Chapter One

 

THE last time Zane was a guest at the Cedde’s House, he managed to leave on his own terms.

But it had been a close call.

Zane was nearly caught trying to steal a rare and unusual book from Lord Bertram’s library. If not for the timely intervention of the gardener’s assistant he’d befriended, Zane would have left the premises in shackles.

But dwelling on the past wasn’t going to get Zane anywhere.

He’d returned because finding Lord Cedde’s copy of The Treatise of Hybrid Man was more important than ever. Standing outside reminiscing about past failures wasn’t going to accomplish anything.

With a purposeful stride Zane climbed the steps to the townhouse and knocked firmly on the front door.

While he waited, Zane bemusedly examined the intricate scenes of myth and legend carved into the heavy oak door.

With its sleek stone facade, the viscount’s home looked nearly identical to the dozens of townhouses that marched in precise rows around the Royal Complex. Neat rectangles with flat roofs, each rising several stories into the air. The residents of the Aristocratic Quarter eschewed the usual ostentatious war of one-upping their neighbor to differentiate their homes.

Instead, each family chose a single, uniquely identifiable adornment to make their townhouse stand out.

The artistically sculpted door of Cedde’s House was unique and unmistakable.

Eventually, it opened silently to reveal the thin, elderly butler. Despite his age, Vannon still stood perfectly straight and everything, from his thick white hair to his black leather shoes, was precise and polished.

When he recognized Zane waiting on the doorstep, however, the faintest hint of a smile ghosted across his thin lips.

“Master Zane. It’s so good to see you again.” The butler stepped back and opened the door wide in invitation. “It’s been much too long.”

“Well, the life of a journeyman scholar, you know,” Zane answered with a grin and a shrug, relieved to find a warm welcome. “So much to learn and study. So many places to explore. There’s never enough time to visit, no matter how I wish I could. It’s good to finally be back, though.”

“Lord Bertram is absorbed in his work, as usual. I’ll get you settled in and let him know you’ve arrived.”

Vannon glanced past Zane’s shoulder and added, “I’ll have one of the footmen bring your things up to the guest room Heldi has prepared, then take your mount to the stable.”

The interior of the townhouse had changed little over the years. A grand, sweeping staircase dominated the entry hall. Rare art lined walls made of expensive wood paneling the color of warm honey. The marble floor beneath his feet gleamed with expert polish.

Every bit of it whispered understated elegance and unimaginable wealth.

Zane followed the butler through the door on the left that led into the informal parlor and settled in to wait.

Left alone after Vannon returned to his duty, Zane forced himself to sit still on the velvet-covered settee.

Cooling his heels and waiting was not Zane’s strong suit, however. His feet itched to roam the house in search of the book he’d come for.

But Vannon said Bertram was working.

Which meant he’d be occupying his library-study at the back of the townhouse.

The same study where the book had been locked away the last time Zane visited.

No doubt it still was.

So Zane needed to bide his time and wait for a more appropriate opportunity.

***

A quarter of an hour later, Zane was beginning to rethink the patient approach.

As minute after minute ticked by with no sign of Lord Bertram, Zane began to worry Vannon’s warm welcome might have been some kind of ruse.

Zane nervously retraced each of his steps, trying to find any detail that might not hold up to deeper scrutiny.

He’d spent the past several weeks laying the groundwork for his return to the townhouse. Starting with resuming correspondence with the viscount in order to mention his plans to pass through Obelarr City. Zane had spun tales of recent research and investigation and hinted that he could use a patron to support his ongoing efforts as a journeyman scholar.

Bertram had eventually taken the bait and offered him a room.

In hindsight, however, the invitation had been oddly reluctant.

Especially considering how eager the viscount had been to host him the first time around. Those among the intellectual clique of the aristocracy often supported and boarded traveling scholars.

It was a symbiotic relationship. The students never wanted for food and lodging as they pursued knowledge. In turn, they shared their research and discoveries with their patrons. And the wealthy aristocrats never needed to leave the comfort of their ivory towers.

Last time, Zane had spent weeks researching what he could of the viscount’s various interests. Then he’d invented an interest in the convergence of folktales and alchemy in order to snare Cedde’s attention.

At the salon where Zane arranged an introduction, he’d barely touched on the details of his supposed research before Bertram offered his patronage.

This time, it had taken a little more back and forth and some broad hints before the viscount offered his hospitality.

Perhaps he’d given himself away somehow.

It was far easier to dance around the topics in person than to make up believable research in his correspondence.

Hands clenched, Zane closed his eyes, recalling every avenue of escape in the townhouse he could remember. Carefully, he retraced a dozen routes to the stable in his mind.

Just in case.

A moment later, however, Bertram, Viscount of Cedde, appeared in the doorway, all smiles and warm greetings.

“Zane! So good to have you back.”

Dark hair, shot through with silver, framed the sharp patrician features and framed deep blue eyes. There was a great deal more silver threaded through it now than when Zane last saw him, but he was still a striking figure, commanding attention.

Zane could easily see how he’d earned his reputation at court as a ladies’ man. Of course, the seven sons from three different wives didn’t hurt. Nor did the rumors of his less legitimate offspring.

Rising immediately, Zane returned the warm greeting with a slightly awkward bow. He could execute the gesture flawlessly, of course. Especially after all the recent practice in the royal courts of Ardell and Glicien.

But, in this instance, it suited his role to come across as somewhat inept and unpracticed.

“None of that,” Bertram insisted, patting Zane on the back when he straightened from the bow. “You’re a friend to this house. Though you’ve been gone so long, we were beginning to think you’d forgotten us.”

“Of course I’d never forget my favorite patron,” Zane assured, returning the enthusiasm. “No other house comes close to your hospitality. But, alas, there is so much out there to discover and learn. The life of a traveling scholar keeps me on the move. I rarely get to visit the people or places that truly matter.”

“Ah, too true,” Bertram agreed, nodding sagely. “Sometimes I envy you your vagabond life. But then I think of how much I’d miss my experiments. And my family, of course.”

“Of course,” Zane murmured, amused and appalled at how much of an afterthought the viscount seemed to find his family.

A footman Zane didn’t recognize arrived to serve tea. Once cups were prepared and handed over, the young man disappeared discreetly.

Bertram settled into a comfortable wingback chair by the fireplace, and Zane resumed his place on the settee.

“Speaking of family,” the viscount resumed as if their conversation hadn’t been interrupted at all. “How is your brother? It was a brother whose message called you away last time. Or was it a cousin…”

“My brother, yes,” Zane answered, voice scratchy with emotion he didn’t need to feign. “He was gravely ill.”

Injured more like. The kind of wound that a wolf-shifter’s advanced healing should have easily fixed. But had not.

Wyatt refused to speak of it at the time. Only years later had Zane’s twin admitted he’d tried to get rid of the wolf.

That, while Zane searched for a book holding the secrets of the shifters, Wyatt had been trying to escape their fate.

While Zane sought ways to enhance the gifts they received when they first transformed from men to wolf-shifters, Wyatt had trusted a madman who claimed to have the answers to free him.

A madman who’d attacked and nearly killed Zane’s twin with a wolfsbane-laced dagger.

Now, Wyatt was off on his own journey once again, undertaking a dangerous quest into a haunted forest.

And, once again, Zane wasn’t by his side to protect him.

He only hoped the necessary separation ended better for both of them this time.

Clearing his throat, Zane forced a tight smile and refocused on the conversation at hand. “He survived, however, and has been healthy as a horse ever since.”

“Good, good,” Bertram murmured, clearly uninterested and ready to move on to conversation he considered more interesting than polite small talk.

“And what of your research? What new tidbits of folklore and alchemy have you uncovered to share with the world?”

With glee, Zane dove in. He never felt more in his element than when he was spinning tales for a rapt audience. Combining lore he learned from past adventures with stories made up of whole cloth, Bertram clung to every word.

But the viscount appeared particularly interested when Zane began talking about the recent reappearance of the exiled Glicien princesses. And the fact that they no longer seemed to be cursed.

He was careful to relate only the common gossip and theories circulating among the kingdoms. No one needed to know the full truth of their powers. Or their limits. Bea, Pip, and Evie had been more than just instrumental in helping the pack and the royal family of Ardell stop the Grey Enchantress.

They had become friends as well.

And Zane would never betray their secrets.

So, when the viscount’s interest became a little too pointed, Zane decide it was time to shift the topic slightly.

“I understand there’s a bit of a mystery with Obelarr’s crown princess, as well. I’ve heard whispers of magic and intrigue behind her unexplained disappearance.”

The rumors had run rampant for months, but news from the Royal Complex was slim. Wild speculation abounded. Had she been kidnapped? Eloped with an inappropriate partner?  Or had something more nefarious happened to her?

Zane’s main task was retrieving the book. Considering the hints of magic surrounding the unexplained absence of the princess, though, it wouldn’t hurt to gather information while he was here.

Leaning forward slightly, Zane tried to look innocently curious.

“Is it true she just vanished in the middle of the Harvest Masquerade Ball?”

“Yes, apparently so. It’s all very mysterious and alarming.” Bertram steepled his fingers and pressed them against his lips. “Coupled with the detestable Ghost Thief running rampant through the Aristocratic Quarter, the security of Obelarr City seems to be in woeful decline.”

“The Ghost Thief?”

With the gossips’ attention focused on Princess Delfina, Zane had heard only a whisper or two about the elusive burglar.

“A common criminal preying on his betters. The inept city guard has not managed to even catch a glimpse of the thief, let alone lay hands on the blackguard. And now, because of their incompetence, the Quarter is forced to endure a curfew enforced by added patrols.”

Zane nodded sagely, pinched his lips to keep from laughing at the absurdity of Bertram’s priorities.

He’d shown more emotion and outrage for his inconvenience than the disappearance of his future queen.

“I assume you haven’t returned to discuss the unfortunate decline of our capital city, however.” Bertram waved his hand carelessly through the air, his indignation slipping away as fast as it appeared. “What fortuitous circumstance has finally brought you back to our door?”

“The recent… unpleasantness… in Ardell seems to have stirred up the collective memory of the region. A great many nearly forgotten folktales are suddenly being shared. I’m hoping to collect as many of the stories as I can before they fade into obscurity again.”

“Oh, yes, the Grey Enchantress. Nasty business,” Bertram murmured bemusedly. As if an evil sorceress attempting to usurp an entire kingdom was a minor inconvenience. “What sort of tales have you collected so far?”

“Well, there is a fable from Glicien about a fey bride and talking horse…” Zane launched into the tale with enthusiasm, encouraged by Bertram’s obvious curiosity.

Knowing the viscount’s interest in magical experiments, Zane had carefully curated a collection of stories. Ones filled with dangerous magical feats that would be impossible to replicate.

Zane had just reached the epic conclusion, revealing the groom had been the horse all along, when a soft sound from the hall captured his attention.

A young woman hesitated in the doorway, clutching a basket of fresh-cut flowers and shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her cobalt eyes flitted uncertainly from the viscount to Zane and back again.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was in here.” Her chin dipped as she spoke, and her gaze settled on the floor in front of her. “I’ll just go replace the flowers in the dining room and come back later.”

She started to back out, but Bertram stopped her. A hint of annoyance darkened his expression. But the viscount was always keenly aware of proper decorum. Even when it irritated him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, my dear. Come in. I’d like you to meet an old friend.”

She hovered uncertainly, frozen on the threshold. Curiosity combined with wariness at the introduction of an unexpected player into the mix and Zane took a moment to study her.

Viscount Cedde famously had no daughters, just the seven sons.

But she didn’t appear to be one of the day servants, either.

Her dress was well-made with fine fabric and great attention to detail. It was also a year or two out of current fashion.

A cascade of auburn curls framed delicate features that seemed slightly familiar. Zane focused in with narrowed eyes, certain he’d never met her, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he should recognize her anyway.

Then Bertram waved impatiently, and she stepped into the room, breaking Zane’s moment of contemplation.

“Allow me to introduce my ward, Maegna. Maegna, this is Master Zane, a traveling scholar.”

His ward. That explained the clothes and her uncertain demeanor. She was stuck between two worlds. Neither gentry nor commoner. Not family and not staff. It had to be a difficult tightrope to walk every day.

“Zane is a veritable fount of information,” the viscount continued. “Especially when it comes to obscure folktales featuring alchemy and strange magic.”

For a moment her gaze sharpened bitterly, taking Zane by surprise though Bertram seemed oblivious. Then her shoulders drooped, and her chin fell, and she once more exuded demure timidity.

But it was too late. Zane had caught the flash of fire. Perhaps she was playing at meekness to preserve her tentative position, but he wasn’t going to forget that look. Nor would he fall into the trap of underestimating her during his stay in Obelarr City.

“My lord, Master Zane’s room is ready,” Heldi announced from where she waited politely at the door. Not quite as ancient as her husband Vannon, the housekeeper was just as unbowed and pin perfect.

“Good, good. Show him the way,” Bertram ordered before turning back to Zane. “Once you’re settled in, make yourself at home and reacquaint yourself with the lower levels and the gardens. I have a bit of work to finish up, but we’ll catch up over dinner.”

Zane tamped down on the urge to cast one last glance at the enigmatic Maegna. Instead, he offered a polite nod in Bertram’s direction and set about charming Heldi as she led him up the main staircase.

***

Maegna kept her head bowed. As always, she did her best to play the quiet, dutiful ward.

Beneath the veil of her lowered lashes, however, she watched their newest guest as Heldi led him toward the main staircase. His teasing smile and a whispered joke actually made the dour woman chuckle.

Master Zane was not what she expected.

The golden braid hanging between his strong shoulders reminded her more of depictions of famous ancient warriors.

And the piercing grey eyes were a little too attuned to the here and now. Nothing like the distant fog of contemplation the viscount and men of his ilk were lost in half the time.

Not to mention the man’s tall, rangy build and confident stride. There wasn’t even a hint of the stooped-shoulder slump cultivated by those who spent years hunched over books or scribbling in a journal.

She’d been both worried and hopeful when she learned the viscount had invited one of his scholarly acquaintances despite the troubling circumstances the family was immersed in.

Not that her fa—

Not that Lord Cedde bothered to mention the impending guest to Maegna.

As usual, she heard it third-hand from the upstairs day maid. Thankfully, she could always trust Abigail to share the latest gossip and news Maegna depended on.

Lord Cedde saw her as nothing but a burden. She knew, at some point when he got around to it, he planned to marry Maegna off then forget her existence.

For now, he refused to share the smallest details of the current situation. Even though he knew Maegna was just as worried about Waldhryn and the others as Bertram was.

But Maegna would not be left out of the loop. In two years of living as his ward, she’d learned how to get the answers she needed.

So, as soon as Abigail giddily spilled the news that a handsome new guest had arrived, Maegna had hurried to the solarium. Changing out the blossoms in the common rooms was the kind of unobtrusive task that allowed her to eavesdrop on interesting conversation.

Unfortunately, in her eagerness, she’d drawn attention to herself, despite her best intentions.

“What do you think of our guest, my dear?” Bertram asked, as if reading her mind.

Maegna’s teeth ground against each other. She hated the way he called her my dear most of the time. Like he couldn’t be bothered to remember her name.

After all, she was only his daughter.

And an illegitimate one at that.

“He seems… nice,” she answered carefully. Anything negative would have elicited a lecture she had no interest in hearing.

The viscount took his duty as host and patron to the various roaming scholars who passed through Cedde House seriously. And he expected everyone else to be equally as dutiful.

Even if everything in their lives was falling apart around them.

“He plans to tarry here for a few weeks. Perhaps you can dredge up a bit of charm from somewhere and make him feel welcome. It wouldn’t do for him to wonder why a member of my household is so melancholy.”

Maegna wanted to growl out her refusal. But she wasn’t quite at the place yet where she could risk pushing the viscount too far. Her own plans for escape had been sidelined by the plight of her brothers.

She might not be good enough for Lord Bertram, Viscount of Cedde, but his sons had welcomed her to the family with open arms. She would not abandon them until they were home and safe.

So instead of telling him what he could do with his need to present a facade of normalcy, Maegna smiled meekly.

“Of course. I’ll do my best.”

Then she bit her lip, hesitating. She needed answers but asking the question foremost on her mind could very well backfire on her.

Still, Maegna had to know.

“Is Master Zane here to help you rescue Waldhryn and the others?” She kept her head down and voice soft, giving her best wide-eyed, fearful innocent impression. “Will his expertise aid your research?”

“Absolutely not,” he snarled with outrage. “I’ve told you, this is much too dangerous for anyone to find out about.”

He had told her that. Over and over again. And that was all he would say. Maegna still had no idea what happened to her brothers. Or where the viscount had hidden them away. She didn’t know what Bertram was doing to help them. Or why he felt it was too dangerous to ask for outside aid. Even from scholars and researchers he considered friends.

Maegna could only assume that, whatever had happened to Wald and the rest of her brothers, it had been the viscount’s fault.

Just as it had been his flawed experiment that caused the death of Maegna’s mother.

“You will not speak a word of this to Zane or anyone else,” he continued, his blue eyes distant and cold. As they always were when he bothered to look at her at all. “Do you understand?”

She wanted to ask him how he expected to keep it a secret, considering his nightly excursions. But she’d pressed farther than she should have, already. Instead, she ducked her head and nodded.

“Of course, my lord. I understand. Not a word. You know I’ll do anything to protect the family.”

And it was true.

Maegna might hate the viscount with a fiery rage, but his sons were another story. She would never do anything to endanger her half-brothers.

Satisfied with her answer, the viscount nodded and brushed past her, leaving the room without another word. No doubt immediately forgetting she existed.

Maegna wished she could do the same for him.

But until her brothers were rescued from whatever vile magic their father accidentally unleashed on them, Maegna was stuck here.

So, as much as she hated the very idea of magic, she was going to continue her own secret search for answers.

The sooner her brothers were safe at home, the sooner Maegna would be free to finally set her own escape plan into motion.