The guards established a perimeter with the careful efficiency of men who no longer trusted open spaces. Brennan started a fire while Adrian helped with the horses. The routine of travel continued despite everything that had changed.

  I found a quiet spot away from the others and pulled out my writing supplies.

  The letter to Sarah had been forming in my head all day. Words that wanted to be written and words I did not know how to say. The distance between us felt heavier now than it had when I wrote from Dunmarch.

  Sarah,

  Things are more complicated than I expected.

  I crossed that out and started again.

  Sarah,

  We’re leaving Veldros today. The work there is stable. The methods we developed are spreading. Kieran and Hamish will continue without us.

  That was safe. Factual. The kind of information she could share with anyone who asked.

  Something happened that I should tell you about, but I don’t want you to worry.

  I stared at those words for a long moment. Then crossed them out too.

  I miss you. More than I expected. More than I know how to say.

  When I started this journey, I thought it would be straightforward. Fix some wards. Teach some techniques. Help people who needed help. The work itself has been exactly that. The complications are everything around it.

  Someone doesn’t want us to succeed. They’ve tried robbery and bribery and sabotage and intimidation. None of it worked, so they’ll try something else. I don’t know what comes next. I don’t know when I’ll be home.

  What I do know is that every night when I close my eyes, I think about you. Your smile. Your voice. The way you make everything seem possible just by believing in me.

  Felix has Katherine waiting for him. Letters about seating charts and unity candles and all the small decisions that build a future together. I watch him stress over colors and fabrics and I think about us. About what we’re building. About where we’re going.

  I don’t have a ring or a formal proposal. I don’t have anything except time and distance and words on paper. But I want you to know that when this is over, when I come home, I’m not leaving again. Not like this. Not without you.

  I love you.

  Marcus

  I folded the letter carefully and sealed it with wax. It would reach Millbrook in a week. Sarah would read it and wonder about the things I did not say. The attack. The danger. The fear that had settled into my bones since we left Veldros.

  Some things were better said in person. When I could hold her and show her that I had survived. When words would not have to carry so much weight across so many miles.

  Brennan approached as I tucked the letter away.

  “Writing to your lass?”

  “Trying to.”

  “Hard to put some things in words.” He sat down beside me and pulled out his flask. “The land remembers. So do the people we leave behind.”

  “That sounds like experience talking.”

  “Thirty years of it.” He took a sip and offered the flask. “I had a wife once. Good woman. Patient. Understood the work came with absences.”

  “Had?”

  “Fever took her. Fifteen years ago now.” His voice held the quiet acceptance of old grief. “We had time. Not enough. Never enough. But we had it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. The time we had was good.” He looked at the fire where the others gathered.

  He turned the flask over in his hands. The firelight caught the dented metal and made it gleam.

  “My father gave me this,” he said. “The day I left home. I was fifteen. Thought I knew everything worth knowing.” A sound that might have been a laugh escaped him. “Didn’t know a damned thing.”

  I waited. Brennan rarely spoke about himself. When he did, it meant something.

  “He was a guide too. Worked the northern routes for forty years before his knees gave out. Knew every trail and shortcut between here and the coast.” Brennan’s thumb traced a dent near the flask’s cap. “This was his father’s before him. Three generations of men who made their living showing other people where to go.”

  “Family trade.”

  “Family burden, more like. The roads don’t care about holidays or birthdays or promises you made to people who matter.” He took another sip and stared at nothing. “My father missed my birth because a merchant caravan needed guiding through a spring flood. Missed my mother’s funeral because he was three weeks north when the fever took her. Missed most of my childhood because the work always called louder than home.”

  “But he gave you the flask.”

  “Aye. Pressed it into my hands at the crossroads outside our village. Told me the whiskey would keep me warm when nothing else could.” Brennan’s voice roughened. “Told me the flask would remind me where I came from when the roads tried to make me forget. Then he walked back home and I walked north and we never saw each other again.”

  “What happened?”

  “Winter. Bad one. He went out to check on a neighbor who hadn’t been seen in days.” Brennan shrugged, but the gesture held weight. “They found him two miles from the village. Frozen. The neighbor was already dead when he got there. He died trying to help someone who couldn’t be helped.”

  The fire crackled. Somewhere nearby, Roderick laughed at something Henrick said. Normal sounds that felt distant.

  “I wasn’t there,” Brennan said quietly. “I was guiding some lord’s daughter to her wedding three hundred miles away. By the time word reached me, he’d been in the ground for a month.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He died doing what he thought was right. Same way he lived.” Brennan tucked the flask away with careful hands. “Same way I hope to go, when the time comes. The flask reminds me of that too.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Then his expression shifted and something lighter entered his eyes.

  “What about you?” He almost smiled. “Rumor has it you were supposed to be a merchant boy.”

  I laughed. The sound surprised me. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I hear things. It’s what guides do.” Brennan settled back and watched me with patient curiosity. “So? What happened?”

  “Watermarks.”

  “Watermarks?”

  “On my first solo trade run, I was supposed to sell cloth and buy grain. Standard route. Simple work.” I shook my head at the memory. “Instead, I found a cart full of old books with symbols pressed into the paper. You could only see them when you held the pages up to the light. I’d never seen anything like them.”

  “And you bought the books.”

  “I traded half our inventory for them. They were cookbooks and poetry collections, mostly. Nothing valuable except the paper itself.” I felt the old embarrassment rise and pushed it down. “My father said I should find what I’m meant to do, because it clearly wasn’t commerce. Called me disappointing as a merchant.”

  “Harsh words.”

  “Hard, but true. I was disappointing as a merchant.” I looked toward the fire where the others gathered. “He gave me a purse and a letter of introduction and sent me to find something I was actually good at. I still have that letter in a drawer back home. Folded and worn from all the times I read it during those first weeks.”

  “A reminder.”

  “Of where I came from. Of who believed in me even when I gave him every reason not to.” I met Brennan’s eyes. “I guess kind of like your flask.”

  Brennan nodded slowly. Something passed between us that didn’t need words. Two men carrying pieces of their fathers. Two reminders of the people who shaped us into who we became.

  “The watermarks,” Brennan said after a moment. “What were they?”

  “Ward patterns. Ancient ones. The books were worthless, but the paper had been made by a glyphwright who pressed preservation wards into every sheet.” I smiled. “Turns out my instincts weren’t wrong. Just pointed in a direction my father couldn’t see.”

  “And now you build networks that span kingdoms.”

  I nodded. “And now I build networks that span kingdoms.”

  Brennan was quiet for a long moment. Then his voice shifted, losing the weight of old memories.

  “Your lass is waiting for you. Don’t waste that. Don’t let the work become the only thing that matters.”

  “I’m trying not to.”

  “Try harder.” He stood and brushed off his trousers. “We’ve got a long road tomorrow, lad. Get some rest.”

  He walked back to the fire. I stayed a moment longer and watched the stars appear one by one in the darkening sky.

  Morning came cold and gray.

  We broke camp with the efficiency of people who had done it too many times. Brennan supervised the horses while Roderick and Henrick checked the perimeter one final time. Adrian helped Felix secure the wagon cover against the mist that clung to the highlands.

  I found myself watching Brennan work. The flask hung at his belt where it always did. Three generations of guides. Three generations of men who walked away from home and sometimes never came back.

  “You’re thinking too loud,” Felix said. He joined me with his documentation journal tucked under his arm. “I can hear it from across the camp.”

  “Brennan told me about his father last night.”

  “The flask?”

  “You knew?”

  “I guessed.” Felix shrugged. “A man doesn’t carry something that battered unless it means more than what’s inside. What was the story?”

  I told him. The crossroads farewell. The frozen neighbor. The month in the ground before word reached a son three hundred miles away. Felix listened without interrupting.

  “Heavy,” he said when I finished.

  “He asked about my father too. I told him about the letter and the watermarks.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “The truth.” I watched Brennan finish with the horses and move toward the wagon. “Felt like he earned it.”

  Felix was quiet for a moment. “Katherine’s father still hasn’t forgiven her for choosing me over the merchant’s son from Valdris. Three years and he still brings it up at dinners.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Is it?” Felix tucked his journal into his pack. “Fathers and sons. Fathers and daughters. We spend our whole lives trying to make them proud or prove them wrong. Sometimes both at once.”

  The wagon lurched into motion. We climbed aboard and found our usual positions among the supplies. Adrian had already claimed the corner nearest the front where he could watch the road ahead. Roderick and Henrick flanked him as always.

  “When we reach Valdmere,” Felix said quietly, “Duncan will want answers we don’t have.”

  “We have some answers. The sabotage was professional. The conspiracy reaches higher than local merchants. Someone with real resources wants us to fail.”

  “That’s not answers. That’s a shape without a name.”

  “Then we find the name.” I pulled out my own journal and flipped to the pages where I had documented everything we knew. Ward signatures. Material sources. The timing of attacks that always seemed to anticipate our movements. “Someone is watching us. Someone knows where we’ll be before we get there.”

  “That’s a comforting thought.”

  “It’s a useful thought. Watchers can be watched back.”

  The wagon rolled north through mist that burned away as the sun climbed higher. Two more days to Valdmere. Two more days to figure out questions worth asking.

  The answers would have to wait until we found someone willing to give them.

  Valdmere appeared on the third day.

  The city rose from the highlands with the same dramatic beauty I remembered from our first arrival. Towers against the clouds. Stone terraces cascading down the cliffsides. The castle crowning the highest point like a promise of stability in an uncertain world.

  But I saw it differently now. It was less a destination than a waypoint. A place to report and regroup before the next crisis demanded attention.

  “Back where we started,” Felix said quietly.

  “Not quite.” I watched the city grow larger through the wagon window. “We know things now that we didn’t know then. Like the scope of the problem. The shape of the enemy. What we’re really fighting.”

  “Does knowing help?”

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  The wagon rolled through streets that had seemed worn and struggling on our first visit. The same broken fountains stood dry and the same unstable ward anchors flickered along the main road. But now I understood those failures as symptoms rather than causes. Someone had built this crisis deliberately. And someone was profiting from the suffering.

  Chapter 26

  Room Service

  Duncan received us in his private study.

  The prince looked older than when we last saw him. Lines had deepened around his eyes and mouth, and the weight of responsibility showed through even the composed exterior he maintained for visitors.

  “An attack,” he said flatly. “In broad daylight. In a town under crown protection.”

  “It was coordinated and professional,” Adrian confirmed. “We are sure that they wanted to grab me specifically.”

  “And failed because fishermen with gaff hooks decided they’d had enough.” Duncan almost smiled. “Nobility saved by commoners. I’m sure Father will appreciate the irony when I tell him.”

  We had given him the full report. We covered the watchers, the brigand assault, and the townspeople who had rallied to our defense. We left out the conclusions we had drawn about who might be responsible. Those accusations required more than suspicion.

  “I’ve had my own suspicions about the consortium for months,” Duncan said. “I’ve sent investigators to their warehouses. Quietly. If they’re involved, I want evidence before I move against them.”

  “You already suspected them?”

  “The pattern of failures across Keldrath didn’t feel random. I just couldn’t prove anything.” He met my eyes. “Your work in Dunmarch and Veldros confirmed what I’d feared. Someone is deliberately strangling my kingdom.”

  “How long until the investigators report?” I asked.

  “Days. Perhaps a week.” His expression held frustration beneath the calm surface. “I know that’s not the answer you wanted. But I can’t dismantle a major trade organization on suspicion alone. Gray’s consortium employs hundreds of people. Their operations touch every town in Keldrath.”

  “Meanwhile whoever organized the attack is still out there,” Felix said.

  “Yes. Which is why you’ll stay in Valdmere until we know more.” Duncan held up a hand before Adrian could object. “Not the castle. I know you hate the formality. But somewhere safe. Somewhere we can protect you properly.”

  Adrian’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. I guess the attack shook him more than he wanted to admit.

  “The inn where you stayed before has been secured,” Duncan added. “There are plain-clothes guards at every entrance. The rooms have been checked.” He paused. “I’ve also arranged for your letter to be sent south with the morning courier, Marcus. Sarah should receive it within the week.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank me by staying alive long enough to deliver the next one in person.” Duncan stood and signaled that our audience had ended. “Get some rest. All of you. Tomorrow we plan our next steps.”

  The inn felt different than I remembered.

  The same worn wooden floors stretched beneath our feet. The same fire crackled in the common room and the same smell of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air. But the warmth that had welcomed us on our first visit seemed muted now. The shadows in the corners felt deeper.

  Two of Duncan’s guards stood near the entrance. They nodded as we passed but did not speak. Their eyes moved constantly across the room and tracked every patron and every movement. It was the kind of professional vigilance that should have been reassuring.

  “Jumping at nothing,” Felix muttered. He had noticed my expression. “We’re safe here. Duncan’s guards are everywhere.”

  “I know.”

  “But?”

  “But someone tried to kidnap a prince three days ago. Forgive me if I’m not entirely relaxed.”

  The innkeeper greeted us with the careful courtesy of someone who understood his establishment had become something other than ordinary. He showed us to our rooms personally and assured us that everything had been prepared to the crown’s specifications. Extra locks on the doors, guards at the entrances, and windows that faced away from easy climbing routes.

  Brennan had disappeared to speak with contacts in the city. If the streets held any useful information, he would find it.

  Adrian and his guards had taken rooms on the upper floor. Roderick and Henrick had insisted on positions where they could cover the stairway. It was professional paranoia that seemed entirely reasonable given recent events.

  Felix and I shared a room near the end of the hall. Standard arrangement. Two beds, a writing desk, a washstand with a cracked mirror. The kind of accommodations that would have seemed luxurious when I was an apprentice and merely adequate now.

  I dropped my pack on the nearest bed and stretched muscles that had grown stiff from days in the saddle. The room smelled faintly of wood polish and dust. Nothing unusual. Nothing wrong.

  “I’m going to check on Adrian,” I said. “Make sure they’re settled.”

  “I’ll unpack.” Felix had already pulled out his documentation journal. Some things never changed.

  The hallway was quiet and empty.

  Lamplight flickered from sconces spaced along the walls. Doors stood closed on either side. The building held the particular silence of an establishment trying to respect its guests’ need for rest.

  I knocked on Adrian’s door.

  Henrick opened it with one hand on his axe haft. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly when he saw me.

  “Fairwind. Come in.”