Petra’s expression flickered just for an instant. Recognition followed by careful blankness. She knew exactly what I meant.

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “I think you do.” I kept my voice even without accusations or threats. Just the calm certainty of someone stating facts. “I think you know where he was taken and who authorized it. I think you’ve spent the last few days wondering when someone would come asking questions. And I think you’ve been terrified of what happens when they do.”

  She didn’t respond. But her hands had tightened on the edge of her desk.

  “The people who ordered that delivery made a mistake,” I continued. “They kidnapped a foreign prince. The kind of mistake that brings royal attention. The kind that ends careers and lives when the consequences catch up.” I leaned forward slightly. “Those consequences are catching up right now. The only question is who they catch first.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “The location. Where they took him. Where they’re keeping him now.”

  “And if I tell you, what happens to me?”

  “That depends on what you’ve actually done.” I met her eyes. “Scheduling deliveries isn’t a crime. Not knowing what’s in the cargo isn’t a crime. But staying silent when you could help recover a kidnapped prince? That’s the kind of choice that follows you.”

  Petra’s gaze moved to the map on her wall. To the routes and roads and destinations she had memorized over years of work. To the patterns she knew better than anyone.

  “They’ll kill me,” she said quietly. “If I talk. They’ll know it was me.”

  “They might try.” Henrick spoke for the first time since we entered. “But they’ll have to get through us first. And after tonight, they’ll have bigger problems than one logistics coordinator.”

  “You can’t protect me.”

  “Maybe not forever. But we can get you somewhere safe. Somewhere the consortium can’t reach.” I thought about Duncan’s resources. About the protection a prince could offer someone who helped save his friend. “This ends tonight. One way or another. The only question is which side you want to be on when it does.”

  Petra stared at me. Her hands had gone still on the desk. Muffled laughter and clinking glasses filtered through the walls from people who had no idea what was happening in this back room.

  She looked at the door. Then at the window. Then at the stacks of ledgers that represented years of work for people who would cut her throat if they knew she was even considering this.

  “I can’t,” she said quietly. “You don’t understand what they’d do to me.”

  “I understand exactly what they’d do.” I pulled a chair over and sat down across from her at eye level. “But I’m not asking you to die for us. I’m offering you a way out.”

  “There is no way out. Not from these people.”

  “There is if you help us end this tonight.” I leaned forward. “Prince Duncan has resources. He could offer safe passage to another kingdom. A new name if you need one. Enough coin to start over somewhere they’ll never find you.”

  Petra’s eyes searched my face for the lie. I held her gaze and let her look.

  “You could do that?”

  “I can’t promise it’ll be easy. But I can promise you’ll be alive to find out.” I gestured at the ledgers around us. “This life is already over, Petra. The only question is what comes next.”

  Her jaw tightened and she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, something had shifted.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Felix pulled out a blank notebook. “Everything.”

  The words came slowly at first. Reluctant fragments of information pulled from behind years of careful silence. But once she started, the details flowed. Names. Locations. The structure of an operation she had served without ever understanding its full scope.

  “The mill,” she said. “The old one near Thornbrook. That’s where they take people who need to disappear for a while. It’s set up for holding. Wards on every approach. Guards rotating on six-hour shifts. Supplies delivered twice a week.”

  “How many guards?”

  “Six on duty at any time. Maybe eight if they’re expecting trouble.” She pulled a ledger from a stack and opened it to a marked page. “I scheduled the delivery the night your friend was taken. Two wagons. Four men. They left just after midnight and arrived at the mill before dawn.”

  I studied the ledger. The entries were coded, but the pattern was clear. Regular deliveries. Consistent timing. An operation that had been running for longer than just this kidnapping.

  “This isn’t the first time they’ve done this.”

  “No.” Her voice held a note of shame. “People disappear sometimes. Competitors who ask too many questions. Workers who try to organize against the consortium. Most of them come back after a few weeks. Quieter. More cooperative.” She closed the ledger. “I never asked what happened at the mill. I didn’t want to know.”

  Felix had been studying the map while Petra spoke. Now he traced a route from Valdmere to the mill’s location.

  “Half a day’s ride,” he said. “But there’s only one approach by road. If they have watchers, they’ll see us coming from miles away.”

  “There’s another way.” Brennan’s voice came from behind us. He had slipped into the room at some point. His ability to move quietly never stopped surprising me. “The mill sits in a hollow near the river. Back when it ran, they used the water to power the grinding stones. The channel still exists. It’s overgrown now, but passable on foot.”

  “You know this area?”

  “I grew up thirty miles from there. Played in that hollow as a boy.” His weathered face held something complicated. Memories from a life before he became a guide. “The approach through the channel would let you get close without being seen. Come in from the river side while they watch the road.”

  “How long on foot?”

  “An hour from where you’d leave the horses. It’s rough ground. You’d have to go slow to stay quiet.” Brennan moved to the map and traced the route. “But you could reach the mill from the blind side. The wards would still be a problem, but at least you wouldn’t be walking into a prepared ambush.”

  We left Petra with instructions and a promise.

  The instructions were simple. Stay in the tavern. Tell no one we had visited. Wait for word that the situation had resolved. The promise was that Duncan would protect her if she kept her end of the bargain. A prince’s word carried weight in Keldrath.

  The street outside felt different as we emerged. Night had fallen while we questioned Petra. Torches burned at intervals along the road. The city’s nocturnal rhythms had replaced the bustle of day.

  “We should move tonight,” Roderick said when we gathered in an alley behind the tavern. “Every hour we wait gives them time to move Adrian again. Or worse.”

  “Moving at night means navigating unfamiliar terrain in darkness,” Felix countered. “The channel approach Brennan described requires careful movement. One wrong step could alert them.”

  “We leave in two hours,” I decided. “Travel through the night. Reach the mill approach before dawn. We can scout their positions in the darkness, then move at first light when we understand what we’re facing.”

  Roderick looked ready to argue. But Henrick touched his arm and shook his head slightly. The two guards exchanged a look that communicated something beyond words.

  “Two hours,” Roderick said finally. His voice held the controlled frustration of a man who wanted to act and knew he could not. “Not a minute longer.”

  “Agreed.”

  Duncan was waiting when we returned to the castle. Maps already spread across his study table. He had anticipated our return.

  “The mill near Thornbrook,” I said as I marked the location. “Petra confirmed it.”

  “I suspected as much.” Duncan studied the marked position. His jaw tightened. “I could send soldiers. Overwhelm them with numbers.”

  “They’d see an army coming from miles away,” Brennan said. “And if they panic, Adrian becomes a liability instead of leverage. I’d suggest a small group and a quiet approach. That’s how we get him out alive.”

  “They’re right about speed,” Felix added. “We approach through the river channel Brennan described. Detection sticks let us find wards before we trigger them. Roderick and Henrick handle the guards while Marcus and I disable the defenses.”

  “And me?” Brennan asked.

  “You know the terrain. You guide us in. Then you hold the extraction route open.” I met his eyes. “When we get Adrian out, we’ll need a clear path to the horses. You make sure we have one.”

  Brennan nodded slowly. The weight of responsibility settled onto his shoulders. He had blamed himself for the kidnapping. This was his chance to make it right.

  “One more thing,” Duncan said. He reached into his desk and withdrew a leather pouch that clinked with metal. “Supplies for the rescue. Containment compounds. Neutralization agents. Things that might help against prepared wards.”

  I took the pouch and felt its weight. Proper materials. The kind of resources we had run out of days ago.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “The castle stores. Emergency supplies for situations exactly like this.” Duncan almost smiled. “You didn’t think I’d send you against consortium glyphwrights with empty pouches?”

  I grinned. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “Then let me be clear.” Duncan’s expression hardened. “Adrian is my friend. He came to Keldrath at my request. He was taken from an inn I personally secured. Whatever resources you need, they’re yours. Whatever support you require, you have it.” He paused. “Bring him back. Whatever it takes.”

  We gathered at the stables before the first light touched the eastern sky.

  The horses were fresh. The equipment was checked. The plan was as solid as we could make it given the circumstances. All that remained was execution.

  Roderick mounted first. His war hammer rested across his saddle. The inscribed jerkin we had given him gleamed faintly beneath his traveling cloak. He looked like a soldier going to war.

  Henrick followed. His axe hung ready at his side. The detection stick protruded from his belt like a strange wand. He nodded to me as he settled into his saddle.

  Felix rode beside me with saddlebags full of tools and the specialized compounds Duncan had provided. The bags clanked softly with each step, a quiet reminder of what we’d come prepared to do.

  Brennan led the way. His bad leg seemed forgotten as he guided his horse toward the city gates. He knew the route. He knew the terrain. And he knew what waited at the end of it.

  Chapter 31

  Country Air

  The road out of Valdmere wound through farmland that gave way to forest as we rode east.

  Brennan set a pace that balanced speed with caution. Fast enough to matter. Slow enough to watch for trouble. His bad leg did not seem to affect his riding at all. Whatever pain it caused him on foot vanished once he settled into the saddle.

  Roderick and Henrick flanked our group with the casual alertness of men who had spent years expecting ambush. Their eyes moved constantly across the landscape, checking tree lines, noting terrain features, and identifying positions where enemies might wait.

  Felix rode beside me. No one spoke much.

  The countryside changed as we traveled.

  The cultivated fields near Valdmere gave way to rougher ground. Stone walls marked property boundaries that seemed increasingly abandoned. A farmhouse stood empty beside the road. Its windows were dark and its roof sagged. Another mile brought us past a village that looked half-deserted.

  “Another one,” Brennan said when he noticed my attention. “Supply routes dried up about eighteen months ago. Ward maintenance stopped shortly after. Half the families left by winter.” He guided his horse around a rut in the road. “Same story as the others. Just a different name on the map.”

  The road curved north and began to climb. Trees pressed closer on both sides. The open farmland disappeared behind walls of oak and pine that filtered the afternoon light into something dim and green.

  “We’re getting close,” Brennan said. “Another mile to where we leave the horses.”

  The clearing Brennan chose sat well back from the road.

  A tumbled stone wall provided cover for the horses. Thick undergrowth would muffle any sounds they made. Unless someone knew exactly where to look, the animals would be invisible from the main approach.

  We dismounted and secured our horses with practiced efficiency. Roderick produced feed bags from his saddlebags. The horses would need to wait here for hours, perhaps longer. Better to keep them calm and quiet.

  “The river channel starts just past that ridge,” Brennan said. He pointed toward a rise in the ground about fifty paces to our north. “It’ll take us around the back of the mill.”

  “How close can we get before they might see us?”

  “If we’re careful? Right up to the building. The channel runs through a hollow that’s overgrown with willows and brush. It’s good cover all the way.”

  Roderick and Henrick pulled out their detection sticks. The inscribed wood caught the early light.

  “Twenty feet,” Felix reminded them. “They won’t pick up anything until we’re close.”

  “And if we miss something when we get close?” Henrick asked.

  “Then we probably get stunned and bound like last time.” I checked my own supplies one last time. “Let’s try not to miss anything.”

  His scarred face held a hint of dark humor. “Encouraging.” He led us forward toward the mill. The river channel was everything Brennan had promised.

  A shallow depression in the ground marked where water had once flowed to power the mill’s grinding stones. Now it held only mud and dead leaves and the tangled roots of plants that had claimed the space over decades of neglect. Willows arched overhead and created a tunnel of green that hid us from any observation.

  We moved in single file. Brennan led with the confidence of someone who had walked this ground before. Roderick followed with his detection stick extended ahead of him. Then Felix and me. Henrick brought up the rear and watched behind us for any pursuit.

  The going was slow. Every step required care. Dry branches waited to crack underfoot. Loose stones threatened to turn ankles. The detection stick in Roderick’s hand remained still, but that only meant we had not found wards. Yet.

  “Hold,” Roderick whispered. His fist came up in the signal to stop.

  Everyone froze.

  The detection stick trembled subtly in his grip, unlike the violent shaking that had marked our inscribed jerkins.

  I moved forward carefully and stopped beside Roderick. He pointed the stick toward a tangle of brambles that blocked the channel ahead.

  “There,” he said. “Something in those bushes.”

  Felix and I approached the brambles with the caution of surgeons examining a wound. The undergrowth looked natural enough with dead branches woven through living ones covered in thorns that would discourage anyone from pushing through. But I found the inscription underneath the surface, hidden from casual observation.

  “Alarm ward,” I said after examining the pattern. “Anyone who touches this sends a signal back to a central anchor. Probably in the mill itself.”

  “Can you disable it?”

  “Give me a minute.”

  The work required concentration. Alarm wards were simple in design but tricky to neutralize. Cut the wrong connection and you triggered the alert you were trying to avoid. I closed my eyes and reached out with that other sense, the one Erasmus had helped me develop. The ward’s energy hummed against my awareness like a plucked string. I traced the inscription’s pathways without touching them and identified the activation sequence, the signal link, and the anchor connection.

  There. The weak point where the pattern relied on continuous energy flow rather than stored power.

  I applied a disruption compound to the key junction. The inscription flickered and died. The ward went dark.

  “Clear,” I said.

  We moved forward again. Ten more steps brought us to another ward. This one was more sophisticated than the first. A detection field that would sense movement within a certain radius.

  Felix handled this one while I watched. He found the pattern’s vulnerability in nearly half the time it would have taken me.

  “Clear,” he whispered.

  We pushed on through the channel. The detection sticks revealed ward after ward and we disabled each one with careful work. Whoever had prepared this approach had been thorough and professional. The same quality we had seen in the trap that caught us at the inn.

  But they had made one mistake. They had expected enemies to come by road. Not through a forgotten water channel that only someone who grew up nearby would know.

  The mill came into view as we reached the end of the channel.

  The building sat in a hollow just as Brennan had described. Its stone walls had weathered through decades of exposure and a seized waterwheel hung motionless over the dry channel. Windows stared like empty eyes across the overgrown grounds.

  From our position in the channel’s end, we could see the mill’s rear face without being seen ourselves. The willows provided perfect cover. We crouched in the shadows and studied our target.

  “Two guards visible,” Henrick reported. His voice barely rose above a whisper. “North corner and east side. Both armed. Professional stance.”

  “That matches what Petra said. Six to eight guards total.” Roderick scanned the building with the attention of someone planning an assault. “The others are probably inside or around front where we can’t see them.”

  “Wards?” I asked.

  Roderick pointed his detection stick toward the mill. The wood vibrated steadily in his grip.