Shading his eyes, he paused to survey the scene. He looked in her direction and strode across the field to her. She stood as he neared, running her gaze hungrily over him. He was streaked in blood. Her hands clenched.

She managed to ask without a quaver in her voice, "Are you hurt?"

"It's not mine."

Relief made her lightheaded. "And Morgan? I saw you signal Annwyn. You didn't find him?"

"He got away." He shook his head grimly. "I don't know how he moved that fast, because he was wounded badly, and with silver arrows, no less. He must have had a vehicle parked nearby. We were hoping we would catch him before he reached it."

"If he was wounded that badly with silver, that means he'll be out of commission for a while, right?" She forced the tense muscles between her shoulder blades to relax. "So at least that's something."

"Yes. Healing spells and potions won't help him. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d is going to be in a lot of pain over the next couple of months," he said with savage satisfaction. He glanced back at the battlefield, and she did too.

"I had the impulse to help," she said quietly. "But most of them don't know who I am."

"You've done more than enough already," he told her. "I'll have a couple of soldiers set up a tent for you, and you can go to bed."

"Please don't," she said. "There's too many wounded, not enough shelter, and you all have enough on your plate as it is. I'll go to a hotel."

At that, he turned his full attention onto her. "No, you're not. You're staying right here where I can keep an eye on you. Just wait here. I'll send someone to get you when they have a tent set up."

She coughed out an angry laugh. He was forbidding her to check into a hotel. Was there any point in having an argument over this? She was beyond her limit on patience and energy, and everything else.

After a moment, she said dryly, "Sure, Nik. Whatever you say."

"What?" he snapped. "I don't have time for this." As he spoke, Annwyn called out his name from the direction of the house, and he raised a hand in answer.

"Of course you don't, and I'm not arguing with you," Sophie told him. She took a step back. "Go do what you need to do."

He frowned at her. "We'll talk about this later."

She gave him a grim smile. "If you say so."

She watched him lope across the lawn and join Annwyn. After a few moments, they both walked around to the back of the house.

Rubbing her tired face, Sophie a.s.sessed the gap between the fallen gate pillars. It looked like there would be room enough for a small car to pa.s.s through.

She limped over to Rowan, who was the nearest familiar face.

"I hate to bother you," she told him. "But can you get someone to help you push the Mini out?"

With a frown, Rowan said, "Sure, if you want. Are you leaving?"

"There's too many people here and not enough shelter," she told him. "You-all of you-need time for a reunion, and with so many people you're going to stretch the town's resources too." She paused. "I'm going to drive into Shrewsbury and check into a hotel."

Rowan's frown deepened. "Have you told Nikolas?"

"Yes, I did, and he forbade me to go," she told him with such grim emphasis, his eyes widened.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to actually forbid you," Rowan said uncertainly.

"It doesn't matter what he actually meant to do. What matters is what he said." She gave him a tight smile. "So I'm drawing a line in the sand that he can't cross. About that Mini."

Rowan tapped two strapping men on the shoulder. Between the three of them, they pushed the Mini out the open double doors and over the rocky ground until they reached a section of the gravel drive that was still more or less level. She went back into the house one last time to make sure she had collected all her things, and Rowan helped her to carry her luggage to the car.

As she closed the boot, Rowan turned to her. "Are you sure I can't talk you into staying?"

"No, you cannot," she said steadily. "Morgan has been badly injured. The Hounds have been thoroughly crushed. This is the perfect time for me to go, and it's not just a good decision for you-it's the right decision for me. I'm going to shower and sleep in a clean bed. Check my email. Connect with my own life." Then, remembering, she pulled the commander's ring off her thumb and handed it to him. "Go be with your people. Mourn, celebrate, visit. Hug the friends you haven't seen in decades. If anybody needs to reach me, my solicitor in Shrewsbury is Paul Shipman." She gave him a small smile. "Take care of yourself."

He pulled her into an awkward hug. "Get some rest."

She patted his back. "You too."

Now if only the d.a.m.n car would start.

The engine purred to life on the first try. Carefully she drove between the gate pillars and pulled onto the road, and she didn't quit driving until she reached Shrewsbury. Once there, she stopped at the first hotel she saw.

No, they didn't have any available single rooms, the polite attendant told her when she stepped inside to ask. They did have a small, two-room suite if she was interested.

It was a splurge, but why the h.e.l.l not? she thought. You only live once.

She signed where he asked her to sign, showed her pa.s.sport and credit card, and tipped someone to bring up her luggage. Then, as dirty as she was, she fell fully clothed onto the clean double bed and plummeted into sleep.

There was shouting, a roar of Hounds, and a clash of swords.

She plunged awake in a clench. Disoriented, staring around the strange bedroom, she listened hard for any sound of battle, but there was none. She glanced out the window. It was gray, wet, and foggy outside, but it was definitely daylight. It appeared she had slept quite a while, and the battle had happened yesterday.

At least she hadn't dreamed about staring down the barrel of a gun for once. Her nightmares were changing.

Dragging herself off the bed, she dug out her toiletries bag, underwear, flannel pants, and T-shirt, and hobbled into the bathroom. Her muscles had stiffened even more overnight. A hot shower loosened things up quite a bit, and after wrapping her hair and torso in towels, she brushed her teeth with reverence and grat.i.tude.

The hot shower had caused the runes on her arms to degrade. She scratched the last of the nail polish off. She was still exhausted. Somehow she had collected quite an array of bruises again, and she felt as hollow as a reed, but by G.o.d, at least she was clean. Huzzah.

As soon as I get you out of my system.

From nowhere, the tears welled up. Sitting on the toilet, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

The tortured little dog with his tongue torn out. A puck was hoping for help. Waiting for someone to notice he was gone, taken and lost, but no one ever came.

The oubliette. The skull. The torn bodies, in the pub, strewn across the field. Nikolas's raw voice and distorted features as he confronted Ashe.

The wreckage of the gatekeeper's cottage and the manor house. She had barely gotten the chance to fall in love with the property. Now it lay in ruins.

Nikolas's mouth, his hands, the sensation of taking him into her body. The pa.s.sionate clench he had held her in as he had moved, and moved, and moved inside her.

As soon as I get you out of my system, I'm gone.

The storm of tears wracked her body. She was as helpless to stop it as a woman giving birth.

It's okay, she thought. I'm just wrung out. I'm overwrought.

I'm heartbroken.

I'll get some food. I'll pull it together. Food and maybe a nap, and I'll feel like a new person.

From nearby came a shimmer of familiar, wild magic. She lifted her head as the door to her suite opened and closed. Pulling off the towels, she tore into her clothes and burst out of the bathroom and into the tiny sitting area.

An inhumanly slim figure stood at the windows, looking out. He was perhaps as tall as a thirteen-year-old boy and wore skinny jeans, boots, a brown leather jacket, and a navy blue scarf with gold b.u.t.tons. He had spiky, nut-brown hair and pointed ears.

Wiping her cheeks, she asked, "Robin?"

The figure turned. The puck had a thin, triangular old/young face, fiery, wild eyes, and when he smiled, he showed too many teeth. "Robin brought you cake, dear love."

As the puck stepped forward, she plunged blindly across the room and threw her arms around him. More stupid tears fell. He pulled back to wipe them from her face, and she saw that he had too many fingers as well.

"I'm sorry, I've sprung a leak this morning," she muttered. "You look-you look-"

"Healed," the puck said. "Whole."

Her attention fell to his scarf. The material and the gold b.u.t.tons were familiar. She fingered one of the b.u.t.tons. "You made this out of the jacket?"

"I wear a kindness around my neck," Robin told her. "When the cage threatens to take over my mind, I touch my scarf and remember I am free."

"I'm so glad," she whispered. She straightened the scarf around his neck unnecessarily and smoothed it over his narrow chest.

"I've come to say good-bye." Robin laid his hands over hers.

"Oh no, not good-bye," she echoed in dismay. Just as she fell in love with things, she seemed doomed to lose them. "Are you going back to Lyonesse?"

"No home for Robin," he said. "Not yet. I go to create mischief for a Queen and her cruel Court. I aim to strike a blow at the very heart of her strength. It will be tricky. There are strings to pull, while I am just a puck. I have no true power over what rules the hearts of others, but I do know what power will bring about her downfall. We old ones play our games of war and dominance, and we forget, you see. We forget how much strength is in the heart, and how much can be transformed and defeated by love. Lord, we're fools."

"It sounds dangerous," she whispered. "I don't want you to go."

He kissed her cheeks. "Don't worry, dear love. They tricked me once; they won't capture me again. I will come to visit when I can."

"Promise?"

"Always, Sophie." He smiled, looking both gentle and feral at once. "Enjoy your cake."

He slipped out of the suite like a shadow. Sophie stood, listening to the emptiness in the room. Then she noticed the cardboard box on the coffee table. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, she opened the lid.

Inside, there were tiny cakes, iced and decorated with impossible colors and fantastic shapes of spun sugar and fondant. Delicate magic rose with the aroma of sugary goodness. Her mouth watered. Selecting a lavender confection, she popped it in her mouth. It was utterly delicious and melted with a tinkle of magic that spread through her body, smoothing away aches and pains, and leaving behind a feeling of refreshment and well-being.

Holy cow. What a rare, delightful gift. Briefly she struggled to hold back and not eat them all at once, but she had grown too hungry and she couldn't help herself. She fell on the cakes and consumed every last one.

When she had finished, she felt like she could face the world again. First things first. She checked her phone, and it was completely dead. Of course it was. The f.u.c.king f.u.c.ker.

She needed to buy a new phone. She should also call Paul to give him an update on what had happened to the property. She needed to find out what might happen to the entailment if the house collapsed. Maybe she should just swing by his office to talk to him in person.

Digging out his card, she used the suite phone to call the office. When Paul's secretary Trevor answered, she said, "Hi, this is Sophie Ross. Is Paul available?"

"Sophie!" Trevor exclaimed. "Paul has been trying to ring you. Where are you?"

"I'm in Shrewsbury," she told him. "I... actually, I'm not entirely sure where I am. I was pretty out of it when I checked in yesterday. I'm in a hotel near one of the bridges."

"As there's nine bridges here, that narrows it down to many," Trevor said, humor evident in his voice. "Hold on, I'm transferring you now."

She waited for the heartbeat it took to transfer, then Paul answered, exclaiming with every bit as much fervency as Trevor had, "Sophie! I'm so glad you rang. I've emailed and tried to ring you. Are you all right?"

"Sure, of course," she said, bemused. "Listen, I need to talk to you."

"I need to talk to you too. Between last night and this morning, I've taken about a dozen phone calls from the Dark Court. One of them is an absolute madman. And-are you sitting down?" he asked. "Because if you're not, you might want to."

An absolute madman. Oh dear. She felt behind her for the edge of the chair and lowered herself into it. "I am now."

"The King's cousin Annwyn-who, I guess, is now the regent since he's fallen ill-has made quite an offer to buy the property. Sophie, she offered ten million pounds."

"I-She what?" The world wobbled around her, and she couldn't believe what she'd just heard.

"You're probably wondering if you heard me right," Paul told her, laughing. "Forgive me for cackling like a lunatic, because I am, in fact, quite serious. The Dark Court wants to pay you ten million pounds for the Shaw family albatross, lock, stock, and barrel."

"But Paul, the house is unlivable. It has cracks in its foundation, and it's barely standing upright."

"Prices for country estates in the UK are astronomical. Just the land alone is worth a great deal of money. To be honest, if you wanted to bargain with them, I think you could probably get them up to fifteen million."

Fifteen. Million. Her mind refused to take that number in.

"Lock, stock, and barrel means the contents of the library too, right?" she replied faintly. "I had wanted to go through that."

"Yes, they want the library too. At this point, it's sight unseen, of course, but they feel there is some possibility they might find some useful information there. Apparently, the Shaws had worked in opposition to them in the past. Annwyn said they feel it's worth the gamble financially. Between that, acquiring the annuity that goes with the house, and gaining control over a viable crossover pa.s.sageway, she believes they're offering fair market value."

"I-I don't know what to say," she muttered.

On the one hand, she felt an inexplicable reluctance, but on the other, the property was now so damaged it bore none of the charms she had first enjoyed about it. Instead of having a viable living s.p.a.ce, if she didn't sell, she would be facing renovation bills she didn't have the liquid resources to pay. And besides, the Dark Court had a legitimate claim and a very real need.

"You don't have to say a thing," Paul told her. "Just take a few hours to absorb the news and come on into the office. We can go over the details. I'll take you to lunch and buy you champagne."

"Well... Okay, thank you. Of course I'll listen to the details," she told him. "For ten million pounds, how can I not?"

"Exactly. See you soon."

In a daze, she set the receiver on the cradle.

What did the madman have to say? Did he want to yell at her, now that she'd had some coffee? Was he trying to close the deal?

After dressing in jeans, the Doc Martens, a black, long-sleeved sweater, and a denim jacket, she braided her hair, checked her Glock and tucked it into her purse. Then she opened the door.

Nikolas stood outside, dressed in black, carrying so much Power he felt like a bolt of lightning barely sheathed in the form of a man. The planes and angles of his face, so sharp they appeared cut from an immortal blade, were clenched, and his dark eyes glittered.