Ragnall & Astraea, 1269-1270 CE

by The Modern Typewriter

Sometimes going home is harder than we think. Family isn't always how we imagine it will be. Sometimes the paths we take in life are simply beyond our choosing. There is more at stake now than ever for the Gonçalves de Clermont scion, and Addison finds herself once again caught up in the rapidly changing tides of history, wondering how on earth she'll make it through to spring.

15. Winter, Honorable Creatures

Chapter Fifteen: Winter, Honorable Creatures

Addison stood in the darkness.

There were voices somewhere beyond this place. And the sound of horses. The rolling of wheels. The rattle of a gilded cage.

But Addison was standing, steadfast and sturdy in the dark of some place she didn't know.

Before her was a door.

Or was it a gate?

Wrought iron or made of wood, it shifted and changed.

A cool breeze came out of the opening, even though someone had left it closed.

The little spool of thread in her belly, spun and spun and spun, outward to that place beyond her, that place beyond where anyone knows.

And then she was reaching.

One minute here, another there.

Hand on the latch and quickly turning. She was bigger than her body. Stretched and distorted, she had become larger than her bones.

It gave beneath her touch. The door swung open.

And then nothing.

Not even darkness.

This place was beyond that. And she was strung up high from that little spool in her belly. Caught on the line of an invisible string.

She couldn't move. She couldn't blink. She couldn't scream.

And a little boy ran from the door into the light of an opening, but she couldn't turn her face to see him. He was always running, and she could never watch him go.

And then the sound of shears. Metal against metal. Sharp and swinging. The snick of a cut. And then she was falling.

Gone was the spool. Gone was the string. The little thread ripped itself from her belly. And she hit the ground with a thud.

And then that awful, terrible, buzz. The incessant sound that had haunted her for so long. It was early this year. Just over her head and out of view.

She hadn't said goodbye.

She wasn't meant for leaving.

She didn't want to go.

Loud and persistent, it filled the air around her. That stupid, stupid sound. And the ground began to shake. Addison let out a pathetic little moan. It was too soon.

It was too soon.

She didn't want to go.

It was too soon.

She curled into a ball and blocked her ears. Anything to get rid of that awful vibration.

The ground shifted beneath her. It shifted and writhed and spun, in a ball of living creatures, and among them her invisible spool still dripping with the entrails it had ripped from her when they cut it too soon.

In the darkness, something moved.

A shadow – a slither – a black snake with black eyes came into view. And the little boy ran, from the door to the light, as though he were caught in a loop. The snake bent beneath him, flattened by his tread, and then slithered again, long black tongue reaching, as it curled into a knot and began again. It consumed its own tail as though that tail were nothing, and then it unwound itself again.

And the little boy ran from the door to the light. He flattened the snake. The snake set itself right.

It consumed its own tail and then unwound itself again.

And Addison couldn't move.

She let out a moan. Tried to protest. But no one was listening. It was her and the snake and the boy, and he was caught in a loop. And the snake was caught in a loop and Addison—

She tried to push herself up, but her arms were stuck where she'd splayed them.

And the snake drifted toward her and coiled itself up. As though it was bound to strike her. Its mouth unlatched and two sharp fanged teeth dripped with poison, as it eyed her. .

Addison stared, wide eyed and hardly breathing, as the snake changed and morphed into something new. A shadow in the darkness, the slow stretch of a sinister grin.

No.

She let out a small sound, struggled to flee but she was caught. There was nowhere to go.

Addison was flat on the cold hard ground. Weak and stuck here without her spool. She was frozen. She remained frozen. She would always be frozen.

She knew what came next.

An old familiar dread hatched itself at the base of her spine. It crawled like a spider up her back, and burrowed itself deep into her neck.

Addison pitched herself backward. Stumbling, and finally free. Her hand came to her belly, clutching at her navel. Searching for her thread. Unbound. Untethered.

But she was too late.

The world burst into flame.

Addison jolted. Jerked forward and out of her seat. But there was a voice in her head that kept saying the same thing.

"Run."

---

Jacqueline caught Fernanda just as she heaved.

The younger girl stared up at her with wild, unseeing eyes, still stuck in the throes of her dream.

"Run," she said, her voice deeper and more haunted than Jacqueline had ever heard it.

Fernanda's body trembled and the girl heaved again. Her throat widened with the need to vomit. And her eyes rolled back. She smacked her head on the bench before Jacqueline could catch her.

"Stop the carriage," Jacqueline demanded, slapping her hand hard against the front of the cabin before gathering Fernanda up in her arms.

The girl blinked up at her, coming to again from her dream and her bout of illness.

The carriage skidded to a halt.

The door was ripped open. And Jacqueline looked up.

Don Fernando quickly took in the scene and reached for his daughter.

"She hit her head," Jacqueline said.

Fernando nodded and cradled Fernanda against his chest. The girl blinked back at Jacqueline and then up at her father, dazedly. Her hands shook as her father carried her out into the snow and deposited her on a cloak one of the men had laid out for her.

---

Addison blinked up at the sky. It was white with no definition. Little specks fell from it freely. They landed in her eyes before she could close them. They burned her, before melting.

Fernando hovered over her, a blur with a face twisted in concern.

Someone came with water. She caught a flash of unruly hair.

"Gallowglass," she breathed. And then Eric was there, piercing blue eyes and a weary expression. He said something, but it was muffled, and Fernando spoke rapidly back.

She frowned at them, and then closed her eyes. Reaching around for purchase on the ground. She tried to push herself up, but two pairs of hands gently urged her back down.

"I'm fine," she croaked.

"The girl is half mad—" A voice said from a small distance away, but it lacked its usual bite.

"Godfrey," she said.

There was a sputtering, and then the blonde appeared, stumbling as though someone had shoved him her way.

He cleared his throat as she blinked up at him.

"Yes?" he sniffed, raising his chin slightly. "You called for me?"

Addison frowned.

"No," she said and then looked back at Eric, silently asking him to get rid of his uncle.

Eric studied her carefully and sighed.

"She's not in her right mind, Godfrey," he said. "She does not know what she says."

His uncle pursed his lips and backed out of view.

---

"We cannot stay here," Baldwin said lowly to his father.

Philippe crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. "I know."

The girl was laid out on Eric's cloak in the snow. If they stayed much longer, with the weather as it was, they'd have to dig the carriage out. And this was a known spot for raiders.

"Gonçalves," Philippe called.

Fernando looked up at him, a neutral expression on his face, as he wiped the snow from his daughter's eyes.

Eric said something too low for his grandfather to hear and jerked his head for Fernando to go.

Fernando looked at the young de Clermont wearily before nodding and leaving his daughter to the care of her mate.

Eric pressed more water to her lips and whispered something in her ear. But even the vampires among them suffered from the elements, their senses drowned in the roar of the wind and the heavy falling snow. The girl murmured to herself and to Eric, and he spoke in her ear, but all the world around them was a scream. It was as though the mountain itself were screaming at them. And the young Fernanda's lips kept moving, voiceless and half coherent, as she spoke the words of another, another who kept telling her to run.

---

When Addison next awoke, she was bundled up in a thick cloak. She was moving, but she did not feel ill as she had previously. The carriage rocked and swayed with its typical unsteady rhythm, but Addison was locked in place. Her cheek was warm, pressed against the fabric of a soft tunic. The person beneath her shifted and flexed their arm, as though to accommodate the shift in her upon waking.

She blinked, dazedly, and caught the slight dip in his collar, watching the fabric give slightly to reveal the remnants of an old, violent scar. She curled her fingers in the fabric of his shirt and sucked in a tired breath, closing her eyes again and pressing her face into his chest.

"You should try to stay awake for a while."

His voice was gruff. It vibrated through his chest and rumbled pleasantly against her cheek. Addison groaned and shifted, sitting up, to look at him.

Eric's eyes were soft, and a small smile played at his lips, though it did nothing to lessen the wrinkle in his brow. The blue of his irises seemed to flicker with apprehension. His arm shifted and fell from her body, allowing her room to stretch and make herself comfortable.

"What happened?" she whispered, pressing her hand to her forehead, which gave an unpleasant throb.

"You had a dream," he said. "At least, that's what Jacqueline says. You became unsettled, and when you came to, you hit your head."

Addison closed her eyes and tried to remember, but she came up blank.

"Was I outside?" she asked, remembering the cool fall of snowflakes on her face, and the burn of the cold as it settled into her eyes.

"Aye," Eric said and reached for her. "Come here," he said.

Addison went willingly, muscles bunched and achy in an unpleasant way from spending so much time locked up in one position. Eric encouraged her to turn her back to him, before pulling her against his chest. Steady hands came up to her temples. He worked at the tension in her forehead, her jaw and the base of her neck with deft hands, and Addison melted into him.

"Better?" he asked, when he felt her muscles loosen and begin to relax.

Addison didn't want to open her eyes. The knots in her neck had melted away, but an unpleasant ache persisted in her temples and behind her eyelids.

"My head," she murmured, turning her face to press more firmly into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"I know," he sighed. "Jacqueline said you hit it pretty hard. It may hurt for a while yet, mo chridhe."

Addison let out a long, impatient sigh. "What are you doing in here?" she asked, bringing her hands up to hold onto his forearms, quietly asking him not to let go.

"Thought it might be best to ride with you for a while."

The corners of Addison's mouth twitched upward slightly. "And that was okay with Fernando?"

Eric let out a gentle scoff. "He knows how to pick his battles."

Addison's eyes snapped open, she let out a disbelieving laugh and turned to look at him. Eric was reluctant to let her go, but she was persistent, and he loosened his arms to let her.

"You know he can hear you, right?" she asked, skeptically.

Eric's lips twitched beneath his beard, and he leaned back casually against the side of the carriage. Addison raised her eyebrows, waiting for her father to stop the carriage and remind Eric of his place in her life, which according to Fernando was secondary and without privileges... her opinion on the matter be damned.

"Gallowglass—" she prompted when he didn't say anything.

Eric chuckled and reached for her again, pulling her into his embrace. She went willingly, shaking her head at his bravado.

Eric pressed a kiss behind her ear. "He's out scouting, mo chridhe," he told her. "So, I think it'd be best if we keep this between you and me."

Addison scoffed and let out a laugh, closing her eyes and relaxing into him once again. "You mean, you, me and the rest of the party."

She felt Eric smile against her. "Precisely."

---

Addison didn't remember dozing off, but the next she woke the carriage was rolling to a stop. She was still wrapped up in Eric's cloak, but he was gone. There was quiet conversation from the men outside on their horses. The quiet chatter of their steeds, and the babbling of water from somewhere in the trees.

Addison swallowed thickly and sat up, stomach rolling and unsettled. Her head was still pounding, though not quite as fiercely as before.

Someone pulled the carriage door open, and Addison shifted, mentally preparing herself to get back on her feet, though everything felt wobbly and unsteady.

Fernando appeared, Jaqueline not too far behind him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his dark hair was a mess and in need of a trim, and Addison wondered briefly if vampires' hair kept growing after they changed. His beard was rough from the road. And his eyes were heavy with concern.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, pushing off the bench so she could exit the carriage.

Fernando didn't look convinced. She stumbled, as though she were walking on sea legs, and Fernando reached for her, not waiting for her permission before he hefted her out of the carriage and set her right on her feet. He brought his hands to her shoulders and kept them there, making sure she was steady.

"You know I can smell when you lie," he reminded her, though his tone was more harassed than scolding.

Addison made a noise, closing her eyes as the world shifted and swayed.

"You're not feeling well," he told her, as though Addison needed to be told.

Addison hummed, and blindly reached behind her, looking for the carriage floor at her back, hoping to turn it into a seat.

Fernando, seeing this, caught her by her arms and guided her to her destination. She pressed her face into the doorframe.

"Thanks," she whispered.

Fernando was silent as he watched her.

"What are we going to do about you, cariña?" he asked quietly, voice burdened by worry.

"I'm fine," she repeated, but she still couldn't open her eyes.

The sound of boots crunching in the frozen grass met her ears. The heavy tread of another approached them as they spoke. Addison squinted her eyes open, closing them quickly against the brightness of the forest, the intrusion of the light, but not before she caught the shadow of a figure she could never confuse for anyone else.

"How do you fare, child?" he asked as he joined her and Fernando.

Philippe.

Addison sucked in a breath, hating how it caught in her throat and mixed with her nausea.

"I'm fine," she lied again.

There was a loaded silence. For as much as Fernando and Philippe were uncomfortable around each other, they did find ways to commiserate quite often.

She opened her eyes and caught the tail end of the look they had traded.

She blinked and tried to adjust to the intrusion of the sunlight, though the forest they had stopped in was shaded, and the light that pushed through was dappled and unassuming.

"Lady Fernanda," Philippe said sternly, his brow furrowing as he looked her in the eye. He knelt down to her level to ensure she was listening. "There is no room for lies on the road."

Addison opened her mouth to protest, but Philippe's eyes hardened as he dared her to interrupt him. Behind the de Clermont, her father held up a staying hand, his eyes soft but his lips settled into a hard line.

Tough love time. Addison sucked in a breath and held it. Philippe watched her with all seeing eyes.

"My men have promised to see you through your journey, alive and well," he said, with an emphasis on the word well. Addison's chest burned with the breath she refused to release. Philippe narrowed his eyes, but he did not tell her to breathe. Not like her father would or even Hugh. She had the feeling if she died on her own held breath, he'd probably deride her for her own stupidity. She let it out and felt her body sag, before she sucked in another breath and held it again.

"Your health is tantamount to their success," Philippe continued, tipping her chin up to look at him when she let her gaze drift toward her feet on the ground. Addison met his eyes, and couldn't look away, no matter how much he seemed to dare her to. "If you arrive at Mont San Michel, anything other than happy, hale, and wholly living, you put their honor at risk. Do you understand that?"

Addison narrowed her eyes.

Philippe raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Do you understand?" he asked again, tilting his head impatiently.

"Seems a bit much to me," Addison bit out testily, the ache blossoming again in her eyes and making it hard to keep them open.

Philippe was silent. His eyes fell flat.

"Come again?" he asked.

Addison blinked at him, and behind him her father had straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, he was watching her expectantly.

Fernanda shook her head. "I don't understand," she said. "How is my motion sickness a risk for their honor?" she asked.

Fernando sighed and closed his eyes. Philippe looked at her blankly for a moment before looking at the ground and nodding his head.

"Your truthfulness matters, Lady Fernanda," he said. "I will leave it to your father to explain the importance of a man's honor to you, as perhaps he should have done before today."

Addison's mouth snapped shut and her nostrils flared. She wanted to tell Philippe not to criticize her father, but she could see Fernando's face. Her silence on the matter seemed to be his only request.

Philippe sighed and stood up, he patted her on the shoulder and turned away. He paused beside Fernando.

"Speak with your daughter, Gonçalves," he said. "We will not wait here all day."

Fernando's jaw ticked, but he nodded and ducked his head slightly to show the de Clermont his respect, waiting to speak again until after Philippe walked away.

---

Addison hated Fernando's passivity.

She had seen him at La Ithuriana the winter before. He shouldn't have to bow to Philippe. He was just as important, just as competent, and he was better with people too. He was just as capable of being in charge.

Philippe had walked away, leaving them with a less-than-subtle warning, and Addison felt a pit open up inside of her, an unsettling mixture of resentment and shame.

Her face burned, and her father seemed resigned.

He came over and took a seat by her side, in the open doorway of the carriage.

They'd sat like this before. Addison's lips quirked despite herself. Her chest was still tight with discomfort at Philippe's attitude toward Fernando, but she couldn't help but recall La Ithuriana, a bench seat beneath a window, and Fernando's awkward attempts at getting to know her when Hugh decided they would make her his daughter.

There was nothing awkward about this now. They were shoulder to shoulder, squeezed in tight, in a too small space, on the road between here and there, and entirely their own entity.

Fernando Gonçalves was the first and last of his name. And Fernanda Gonçalves was what came after those two things whether he liked it or not.

"When I was a man," Fernando said after a long silence.

"A man?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow and eyeing him testily.

He gave her an exasperated, if indulgent, look, but didn't rise to the bait.

"When I was human, I met a man while conscripted. He was strong, but perhaps not the brightest among us. And he had a chip on his shoulder – a lot to prove – though no one was asking him to prove it."

Addison frowned and stared at his hands where they rested palm up in his lap as he told her his story.

"We trained... and marched... We didn't have horses back then," he informed her, turning a bit to look at her as he spoke. "We weren't knights then. Just farm boys who had been handed makeshift weapons."

Addison shifted and met his eyes for the first time since Philippe had left them. Her father had warm eyes, despite the exasperation he often showed. Even in disapproval, the tenor of his features was always warm. Deep brown eyes, and brown skin – two expressive black eyebrows that rested on smooth, unageing skin. He caught her stare and held it, letting her find whatever she was seeking in his expression. The tension that bracketed his mouth didn't fade, but that which resided in her chest unwound. Try as she might, it was incredibly difficult to imagine Fernando's early years. And though she wished to cling to her resentment, Philippe's condescension was quickly forgotten.

"The battles blurred, and neither of us really knew how we had survived. Not with such poor training—"

Fernando was a knight to her. He always had been in her eyes. It was in the way he carried himself. A staunch assuredness that she could only strive to emulate. He often stalked from room to room like a panther drifting through the shadows. Even with his vampire senses, he was always the first to claim a seat facing a door or a window. And he was quick to reach for her, or Hugh, and even sometimes Eric, as though to move them out of the way of some threat lurking around some corner they weren't paying attention to.

Her mind drifted to the boys hanging out of the loft in the stables, and the whispers they traded around his name. They spoke of Fernando as though he were a figure in a myth or a fairytale. They spoke of feats he couldn't have possibly accomplished.

And then she pictured his tale – two farm boys with makeshift weapons – on the road to a war they hadn't asked to be in.

"And then one morning, he didn't wake up," Fernando said with a shrug, his eyes on the trees and some distant memory.

Addison frowned and shook her head. A rudimentary image of a pre-adolescent Fernando staring at her from his memories, his dead friend lying motionless at his feet.

"Just like that?" she asked.

Fernando nodded. "Just like that," he said.

"But—how?"

Fernando sighed and looked at the ground. "He didn't say anything," he replied. "Could have been any number of things. I've always suspected it was his foot in the end. Stumbled into a fire bed, during a battle, suffered a burn and didn't tell anyone. He didn't even let himself limp. He kept smiling, kept joking, kept drinking and all the rest. And then he was dead."

Addison blinked and held her breath.

"Truth matters on the road, Fernanda," her father said. "If you are unwell, you must say so. If you need something to change, you must say so. These men, who are not your blood, Balder and Sir John, Domenico Michele, Philippe and his sons, they are honor bound to ensure that the road does not kill you."

"But—" she started, and Fernando cut her off with a tired look.

"What do you know of honor?" he asked, as if sensing it was a concept she still struggled with.

Addison paused and offered a half-hearted shrug. "It means sticking to your word," she said though it came out more a question. "It's tied to your reputation."

"It's tied to our livelihood. A man is only as good as his honor. Men wage wars over honor, they duel – and kill – over honor."

"That doesn't sound very honorable," Addison countered.

Fernando cocked his head to the side as he studied her.

"That is your view," he said. "And yet, that is what is done. If a man in this company, who has sworn to aid you in your travels, were to fall back on his honor and allow harm to come to you, it would not only affect his reputation, Fernanda. It would affect his landholdings, his alliances, his financial security, and his physical safety. If a man here in this party were to enact harm on you, or deliberately allow harm to come to you, he would forfeit his life to me, as penance for his crime. If I am expected to kill a man for allowing you to come to harm, then it is only right to expect you to do your part by way of honesty and respect for the rules of travel."

---

Addison, with a pit in her stomach, and the image of Fernando killing a man for her vivid in her mind's eye, mounted her horse. She had a salve slathered onto her temples and forehead, it stung and cooled her skin, but it also chased away the ache in her head. Jacqueline had draped a thin veil over her face, to help her block out the bright assault of the sun on her sensitive eyes. The breeze gently crept across her skin, and Addison shivered like the branches that shook in the trees overhead.

Penelope was steady beneath her for once. She didn't shift as she could have, and her predictable motion was a relief in contrast with the unsteady jolting of the carriage. Fernando was off in the distance speaking tensely with Philippe and Baldwin. Every once in a while, one of them would look in her direction, but Addison didn't care.

She couldn't spend another minute in that carriage—

"You checked the straps on the saddle, mo chridhe?" Eric asked, settling a hand on her foot as he ducked down to examine her horse.

Addison turned in the saddle to look down at him, though she didn't have to look far. Even when she was mounted on a horse, Eric was tall enough to be eye level with her waist.

"I did," she said. "And Fernando too."

Eric nodded, but his eyes still ran over Penelope's saddle, and her hooves. He patted her horse's neck, and then ran his hand over her legs for good measure. He glanced up at Addison again, a measuring look in his eye.

"And you've a comfortable seat?" he asked.

Addison frowned and shifted in the saddle. She glanced down at Penelope and then back to him. "I think so," she said.

He nodded, though he gave her a skeptical once over. "Good..."

Addison bit back an impatient sigh. He didn't seem entirely convinced.

"You remember how to control her?" he asked and glanced at the reins which rested in Addison's lap.

"I do," she said, and rattled off the basics he had taught her, having already gone over this with Fernando and Balder.

Balder, behind her, was mounted as well. His horse shifted and snorted with impatience at how long it was taking the men to mount their steeds and get back on the road.

A shout from Philippe had Eric snapping back to attention. He gave her one last passing glance, shot a warning look to Balder, and then made for his own horse, tied up among the other de Clermont Percherons.

Ulysses stamped and snorted with displeasure, tugging at his lead, and demanding that Gallowglass free him. The young de Clermont did so with ease, before swinging up into the saddle as though he were born there. Addison watched him from afar and wished he would ride beside her. Beneath her Penelope shifted. And Jacqueline climbed back into the carriage behind her.

Philippe made a gesture and called the men to order. Addison took the reins in her hands. And when the party moved out, Addison guided Penelope to move with them.

---

Matthew de Clermont, though half feral and often driven to madness by grief, could be warm right to his very core. Like a flame, he often attracted – in large swaths – thin winged moths, unassuming creatures that did not know how easily they offered themselves up for burning. Creatures who did not realize that was all Matthew's fire was good for. His warmth was a warning. He did his best to stamp it out by way of a distant, and often frigid exterior. And yet—

He blinked back the stark image of Eleanor's burial shroud. She faded like a shadow on his heart, and he stared deliberately up at the sun as though to burn through the darkness with its unforgiving light.

The young Gonçalves girl was no moth. She was more than wary of an open flame when she saw one. And she'd had Matthew pegged from the very first time she saw his face. Since that day on the church steps, when he was but a lurcher to her, lingering in the shadows of God's house, waiting to be condemned or relieved of his burdens, he had known she understood him. In that base, human way that so many learned to disregard.

Fernanda Gonçalves gave Matthew de Clermont a wide berth. And it was a blessing that she did.

Delicate skin broke between his teeth. Fragile bones in his hands snapped and crumbled like dust or fine sand. His eyes had locked on Baldwin's – drinking in his brother's horror as he laid claim to Eleanor's body as well as her fear.

"Fine day, is it not?" Domenico asked, his voice casual from the place where he rode beside Matthew toward the back of the line.

Matthew flinched from the memory and blinked at Domenico.

His friend watched him with a knowing glimmer in his eyes. Like a trickster contemplating his illusions.

"I bet a pretty face like that could chase away a demon or two." He kept his voice low – too quiet for the others to hear. Domenico had always tended to drift toward the controversial.

Matthew followed his gaze to his nephew's mate. His face twisted, and he spared Domenico a look of reproach.

"She's a child," he said, just as quietly.

Domenico bit his tongue, quirking his lips. "Hardly."

Matthew's frown deepened. Domenico had the sense then to tear his eyes from the young Gonçalves girl to watch the half feral de Clermont more intently, calculating whether he'd taken it a step too far.

"I speak only in jest," he said lightly, a half-hearted attempt at smoothing over an awkwardness between them.

Matthew's face morphed into one of skepticism. "That's what you said about the dog—"

"How'd she taste again?" Domenico's teeth flashed with his grin, mind turning back to the memories of that day in Matthew's corridor when the old mutt had wandered in, reeking of the little human and her bed.

Matthew sat a little straighter in his saddle, adopting an expression of neutrality, he gave his friend a warning glance that went unheeded. Chest pulling with shame as he recalled yet another regrettable low point.

"The mutt was male," he said tersely.

"But it was covered in her," Domenico countered, licking his teeth and staring pointedly at the back of Fernanda's head.

Matthew curled his lip. His throat burned and his mouth recalled the stale quality of the old mutt, and the way his unappetizing blood had coated his tongue. Mortification and disgust washed over him anew.

He and Domenico had often enjoyed such games as these. In Venice where the weather was ripe, and the women were agreeable. In the Holy Land, amid the heat of battle. In Constantinople. On the sea and on land. In taverns, churches, alley ways, and battlefields.

Matthew had found solace in Domenico's household after several bouts of misfortune and an increasing distrust for his siblings by way of Philippe. The rage had calmed inside of him as a result of their games. But he was home now, and he had his duties. He had a duty to his family above all. And Domenico was meant to act as a buffer for the madness. He was not meant to stoke the flames. The girl was under his family's protection. She was courting his only nephew. A nephew he cared for more than he'd ever wished to admit aloud.

She was not part of their games.

But Matthew was only half-sensible these days. Domenico knew what best could calm him, but he also knew what fun could come from Matthew's rage. Even if he did not know the sickness by name, he sensed its potential, and he prodded it every chance he got.

Behind them, the girl's carriage rattled along the rocky, unstable road. Neither manjasang noticed Fernanda's maid Jacqueline. Neither noticed her listening intently, or how her sharp, cat-like eyes tracked Domenico wherever he moved.

---

There was a musical quality to the wind on a vast and snowy plain. As it sighed along the landscape, broken only by the beat of sturdy warhorses, and the occasional calls of men.

Gone were the peaceful sounds of birdsong. Gone were the church bells. Gone were the men who guarded the gates.

There was no gate here between her and the rest of the world.

There was only her and these men, and the temperamental hands of fate.

She zoned out – lulled by the tsk tsk tsk of bridles, and saddles – hooves and the air they displaced with the force of their gait.

It was hard to believe she'd woken only that same morning on the ground, in a tent, with Eric perched against a tree right outside. Addison felt as though she'd lived many disjointed lives in the time in between. How many eternities could exist in one blink?

They were perfectly normal on the road. Or, perhaps, as normal as they could be.

They had jobs to do. Duty rotation. Hunting, gathering, scouting, guarding her, guarding the horses, maintaining the carriage, looking after the mule. Pouring over maps that Philippe swore they didn't need and did not use. Exchanging letters. They traveled with messengers. Some of the knights, she'd thought were knights, turned out not to be at all. Couriers, who maintained de Clermont business on the road. They were like medieval cell towers. They dotted the landscape and always seemed to know where to go.

Jacqueline maintained Addison's hair, and her skin, to protect it from damage. She mended Addison's torn clothing when she could. She helped with gathering water, starting fires, checking Addison's hands and feet for blisters or other injuries. She just seemed to find things to do. There was always a pocket in the men's work for the day that she seemed to instinctively know how to fill. She was comfortable on the road in a way that Addison didn't think she would ever be.

And once again she was struck by how seamlessly Jacqueline could be a medieval lady, rather than her maid. And she envied her too, in that way that she had so often done at La Ithuriana, because Jacqueline had a clear-cut purpose, and Addison's purpose was languishing. Her role was to be helped. Her role was to be protected. Her role was to allow the men to maintain their sense of honor. Her role was the stay alive in a world that had tried to kill her so many times, she no longer remembered how to feel safe.

She felt entirely on display, though no one here was actively looking at her. They were looking at the trees, at the road ahead, they were looking over their shoulders, watching their backs – and hers – for kingsmen.

And it was freezing. Addison should have been freezing. They'd been enveloped not too far back in a vicious wall of winter whiteout. It had consumed them whole.

And Addison—she shook her head and her temples throbbed.

She reached up to tug at her veil, to block out the light, but the sun had trapped itself behind her eyelids, though the sky was grey now, and not white.

As they traversed mountain towns and valleys, climbing somehow higher still, out of the Auvergne and through foreign territories, she felt as though she had been tipped into a snow globe.

But she did not quite feel the chill. Sure, her cheeks were dry and cool to the touch. But the cloak wrapped tightly around her was made of warm, high-quality wool. Her hands should be chapped and raw, she should have them pressed to her lips to try to warm them, but instead they were clothed in insulated, butter-soft gloves and the reins fit easily in them. The ground was a dappled mess of snow, ice, mud, and grass. And the trail was well kept and compact, she wondered if there were people out there who maintained it, perhaps by an ox and plow.

And, quite unsettlingly, Addison felt okay.

Eric had been right. Nothing had really changed. Philippe was still in charge. And Baldwin was still impossible to make sense of. Godfrey was still a dick. And Matthew still did weird things to her sine and belly. Gallowglass was steady as always, and actively trying to give Fernando an aneurysm with the liberties he had taken. And Fernando was still curmudgeonly and exasperated as ever.

Nothing had changed.

But the world was different outside of the four walls of a castle, and the protection of its heavy metal gate. The world was different, and Addison felt herself succumbing again to that age-old dismay.

She was not afflicted by the cold as she once had been, but the snow served as a frigid reminder. A stoic warning that Addison had long ago learned to obey. Bad things always happened when she started to feel safe.

Struck by a muteness she had hoped to have forgotten, she held her breath and took to watching the trees, and the edge of the mountain. Honor bound, they may be, knights had always been less a friend to her, and more an enemy.

She could watch for threats by herself. It would be best if she didn't rely on them too heavily.

---

As the road leveled out, their company slowed. Eric dismounted, to walk alongside Ulysses for a while, and give his back and legs a much-needed break. A few of the others did the same.

He glanced back at Fernanda and saw her, tight-lipped, watching the trees.

He halted and the men broke like water around him, moving along the path and leaving the young de Clermont to his mate, where she rode.

Penelope, sensing his attention, slowed of her own volition, nudging his outstretched hand with her snout.

Fernanda snapped her head around to him, blinking a few times as though waking from a dream.

"Thought you might want to walk for a while, mo chridhe."

She frowned and glanced around them, finally noticing that they had slowed down and were giving the horses a rest from their weight. Jacqueline had even hopped out of the carriage to walk a while in the sunlight.

Fernanda sighed and shuffled her way down, out of the saddle.

Eric caught her before she stumbled and held onto her until she was steady again on her feet.

"Better?" he asked.

"Mhmm."

She gathered up Penelope's lead and gestured for Eric to lead the way.

"When we arrive at Mont San Michel," Eric said after a beat.

Fernanda had closed her eyes as they ambled along, raising her face to a rare drift of sunlight, allowing it to warm her skin.

At the sound of his voice, she opened her eyes and she ducked her ear closer to him, falling into the cadence of his voice and watching her feet. He glanced from her to the path ahead of them as he spoke.

"I was hoping for a moment of your time."

Fernanda's forehead wrinkled as she looked up. "Of course," she let out a confused laugh. "You know you don't have to ask."

He nodded once, looking at her speculatively before turning to face the road ahead. "I know," he said. "I just... I've something I want to give you – something I want to speak with you about. In private that is. And I want to be sure that I do it. There never seems to be a right time—"

Fernanda twisted her lips, a small traitorous dimple appearing in her cheek, as she drifted a little closer to him. Eric let her take his hand. She swung their joined hands between them as they walked, without a care regarding who saw them.

"I don't know if there will ever be a right time, with you and me, we'll just kinda have to make do anyway."

His chest gave a tug at her words, and he delighted at the rare lightness that seemed to overcome her. He twisted his lips. And she glanced up at him, a knowing look glittering in her liquid metal eyes.

"Aye," he said and squeezed her hand. "Aye, I suppose we will."

---

"How is your head?" Eric asked as they rode.

The small plateau where they'd rested their horses had come to an end, and the road had wound once more in a way that required riding.

Addison instinctively brought her hand to her temple as though she were uncertain.

"It stopped hurting a ways back," she shrugged. "But the light is still too bright."

Eric's eyes flickered over her veil which she kept down to shelter her face. "Shall I ask Jacqueline to craft you a more effective—"

"No," Addison shook her head. "This one is fine as it is."

Eric nodded and studied her carefully before eyeing the road ahead.

They rode in pairs down the winding curve of a path. Before her were Godfrey and her father. Beside her was Eric. Behind her, Balder and Sir John. Behind them, Jacqueline in the carriage. The trees were warped here, curving overhead in a tunnel that played tricks on Addison's mind and sent a jolt of unease down her spine.

She could see where the road leveled out and the earth became even again. It was a small hill, all things considered, but she still felt cagey with nothing but Eric between her and the cliff's edge that led into the bramble and brush below.

In the wild, silence turned itself into sound. The wind was louder here on the road than Addison had ever heard before, and the birds that flew overhead and dipped with the waves of an invisible breeze, cawed, and sang and screeched above the rustling of trees and the groaning of branches.

Down in the fields peasants worked the earth as winter slowly considered spring, and sheep with their thick wool coats brayed back and forth to each other, while big herding dogs dozed in large patches of sunlight.

Addison rocked with the motion of her horse and felt the ache in her thighs worsen. Eric had been right; she hadn't spent enough time worrying about saddle sores. Even with the breeches she kept tucked underneath her gown, she felt raw and crampy from sitting in the same position for hours on end.

And with only Eric between her and a cliff's edge, and a half-hearted trust in her judgmental steed, they descended a hill, and her head was still fuzzy from this morning's dream.

She felt as though the snake which had coiled up to strike her, was also the dread that hatched at the base of her spine. She shivered and resisted the urge to reach back and scratch her neck, afraid that she'd find slithering scales wrapped up her back, clinging to her spine.

The light flashed in her eyes again and she flinched, a dull throb returning to her temples.

And her belly twisted with the urge to run. She glanced over her shoulder. Behind her were Balder and Sir John, and then the carriage, but she felt as though there was something or someone further back who was watching her. Someone she could not see. Someone who had followed her through eternity.

A shadow with no name. A face that was blurred at the edges.

She blinked against the light trapped behind her eyelids. And the little boy ran from her dreams, and through the doorway. And the light flashed.

"Fernanda?" Eric asked, voice laced with concern.

Addison snapped back around to look at him. Ignoring the scrutinizing eyes of Balder who had witnessed her odd exchange with an invisible snake.

"Sorry," she said, clearing her throat and settling more comfortably in her saddle again.

Eric wasn't able to conceal his worry. For once, lacking all neutrality, he projected his concern for her and the world to see. He leaned in his saddle, unbothered by the cliff's edge to his left, or the steep nature of the hill they descended. No, he was only bothered by the odd behavior she exhibited. He had eyes for her, in a way that should have been unsettling, but she only wanted more.

"I asked if you were feeling well?" he repeated, a furrow in his brow.

Addison cleared her throat. "Of course," she said, her voice neutral as she could manage.

Eric pulled back, examining her with hurt and intrigue. Addison cringed. She sounded like his grandmother.

She sucked in a breath and held it, stuck somewhere between her dream and the person she was afraid of becoming.

"I am," she said, voice rough with emotion and sudden fatigue. "Sorry. I'm just... unused to this..."

She glanced around them as though to indicate the road and the trees, and the perpetual breeze.

Eric nodded slowly, following her gaze and scratching at the back of his neck. "Right," he said. "Of course, but you'll tell me if..."

"Yes," Addison forced a smile and felt the snake slither up her back. "Of course, I will. Don't worry."

Eric licked his lips and nodded, eyeing her up and down, before facing ahead again. "Of course, mo chridhe."

And the little spool of thread in her belly tugged unpleasantly.

---

Their party was prone to silence. Vampires, she supposed, did not have much to say to each other after so much time. But in other moments, they traded barbs and joked with one another. They commented on the weather and the road ahead and fell silent to listen intently whenever the scouts returned to deliver their reports.

Addison observed all of this, half removed from every exchange, lulled into the rocking rhythm of her horse, and sleepy from the exertion of riding. Her back ached and her shoulders felt permanently locked in place. Eric had been right to tell her to worry about the saddle more than the perils of the road. She had not heeded him of course, not entirely, but her butt had gone numb and she had a terrible cramp in her thigh.

On occasion they would pass by a small house, all on its lonesome in the middle of nowhere, where a small family resided. These people looked on their party with equal parts wariness and intrigue. Most parties that passed through must not have been so ostentatiously supplied, Addison supposed. And the de Clermont horses were all adorned with black leather dressings and gold ornamentation that glinted out at you even in the darkness.

Then when the houses and the peasants and the fields were all gone, there would be nothing again. Just Addison and the party of riders that escorted her, and a vast expanse of the world yet unknown to her but for what she could see from the king's road.

They climbed upward, and Addison felt the tilt in her gut as Penelope began to climb more steeply. On one side, there was a mountain wall, and on the other a tumbling cliff edge, that grew higher and craggier and sharper as they climbed.

There was no Eric between her and the drop this time.

Addison tried to get a glimpse of wherever they were headed, but the sun was in her eyes, and she had to close them, trying to blink the little auras out of her vision.

It would be a long way down if she fell.

Eric caught her eye from up ahead and shot her a wink. Addison pulled a face. Eric chuckled before facing forward again to follow his grandfather and uncles up the steep, rocky incline. Leaving Addison in the middle of the party, and apparently trusting that she wouldn't die.

Penelope's hoof slipped and a scattering of rocks sounded as they plummeted to their death. Addison tensed and sucked in a sharp breath. No one in front of her turned around, though she could have sworn there was more than one tilt of a head and a backward glance.

Everything in her had clenched. But the horses continued their upward momentum and the carriage still rolled, clattering at her back. And though her mind kept replaying the image of the rocks as they shot down into an abyss of trees and snow, Addison had not fallen to her death. And snake coiled tighter around her back and neck, she felt the slide of its scales on her skin as it wound and unwound again.

---

After a small eternity, in a day full of many, they reached a plateau. Eric pulled up on his reins, allowing a few of the others to pass him so he could ride by her side.

"That wasn't so bad, now, was it?" he asked with a knowing grin.

Fernanda, who reeked of fear and the telltale scent of one about to flee, blew out a breath and shot him a glare, rubbing a cramp out of her side and squeezing her thighs too tightly around her steed.

"You could've warned me," she said, voice catching around a long held breath. "There are mountains, and then there are mountains, Eric."

Eric, caught between amusement and pity, scoffed, trying to loosen her nerves. Fernanda licked her teeth and shot him an unimpressed glare before driving her heel into Penelope's side. Eric's lips quirked as his mate tried to overtake him. He clicked his tongue so Ulysses would match Penelope's pace, and pulled up beside Fernanda easily. His mate refused to look at him, and Eric – overcome by the urge to prod at her – couldn't help but tell her the truth.

"That was no mountain, mo chridhe."

Fernanda whirled around – a fury incarnate. Her eyes flashed as she stared at him in utter disbelief. She made a resentful, unladylike noise. It hit Eric in the gut. She was utterly intriguing. And he understood, in a way he perhaps hadn't before, her upset that they had not spent more time disagreeing. He recalled their fight in the woods with some longing.

"Sure felt like a mountain," Fernanda bit out.

A laugh bubbled up in his chest, though he forced it down. "It was not but a hill."

A few of their party chuckled around them, and Fernanda tensed, her shoulders rigidly set. Eric shot the men a glare. She was his to tease, not theirs. Fernanda kicked Penelope into a trot, this time he let her leave him behind. Everyone deserved to storm off in anger from time to time.

"Oi," he called out, feigning surprise.

Addison ignored him, pushing toward the front of their party, pulling up beside her father who held out a hand and reminded her not to overtake Baldwin and Philippe.

---

"Mo chridhe—" Eric called out with a chuckle, but Addison ignored him, straightening her back, and trying to stamp down the displeasure that swirled in her belly.

Fernando glanced at her out the corner of his eye and smirked.

"There's a village ahead," he said.

Addison turned to him. His smirk softened into an expression of sympathy.

"We'll slow down while we pass through. Might be a good opportunity to get down and stretch your legs."

Addison flushed and glanced down at her stiff thighs, and her numb feet.

"Yeah," she said. "Okay."

---

Charoux was a small but prospering village caught in the mountains, stuck between nothing and nowhere. The houses that made up the village were tall and a bit crooked looking, as though they'd been stacked haphazardly on a lot of stilts. This, though she knew at a glance that they were composed of heavy, sturdy stone. The people of the village eyed them with suspicion, but Philippe had a way about him that seemed to either soothe or excite fear in others, and his intentions this day were to pass through unencumbered. So, he was jovial and respectful and though people gave their party a wide berth, something in Philippe seemed to set them at ease.

There was a well in the village square, between the steward's house and a little church with no bell. There was a fountain, with some ancient looking deity carved into the wall. Water poured from its mouth into a stone bath covered in water lilies and algae.

An ox waited in the middle of the road, tied to a cart with hay on the back. The de Clermont party parted around the beast, Addison nervously sticking near Fernando's side.

"Here," Fernando said and pulled his horse to a halt. A few of their company halted with him. Balder and Eric among them. Godfrey rode ahead to keep up with Baldwin and Philippe.

Fernando left his steed to wait for him and came around to Penelope's side, reaching up for Addison to help her down.

She braced her hands on his shoulders and allowed her father to lift her off her horse. When he set her on the ground, he didn't let go, and Addison felt her knees buckle under the burden of her weight. She gasped and held tighter to him.

Fernando sighed and shook his head. "Should have done this sooner," he said regretfully. "Can you feel your feet at all?"

Addison winced. "Now, I can."

Fernando pursed his lips. "Please tell me the next time—"

"I didn't know it was serious."

"Take my hand," he said and held his hand out for her to hold onto. Addison stuck her hand in her father's and let him support her weight. "Take a few steps," he said. Addison did and nearly bit it in the dirt. She sucked in an aggravated breath and groaned.

"Sorry," she whispered, knowing full well he wouldn't be the only one to hear, but desperately wishing for privacy. "I'm useless."

Fernando shot her a dark look and wrapped his arm around her back, still holding tight to her hand. "You're not useless, you're numb," he said bluntly. "And you've no business being on the road anyway."

Addison hummed but didn't respond. She glanced up at Eric where he waited on his horse for her to recover, and she flushed, averting her gaze.

Eric narrowed his eyes and dismounted, tossing Balder his reins.

"Ride ahead without us," he instructed his friend and the rest of the party who had stayed behind to wait.

The knights took their cue to move along, not leaving them behind, but allowing the small family their little bit of privacy.

Eric sidled up on Addison's other side as her father helped her work out the kinks in her muscles.

"When I was a lad," Eric said, walking slowly by her side to match her pace. "I took my father's horse out of the paddock when he wasn't looking. No saddle. No reins. That's how they did it in his day, but me... I'd only ever been on a half-lame pony named Ingrid. I'd no business on my father's horse."

Addison released Fernando's hand as her muscles relaxed and her legs stopped cramping. Fernando let her go so she could walk on her own.

She glanced up at Eric, a furrow in her brow. He grinned and stared at the path ahead of them.

"Not two seconds on the old beast's back, he was off," he chuckled and glanced down at her. "Hurdled the fence, took off into the hills with me hanging on by his mane, my legs had swung up behind me from the force of his speed, and I couldna breathe for how quickly the wind whipped past me."

Addison frowned and reached for his hand, toying with it as they passed through the quiet village in the hills.

"I knew I needed to bail out before he tossed me, but my hands had clamped up and I could not make them release."

Fernando made a noise of agreement and Addison turned to her father.

"What?" she asked.

Fernando shrugged.

"Happened to me a time or two," he said with a shrug.

Addison squinted at him in bewilderment. "What is this some sick, knightly right of passage or something?"

Eric snorted and Fernando grinned. Addison glanced suspiciously between the pair.

"What I'm trying to say, mo chridhe," Eric said and nudged her. "Is that you're doing better than you think."

"I don't know—" she began, but Fernando cut her off.

"Not a week ago you didn't even know how to ride," he said easily. "Now you're here, a two days' ride from Sept-Tours, and all you've suffered is a bit of stiffness in your thighs."

Addison frowned. She was pretty sure she had a concussion from the incident in the carriage.

Fernando grinned as though sensing her doubt.

"The boy has a point," he shrugged and gestured half-heartedly to Eric. "May want to listen to him for a change."

Addison narrowed her eyes and glanced between the pair of them. "Since when do you two agree with each other?" she asked suspiciously.

Eric and Fernando traded looks.

"All the time," Eric said easily, though he stifled a smirk.

"It's rare that we disagree," Fernando said thoughtfully. "Except for—"

"What?" Addison asked, cutting him off. "Except for when I'm here?"

Fernando's brows raised up as he considered her words. And Eric's smirk turned into a grin. He nudged her and ducked his face so he could kiss her cheek.

"Exactly, mo chridhe."

Fernando reached around and smacked Eric on the back of the head. "I'd thank you not to kiss my daughter in public."

"She's my mate," Eric rolled his eyes.

"She's my daughter," Fernando gritted out, falling back into his curmudgeonly ways.

Addison rolled her eyes. "She's right here."

They both looked at her blankly, as though they didn't quite comprehend the offence. Addison huffed and sped up to walk past them. But they were vampires, and she was human. So, they easily kept up.

"I was walking away from you," she grumbled.

Eric grinned and offered her his arm. "We're not that easy to leave behind."

---

Long after they left the village and Addison had returned to the saddle, the sun began its descent on the horizon and Philippe called for them to set up camp for the night.

They veered off the king's road and disappeared as one into a thicket of trees. Riding single file through the dense covering of forest, they came upon a clearing. Addison shivered as the mountain air brushed through the opening in her cloak and froze her skin.

But her eyes were caught on the view in front of her; she swept back her veil. Blue. As far as the eye could see. Beautiful, crystalline blue.

A great lake, clearer than any glass she'd seen in this time, tucked into a basin surrounded by ragged mountain peaks. Addison had dismounted and left her horse to be tied up with the others. She wrapped her cloak tightly around herself to keep warm and made her way to the edge of the water. Standing silently on the shore as the wind whipped off the water. She watched the little waves lap up onto the rocky shore, reaching tentatively for her boot clad toes, and dragging little pebble like stones back into the deep where they came from.

Behind her, a knight released their falcon.

The sharp-eyed creature took wing overhead and circled over the great stretch of water. Addison watched the bird soar, its mournful call echoing through the basin and skidding across the water.

A large ice sheet drifted and cracked in the middle of the lake. It covered most of the blue that her eye could see, though it was already melting around the edges.

---

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, noting how Jacqueline had quickly gotten to work along with the rest of the men, while Addison stood around. She'd begun to feel idle and useless.

Philippe had disappeared with her father. Baldwin was overseeing the construction of their camp for the night. He glanced up at her, eyes sliding from her veil which she had lifted with the setting of the sun, to her previously unsteady legs. His lips twisted doubtfully, before he caught sight of someone behind her.

Addison kept her eyes locked on Hugh's brother, lips pressing into a thin frustrated line.

"If you take your guard with you, you can fetch firewood," he said, his voice a bored rumble.

Addison nodded stiffly and thanked Baldwin, who went back to his work. She turned and saw Balder waiting stoically behind her and sighed. Of course, he had been who Baldwin was looking at.

"Shall we?" she asked, knowing full well he knew their task for the evening.

Balder nodded. "After you, my lady," he said.

Addison worried her lip and turned for the trees. She was more than collecting firewood. Baldwin would see.

---

Not far from camp, but deep enough in the trees to be alone there, Addison crouched to pick up another dry bit of firewood. She'd lost Balder a few minutes back, but she had no doubt he hadn't lost her.

He had a good sense of things she'd quickly realized after spending so much time in his company. He knew when she wanted her privacy, and though she would never actually get privacy again in this world, he did a good job of pretending.

The batch of wood he carried was larger than hers and more than enough for one night, but she had a point to make so she wandered further and deeper into the woods and continued her collection.

There was a snap to her left.

Addison's head shot up. She looked around and saw nothing but shadows. The trees had darkened with dusk.

Another snap. This time, from the opposite direction. Addison turned again.

She blinked, head aching. There was a blur in the trees. She could have sworn she saw something move. She squinted and took a step, as though to go to the figure. But it was gone. There was nothing in the darkness, and her eyelids were doing that thing again. Bright, colorful splotches obstructed her vision. She dropped her firewood and pressed her palms into her eyes to try and clear them.

A snap and a thud. An inhuman noise.

Addison jumped and dropped her hands, turning around in the darkness, heart pounding in her throat and chest.

That's when she saw it.

Crouched in the shadows. Its eyes glinted up at her, and it made the noise again.

Addison sucked in a sharp breath, and stumbled back, trying desperately to make sense of the form crouched among the trees.

A hand landed on her shoulder. Addison let out a cry of panic and whirled around.

Balder, hard faced, and tensed as though for battle, gripped her tightly and pushed her behind him. From his chest came a deep, foreboding growl and the creature at the far end of the darkness bared its teeth.

It had a rabbit in its hands. She peered around Balder, startled to realize the figure was a man. Her guard pressed her back behind him and backed them away.

"Don't look, my lady," he said.

The creature let out another warning sound.

She curled her fingers in the back of Balder's tunic, stumbling back as he crowded her away from the shadows. Back toward camp. Her foot caught on her abandoned firewood, she gasped and stumbled. He caught her without even looking, he kept his eyes on the threat that lingered in the dark of the trees.

"Leave us in peace," he warned gruffly, a vein of steel in his tone.

There was no sound but Balder shoved her backward even quicker. "I'll not warn you again Michele," Balder ground out. The creature must have moved, because Balder stopped his retreat, squaring himself up as though to face the other man.

Domenico—

Addison's heart stuttered in her chest.

Balder pulled himself up taller than she'd ever seen and let out a wholly demonic sound.

"Leave us," he ground out, body vibrating with his warning. "Don't test me, man. She didn't know."

That figure... that thing that was crouched in the darkness... that was Domenico? Domenico Michele?

Him?

He was so human in the daylight.

But in the dark of the trees after the falling of night he was...

Addison sucked in a breath, and it shook as it filled her chest. She reached for Balder whose presence as her guard had taken on a whole new meaning. Her fingers curled in the back of his tunic. If he was surprised by this, it didn't show. He didn't budge an inch. The bear like man was a wall between her and the creature in the shadows. She blinked, trying to erase the image of Domenico, pitched forward over his prey, no longer recognizable. And she tugged gently on Balder's tunic, feet shuffling in the underbrush, the urge to flee overcoming her, and Balder must have sensed it. He tore his eyes away from the Venetian in the shadows, though his body seemed strung up tight and ready should Domenico make the wrong move.

"Go," he said, and nudged her. "I'm right behind you."

It should not have come so easy, listening to him the way she did. Only an idiot would turn their back on a hungry vampire. But then again, only an idiot would join a family of them.

Balder said go, and Addison...

She was an idiot, but she trusted him. He wouldn't let anyone deter her. With Balder at her back, there was no need to fear a threat from Domenico.

Addison turned on her heel.

Like a soldier with her marching orders. She didn't even hesitate before she did as he told her and walked on.

She did as she was told, and she did it well. But that didn't stop the invisible snake from slithering up her spine. It sank its teeth into her neck. Her belly flipped and the little spool of thread that resided there wound itself tighter and tighter until she feared it would snap, it was so taut.

She couldn't hear Balder behind her. She couldn't feel his presence at her back. But she was too afraid to glance over her shoulder to check. A deep sense of foreboding filled her as she approached the thinning line of trees that led back to camp.

Balder was right behind her – he had to be.

But she couldn't erase the image of the creature in the shadows, and she feared if she looked back now, all she would find was Domenico Michele.

---

They broke the tree line and Addison blinked in the light. The sun had long since set, but the sky was still blue with dusk. She could see more clearly now that she was out of the thick canopy of trees.

Her hands trembled and she looked down at them. Unsurprised to find she was shaking and unsettled by what she had seen. Balder had not been surprised. He'd seen things like that before her.

"I have been that nothing about which you speak, my lady," he had told her once, gravely.

He kept his back to her. Drawn up to his full height, hands flexing – agitated – by his sides, she realized he was still braced for an attack. As though he anticipated Domenico would abandon his rabbit for more intriguing prey.

"That's you," she whispered at his back, watching his shoulders tense. He ducked his head as though to look at her, and then thought better of it, and scanned the tree line again.

"That's all of you?" she asked, as though she couldn't quite believe it. The image of Domenico half-feral over the animal he'd hunted, did not compute with the image of her father or Eric or Balder, or even Philippe.

It was so...

Inhuman.

So...

Beastly.

"My lady," Jacqueline said and landed a hand on her shoulder.

Addison gasped and stumbled away from her maid, colliding with Balder who had turned, unsurprised by Jacqueline's approach, and seemingly content that Domenico had not pursued them out of the trees.

Jacqueline pulled back and held her hands up. Her eyes were wide as she took in the sight of the pair.

"Are you... well, my lady?" she asked, gaze flitting curiously over Addison's face.

Addison swallowed thickly.

That was Jacqueline too?

She had known this. Addison knew what they were. She didn't try to run from it or pretend. But she couldn't claim to think about it much either.

She cleared her throat and nodded, plastering a smile on her face though it wavered.

"Of course, Jacqueline," she said, breathless.

Jacqueline nodded slowly.

"The men are building a fire," her maid continued. Addison couldn't even be offended that they'd collected firewood without her. She'd left all of hers in the woods. "Sieur Philippe requests that you assist in preparing your meal."

Addison frowned, her lips felt odd on her mouth, numb and uneven somehow. Her head ached, and she pressed her fingers to her temples again, massaging the pain away but it did nothing to lessen her memories.

"Tell him that such things are not for a lady to concern herself with," Addison said absently, eyes closed and her mind spinning.

Jacqueline froze, silent as she stared at her. Addison could feel her wide eyes on the crown of her head, and Balder's neutral stance at her back. She'd left the firewood in the forest, but it didn't matter because the men had collected plenty without her. And Domenico was the creature in the trees.

And... and—

"My lady..."

Addison looked up again. She forced her eyes open even as her stomach turned, and that invisible snake slithered along her spine. She arched an eyebrow, a sudden heat permeating her chest, and an inexplicable resentment clutching at her throat. Her lips felt wrong, but they twisted into a nasty expression. She shrugged and waved her hand dismissively, recalling the day she'd asked for an education in Philippe's study.

"Of these things you have no need, Fernanda," she said, repeating his words from so many months ago. "Everything is provided for you here. The rest—" Addison shrugged. "Is not for young ladies of import like yourself to learn. You ask after skills that do not suit your station."

Jacqueline sputtered and glanced between Addison and the camp that was rapidly rising behind them. The fire had been built; the men were settling for the evening.

"I—" she started, not sure how to tell Addison kindly that she would never in a million years utter those words to Philippe de Clermont of all people.

Addison twisted her lips and nodded. "Fine," she said. "I'll tell him myself."

She hiked her skirts a bit as she stepped over a patch of mud. She trudged her way from the tree line over to the camp where waited Baldwin, Godfrey and Philippe.

---

She didn't get to tell Philippe anything. Fernando caught her by the arm by the time she reached camp and gently dragged her over to the fire.

"I've already skinned and gutted it," he said, gesturing to the rabbit someone had caught in the woods.

Addison blinked up at her father, trying to erase the memory of Domenico Michele crouched over his prey. Fernando shot her a reprimanding look.

"There are times we need to make a point," he said softly, passing her some root vegetables he'd brought from the kitchens at Sept-Tours. "And there are times when we hold our tongues and do as we're told."

She took the vegetables and the knife he offered, a wrinkle in her nose. "Is this the one that—" she trailed off, using the knife to gesture to the rabbit carcass, mind stuck in the trees with the creature and his rabbit dangling from his teeth. Her lips felt wrong, and she didn't want to think about eating that thing and the knife Fernando had used for skinning it.

Fernando arched an eyebrow. "If I say no, will you start chopping?"

Addison swallowed thickly and stared down at the knife, unable to hide her disgust.

"Fernanda?" he asked, his tone brooked no room for argument.

Addison looked from the knife to her father.

"Your dinner will not prepare itself," he repeated.

Jacqueline ducked down beside them and set a small pot to boil, knowing how Addison preferred to prepare her water before drinking it.

Balder took his place behind her back, but not before he'd wandered over to Eric, and whispered something in his ear – too low for any of the other vampires to hear. And she strongly suspected she knew what they were talking about.

Eric straightened and immediately found her from across the encampment. He met and held her gaze, and Addison stared back at him, unable to blink, and unable to think clearly. She couldn't quite fathom him as anything other than her Sorley. She couldn't quite reconcile Gallowglass with the image of the creature in the trees. She tore her attention away from Eric across the camp and spared a glance behind her. Toward the thicket from which she had fled moments earlier, and she froze.

Her fingers clenched tightly around the knife Fernando had given her, hovering over her forgotten vegetables.

Domenico Michele sauntered out of the trees.

"Cariña," Fernando murmured.

Addison struggled to peel her eyes away from the threat the strange man suddenly posed. Her body all too aware of the company she kept, and willing to flee in a way that her mind was not.

Balder shifted, and Addison's eyes snapped to her guard. He too was eyeing the venetian, and his move was deliberate. He kept his body carefully between hers and the man who had found her in the trees.

"Fernanda," her father said again, voice laced with concern. Addison could feel Jacqueline slow in her labors as she glanced at Addison. And Addison shook herself, turning to Fernando.

She was teetering on the edge of jadedness, and Addison wondered when this world she'd fallen into would become less surprising, less fatiguing.

"Sorry Apá," she whispered, voice rough. "What were you saying?"

---

The next morning, Eric found her with her back to a tree, facing the water and the ice flow which drifted with the current. Balder watched the wilds, and the men of the camp, a few feet away.

"I was wondering where you'd wandered off to," Eric said. He watched a pair of birds skim their way across clear blue water, ripples dotting the places they tapped on the half-melted sheet of ice.

She smiled wanly at him when she saw him coming and patted the empty space beside her.

"Sit," she said softly.

Eric took his spot beside Fernando, glad for her company and the quiet of the morning.

Fernanda reached automatically for his hand. She twisted his family ring where it rested on his finger. And her eyes drifted over his shoulder, toward the riders reentering their camp.

"What are they doing?" she asked.

Eric followed her gaze. "The scouts?" he asked.

"Mhmm."

Eric sucked in a breath and sat up a little straighter, dragging her gently to lean against his side. He wrapped an arm around her.

"They're surveying the road ahead," he said.

"Why?" Fernanda furrowed her brow.

"Looking for king's men, bandits, other manjasangs that could pose a risk," he shrugged.

"Is this all because of me?" she asked.

Eric scoffed and shook his head. "No, mo chridhe. We scout ahead on most journeys, though extra caution is thrown in when escorting another knight's lady."

Addison hummed. "So, it's because of me," she quirked an eyebrow and Eric fixed her with a flat look.

"It's because of me," he clarified. "I'm the reason for the extra caution."

"Because of who I am to you," she continued.

Eric's lips twisted downward. "Aye," he said. "Because of who you are to me."

"That's a little fucked up," she said, leaning her head on his shoulder as her eyes went back to tracking the birds.

Eric rested his chin on her head. "Aye," he said. "I suppose it is."

---

"Explain," she said after a beat, mind still turning over his words and his lighthearted explanation.

Eric shifted, glancing down at her, without letting go.

"Mo chridhe?" he asked.

"Explain all the extra caution," she said, sitting up to look at him, crossing her legs beneath the skirts of her gown. "Why all the concern? Aside from who I am to you and why that matters... what's even out there?"

Eric considered her question for a long moment, before leaning forward with a sigh.

"Let's say we are here," he said and pressed a dot into the dirt with his finger. "And our destination is all the way over... here." He drew another dot in the dirt, some ways away, to indicate Mont San Michel.

"Here—" he said and drew a line parallel to their location and their destination. "Here is the tentative border to King Louis unified kingdom of France."

"We're not in the unified kingdom of France?" Addison asked.

Eric's lips tightened and he shook his head. He met her eyes. "Not for now," he said. "He's got his eyes on the Auvergne. And one day he will likely get it. When the time is right, but for now, we are an independent state."

Addison's eyebrows shot up in alarm. Eric met her eyes, to make sure she was paying attention. "Here is the pass we will cross later today with Philippe."

She followed the path of his finger. "What's so important about the pass?"

"This land, here, is heavily allied with King Louis," he said. "It is not yet part of his kingdom, but it will be before the Auvergne is. His men will be crawling all over the place, and we would be a... surprise... and an insult."

Addison sat forward a bit, studying the rudimentary map, and trying to commit it to memory. "Why are we taking the long way, through Louis' allied territories, then?" she asked, eyeing their route with skepticism. "Wouldn't it have been less of a risk, and quicker, if we'd taken a road to the west of where we are now?"

Eric's eyes lit up, and he fixed her with an impressed grin. Addison rolled her eyes. "Don't look so impressed, that's common sense."

Eric chuckled and stifled the look, though his eyes still sparkled with amusement. "Common sense, huh?" he asked, never having heard the term before. "Is sense so common where you are from?"

Addison pursed her lips and nudged him. "Why are we taking the longer, riskier route?"

Eric sighed and drew another line in the dirt. "This road is carefully placed between two territories that offer a significant amount of risk. To the northeast, we have King Louis' France," he said. Addison nodded. "And to the south and west, we have the lands of Aurillac and Poitiers."

"Aurillac and Poitiers?" she asked.

Eric hummed and nodded. "There is a man – a manjasang – named Gerbert who claims the territory of Aurillac as his own. The king's brother, a human known as Comte Alphonse, claims Poitiers as his land. Gerbert, and the Comte have a long history and a strong alliance. Gerbert, by way of the Comte, claims Poitiers as a sort of protectorate of his territory."

"A protectorate?" she asked.

Eric nodded.

"More so than the borders of any kingdom, the territory of another manjasang is not something our kind takes lightly. We cannot take the shorter route to Mont San Michel without inciting a conflict with Gerbert. If we ever needed to pay our respects to the Comte of Poitier, we would first seek official approval from Gerbert, and most likely travel with an escort from his own house to supervise our visit, as we would expect him to do in our land."

Addison hummed and studied the many markers he had made in the earth between them. "So, we risk being caught by the king we are running from, because he is less of a risk than this... Gerbert?"

Eric worked his jaw with unease and nodded, glancing up at her.

"Matters among our kind are a bit tedious at times," he said ruefully. "We have a very old concept of deference. And Gerbert, though not quite as influential as Philippe, is no small enemy to make. If he knew of our situation with the king..."

He trailed off, eying her pointedly and Addison knew he meant the fact that they were hiding her from the eyes of the court.

"He would not hesitate to inform the king's brother for his own gain," Eric said.

Addison worried her lip. "I see."

Eric nodded and used the flat of his hand to swipe the map away.

"Do you?" he asked.

Addison nodded. "I think there are a lot of things you guys still haven't told me about being a member of this family."

Eric frowned thoughtfully, and glanced up at her, a wrinkle in his brow. "That will change with time," he said. "When you and Fernando determine that you are ready."

"Why can't you teach me?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Eric offered her a wry grin. "I'll answer any questions you have. But you don't need me to explain this world to you. Two seconds in the right room, and I think you'll put it all together on your own."

Addison rolled her eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, de Clermont."

Eric's grin stretched wider, and he looked away to study the tree line through which the scouts had disappeared.

"Give it time, Gonçalves" he said. "You're better at this than you think."

---

The list of demands sent ahead by the Lord Chamberlain was long and ostentatious. But Hugh had expected that to be so.

Ysabeau and Freyja were a whirlwind of new fabrics, rugs, ornaments, and tapestries. Paintings were stripped from the walls and replaced by favorites of the elderly king and his difficult brother. They were to arrive any day now, on short notice, and even shorter tempers, to lay their eyes on the unpresented Gonçalves child, investigating Fernando's alleged affront to the crown.

Their accuser?

Archambaud, the little shit Comte of a house that had fallen into a ruin.

His presence here had been a joke for Ysabeau at the expense of Fernanda's privacy and peace of mind. The influx of suitors was an amusement to get the matriarch of Hugh's family through the winter, and a convenient outlet for her to vent her frustrations with Fernanda's presence without drawing the ire of her husband, or Hugh himself.

Jean Luc left Hugh when he passed the required items into his manservant's hands.

They were seated in the great hall. At the high table, working even through the daily meals. It was morning, and the de Clermont family household was lively and full of anticipation for the upcoming affair. It had been some time since he'd seen such a crowd break their fast with such fervor.

Ysabeau and Freyja sat to either side of Hugh. Hugh sat in his father's seat, as he was acting in the capacity of the de Clermont until Philippe could return to reclaim his place himself.

The king would not take kindly to the presence of only Freyja and Ysabeau.

Not only because they were women, but also because Philippe and his sons had systematically denied King Louis the funding he required to return to the Holy Land and fight for his own personal glory, and the glory of a unified, Christian France.

The de Clermont family had tried to dissuade him. It was their official stance on the matter. But as kings and powerful families go, Louis was convinced they could be swayed.

Of course, the king was altogether ignorant of the de Clermont family's storied history with money and power. Philippe and Hugh de Clermont may be peculiar to the aged man, but he had no way of knowing that they were the same men who had aided and hindered his grandfather before him, and his grandfather before him as well. He had no way of knowing that the men who bankrolled his kingdom had – decades prior – found a different, more peaceable route to the Holy Land. One that did not result in continued warfare. At least, not that Hugh and Philippe had hoped. Their plan lied in the alliance between Eric and Aaliyah, and not another bloody, costly crusade.

The Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon had found far more worthy pursuits in recent years, bankrolling the rich and royal families of Europe. And their new organization – the one that was not yet known by name outside of the creature world – was their contingency plan.

The Knights of Lazarus were a shadow organization – known only through whispers among those who had already died and risen again. It always pays to be cautious. Especially now that the Templars had begun to anger powerful men far closer to home than those they angered in Jerusalem.

The Templars – and the de Clermonts – still had their presence in the necessary places of course. The Levant was home to many knights now and had been for some generations.

But as for more pressing matters...

Hugh ran his tongue along the back of his teeth as he scanned the crowd and tables in the great hall. They would have to rearrange.

Royal footman would come along to replace those who stood before the entrance to the great hall.

Philippe's men would maintain the main entrances, and the gates. Though, Hugh suspected the royal guards would likely take their places on the battlements as well.

Non-essential de Clermont horses were being relocated by Ampelius and his staff to the lower stables, out the back of the house near the paddock, to make room for the king's horses and those of his party. Philippe, Hugh and Ysabeau would be the only members of the family permitted to keep their horses in the main stables alongside those brought by their royal guests.

"What is the state of the kitchens?" Hugh asked, tilting his head toward Ysabeau who was drumming her nails on the surface of the table with unease.

They had scarcely spoken since his departure and subsequent return. Philippe had no doubt warned her to tread carefully. And Hugh was none too pleased with her endangerment of his and Fernando's youngest child.

"They're not ideal," she responded promptly, stilling her nails on the table, and tucking her hands primly in her lap. "The King prefers peacock and pheasant. We've a few peacocks kept still, but they're thinner than we'd prefer. And pheasant will be available... weather permitting... of course...It's not unforgiveable, but it is... perhaps... a matter that will be noted by His Majesty."

Hugh nodded thoughtfully; a snowstorm was gathering on the horizon. It was not ideal hunting weather.

"How is their coloring?" he asked, referring to the peacocks.

Ysabeau met his eyes for the first time since his return. "Without flaw."

Hugh nodded. "I trust you will find an adequate solution. Perhaps a stuffing of sorts, to make up for the lack of meat."

She nodded. "Yes," she said, her voice its usual mix of delicate and unwavering. "Those were my thoughts exactly. And a roast, of course."

Hugh offered her a partial smile. He held a certain affection for Ysabeau, though her games could be tiresome, and her actions had been detrimental. He had missed her in his exile. None could spar quite so effectively as she could. Her words were sharper than any blade he had encountered in the field of battle.

"Freyja..." he said, turning then to his sister.

"We've made up the royal chambers," she said with an upward tilt of her chin, as though prepared to defend her capabilities. Hugh resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "In the colors of the King's house of course, and the banners have been raised."

"Good," Hugh said. "See to it that—"

"The accompanying study is stocked with fresh rolls of parchment, Papa's personal collection of quill and ink, the finest decanter we have in the kitchens. I've also switched the mirror with the one Verin keeps in her chambers – she has the clearest of the glasses kept in house, you know—"

Freyja waved her hand and rolled her eyes, as though Verin was far more excessive in her frivolities than Freyja herself was. Hugh quirked his lips. This was, technically, true. But the pot was still calling the kettle black, as far as he was concerned.

"I trust your judgement, sister," he said, trying to appease her, and then to Ysabeau. "I've taken a second look at the family purse, but I would like your eyes on it as well. I believe the funds are sufficient. But we are stretched in Acre and Constantinople. The shipments we were expecting of Templar gold are tied up in Paris and the Levant until the end of the season. We've a debt to call on, but not before King Louis comes. The last he visited, we were out 3,000 in coin in the first three days, and the royal carriage required the laying of some 28,000 in bricks and stones in order to make the journey. When was the last that father repaved the roads?"

---

Later, in his study, Hugh glanced up at the maid Fernanda held so dear. The head house maid. The one they had acquired during their more recent travels.

Betha, he recalled after a beat.

She'd always been an efficient thing in the past. Quick. Tidy. Nimble, and surefooted too. Hugh valued these things in a maid. Especially in those maids who were human. It was a testament to their skill.

But she carried a pot of aromatic water on a tray that trembled in her hand. As the dishware rattled, Hugh found himself ripped away from the cost estimates for the horses that travelled with the royal bannermen, and the inventory of the current state of their more favorable feed.

Unable to concentrate on wheat and barley, leather and metal, when the girl was clattering away like a novice servant, Hugh bit back an aggravated sigh.

He dug a finger into his brow when it became obvious, he could not ignore her. Hugh snapped his eyes up to her as she deposited the items less than gracefully on the surface of his desk, as requested.

She was pale.

Hugh narrowed his eyes. And brought his hand up to rake through his hair.

Far paler than he had ever seen her.

Betha cast her eyes downward in embarrassment. Hugh would have huffed if he were not so puzzled. She knew the noise she made, then. She knew she was... out of sorts.

Betha backed away and curtsied as was custom.

But Hugh was not ready for her to go. He'd been counting cents all afternoon, and he knew well enough to know that one and one did not make three. The eldest of Philippe's sons had always been possessed by an overabundance of curiosity. And something inside him whispered that Betha's bad day would add up to far more later on. This was not the simple clumsiness of a young human. She was far more skillful than that. No. Something was wrong.

"Are you well, child?" he asked.

Betha's eyes widened, and she snapped her head up to look at him. She had not been expecting to be addressed, and she stepped back, almost instinctively before looking down at her shoes.

"Of course, sieur," she whispered.

"Jacqueline had mentioned briefly to me that you should perhaps travel with her and Lady Fernanda," he began, and furrowed his brow. "Were you terribly bothered by the matter?"

Betha flushed and glanced up at him with weary eyes. "It is neither here, nor there, sir," she assured him in a practiced manner. "I should hardly complain to reside in a household as fine as this."

Hugh shook his head and waved away her niceties. Betha curtsied again, suddenly uncertain whether his gesture was also a dismissal. She turned to make her way back out of his study when he halted her once more.

That's when he saw her neck.

"Have you been injured, child?" Hugh asked.

Betha froze with her back to him. It was as though she could feel his eyes burning through the bandage on her neck. She shuddered and gulped.

Hugh was quiet as a grave.

"I am uninjured, milord," she replied, unable to turn back to him. She kept her body tilted toward the door.

Hugh narrowed his eyes. "Face me, Betha," he commanded.

Betha reeked of fear and mortification. It flooded the room as she turned to face him. Jean Luc stood still as a statue at Hugh's back. Always present, he rarely made his presence known. Nervous eyes flickered from the face of the de Clermont heir to his more approachable retainer, and she twisted her hands together in front of her. Adopting an earnest but terrified air.

"I did not think your lordship would object—"

Hugh tilted his head. "Are they a member of my household?" he asked.

Betha seemed to choke on her own breath at his questioning. She made a small, indescribable noise of discomfort and pressed her lips together until they stood white against her tan skin.

"No, sir," she croaked when he continued to wait for her answer.

Hugh nodded but he didn't desist in his attentions.

"A member of my father's then?" he asked.

Again, Betha shook her head. "No, sir," she whispered.

Hugh sat forward a bit and narrowed his eyes.

"Are they in residence right now?"

Betha's lips wavered, and she tried to take in a breath, but Hugh knew what she had yet to realize about herself. She hadn't exhaled any air. There was no room left in her lungs for breathing.

Her throat seized around her own dilemma, and her heart pounded. Hugh could hear her blood as it pounded its way up to the healing wound at her throat.

"Betha," Hugh said again, stern but not unkindly. "Are they here at Sept-Tours?"

She blinked up at him, wide eyed and trembling. "No," she whispered. "They departed just days ago, sir."

Hugh's jaw ticked and his eyes grew cold. He sat back in his seat and brought his fist to his mouth, mind turning over the faces of the men who traveled with Fernando and his daughter, and who could be the culprit.

"Did you allow them to do this to you?" he asked after a beat, his mind a million miles away.

"I..." Betha said slowly, her eyes welled with tears and her hands shook.

Hugh snapped his eyes back to hers and took in her form.

"I'm sorry, sir," she croaked.

Hugh furrowed his brow and looked at Jean Luc, uncertain as to why she was apologizing, exactly.

Jean Luc pursed his lips down at the de Clermont and fixed him with a flat look.

Hugh pulled a face and shrugged at him before Jean Luc rolled his eyes and let out an insolent sigh.

He stepped forward and adopted the softest expression he could manage. He held out a hand for the girl, and, when she took it, he guided her to a seat by the hearth.

Hugh watched them with inhuman intent.

Betha sat tensely at the edge of a fine leather chair, and Jean Luc grabbed the quilt off the back to wrap around her shoulders.

"Lord Hugh only asks out of concern for you, Betha," Jean Luc murmured, trying to smooth over the damage the de Clermont may have done with his tone and demeanor. "And concern for Lady Fernanda who may be traveling with a less than honorable creature."

Betha shuddered and sniffed, she reached up to pull the blanket more tightly around her and looked Jean Luc warily in the eye.

"I did not know how to refuse him," she whispered, voice rough with emotion.

Jean Luc's lips pulled down sympathetically.

He reached for her hands and held them together.

"You must always come to me when such things occur, dear girl," Jean Luc said. "There are rules among our kind that are meant to prevent such happenings."

Betha flushed and shook her head. "I did not know—"

Jean Luc made a sympathetic sound and nodded. "No one here blames you," he repeated.

And then he glanced back at the de Clermont who was silently watching their exchange, caught somewhere between thinking about Fernanda and who the perpetrator could be.

"If Lord Hugh is agreeable to it," Jean Luc said, an edge to his voice that suggested Hugh should answer wisely. "I might suggest taking the rest of the day to rest, hmm?"

Betha shook her head as though to deny it, but Hugh was sharp enough to take a hint when it was tossed his way.

He waved a hand and offered her a peaceable smile. "Rest and be well, Betha," he said terse but not unkindly. "Tomorrow is a new day, and all the world will be waiting for you to greet it."

A lofty expression from a distracted, if venerable, man. Jean Luc raised an eyebrow. Betha gave another sniff and let out a shaky breath. She rose from her seat and turned, haltingly toward the door.

Jean Luc followed, intent on seeing her safely into the arms of Marthe, who would no doubt be waiting to take in her weary charge. Before they could make it out the door, though, the man at the desk cut them off once more.

"Before you go..." Hugh's voice was a blade of ice.

Jean Luc froze, back straightening of its own volition. He reached out to steady Betha, who jumped and stumbled.

The retainer turned to look back at the man he'd sworn his life's service to – an invisible hand that shaped the world. Betha followed his lead.

A shadow had fallen on Hugh de Clermont. His hands were clasped together in a contemplative manner. His head was bent forward, knuckles pressed to his flattened lips, and his dark eyes were fixed intently on the nape of Betha's neck.

"I'm going to need his name."