the armrest. "Of course, whatever Tomas needs he may have — I will not stand in the way of his search, Evan, and if it is within my power, I will help."

Evan nodded, grasped his hand on the baron's forearm, and smiled. "You are a loyal friend."

Omar inhaled and looked toward the paintings on the walls. The home he had grown to love harbored the items he had collected during his many excursions overseas: The handcrafted carvings of exotic animals that decorated display tables, Venetian glass that he and his wife had carried from Italy, and the musical display of violins that rested on stands along the walls. "Had my wife been taken from me as Tomas' had… I may have gone to the extreme to find her killers." He shifted in his seat and looked at the painting of her that hung on the back wall. "All I have left of her is here… all of my memories are here…" Omar looked out the window and then toward Evan. "What do you need?"

Evan nodded and rubbed his thigh. "When the musketeers arrive… with your help, I'll keep them detained long enough for Tomas to arrive and he will question them." He patted Omar's arm.

Omar looked at Evan and relaxed comfortably in his chair. He folded his fingers together and nodded. There was a long pause as Omar looked again at the painting of his wife. Beautiful and ornate, she looked forward with brown eyes, rose-colored lips, and a full face. Brown hair clasped behind her head and a high-collar dress accentuated the length of her neck. Dead at thirty, she had given him her all.

"I shot the horse that killed her," Omar said, and kept his gaze on the painting. "I couldn't stand to look at him." He licked his bottom lip, rubbed his palms together, and clenched his jaw. He looked at Evan. "They've called me mad for longer than I can remember," he turned his lips into a half smile, "touched in the head, insane, manic… I know what I am, Evan." He looked at him, and met his eyes. "My bouts of madness are still with me…" he looked to the floor, "I'm terrified I'll turn to madness and forget the little good I've done in the world… for France… for my wife — while she lived."

"She was beautiful… and I remember her being kind," Evan said, and watched Omar mindlessly run his thumbnail over the fabric of the furniture.

Omar met his eyes and nodded. "She was." He stood, brushed off his breeches, and said, "How soon are they to arrive?"

"Days," Evan replied. "Your turnkey, is he still under your employ?" He stood to walk with Omar from the room. "And your cells — are they still usable?"

"Yes," Omar said, "my cells are often in use because of the increase in populace of late," he shrugged, and shook his head. "More people." He sighed. "More problems. Watch Urbain though," he turned critical eyes toward Evan, "his affliction has not lessened over the years… I cannot end his employ in good conscious, but his appetite," he grabbed Evan's arm, "is perverse."

"Do you still collect wine?" Evan asked and crossed his arms over his chest.

Omar nodded. "Yes."

"Good."