Emeric studied him, his expression thoughtful. “Would ye risk everything for this? Everything ye’ve worked for? Everythingwe’veworked for? If ye continue down this road, ye could lose everything, Magnus. The Order of the Osprey doesnae hold jurisdiction here. This doesnae involve the Disinherited or the Fae or any of the Order’s enemies. We have no right to intervene in a problem that is the province of the local laird and the king. And in my experience, they dinna take kindly to having their toes trodden on.”
“Which is why I left Dun Saith!” Magnus replied. “Which is why I am working alone!”
“Do ye think it’s that simple?” Emeric snapped back. “Ye are a warrior of the Order of the Osprey! That isnae a cloak ye can take off when it suits ye! Yealwaysact for the Order, no matter what ye do. It is who and what ye are. That is the vow ye took. That is the vow wealltook!”
“I know,” Magnus said softly. He ran a hand across his face. God help him, he was so tired. Tired and a long, long way from home. Seeing Emeric had only made him realize how much he missed Dun Saith. He missed his sword-brothers. Emeric, Kai, Oskar and Conall were closer to him than kin and he hated that he’d left in the way he had. He hated doing this alone, without their support.
Yet what choice did he have? Like Emeric said, this was beyond the Order’s remit, a personal quest which he could not involve them in. Even so, had he told them, they wouldhave come with him. They would have broken protocol, defied their commanders, and ridden out with him.
But this was not their fight. It was his, and he had to do it alone if he was ever to find a measure of peace.
“But this isnae about peace, is it?” Emeric said, as if reading his thoughts. “It’s about guilt.”
Magnus looked back at him sharply.
Emeric shrugged, raising his cup to his lips again. “A man doesnae go on a personal quest of penance unless he feels guilt. And I know ye, Magnus, remember?”
Magnus’s jaw clenched at that. “Aye, ye do,” he admitted, his voice a husky whisper. “Ye know me better than most.”
Emeric had been there through the battles and the triumphs, the losses and the hardships. They had shared blood, sweat, and tears, stood shoulder to shoulder against their enemies. Emeric knew him well enough to see past his walls, to the raw wounds that lay beneath.
“So what is it ye are looking for?” Emeric pressed. His tone was soft but relentless—it always was—pushing and prodding until Magnus had nowhere left to turn.
There was a long pause as Magnus looked into his ale cup, watching the way the flickering firelight danced on its frothy surface as though it held all the answers he sought.
“I’m looking for proof,” he finally said softly.
“Proof?” Emeric echoed, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“Of who is behind the attacks that have been taking place around here. If I’m right...” He swallowed before continuing. “If I’m right, then only the king can stop them. I will take my proofto him.”
Emeric frowned. “Ye are treading dangerous ground, my friend. If ye are wrong—”
“If I’m wrong, then I’ll face the consequences! But I canna sit by and do nothing when I...” He fell silent abruptly.
When I might be responsible for it all.
Memories of Morwenna and Able’s village flashed through his head. The stink of burning wood. The tortured moans of the injured. The twisted hatred on that villager—Drew’s—face as he’d kicked and punched Magnus. He pressed a hand to his ribs. They still ached, a relentless reminder of what he was fighting for.
Emeric stared at him for a few moments. “And have ye found anything that proves yer suspicions?”
Magnus shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m close. Very close.”
“Close isnae good enough, my friend. Yer activities are already arousing suspicion.” Emeric sighed, eyes narrowing with concern. “Lord McRae’s patrols have increased in the area. They’re asking questions, looking for a stranger matching yer description. Ye know what will happen if they find ye.”
Magnus ran a hand through his tangled hair. “I can look after myself.”
“Aye, of that I have no doubt. But what of Isabelle? Can ye protect her when McRae’s thugs catch up with ye? Would ye risk her for the sake of yer own crusade?”
Magnus fell silent, his fingers clenched tight around his ale cup. The mere thought of Isabelle in danger was like a burning dagger sliding into his gut. The cup broke in his hand, shattering into shards.
Emeric looked down at it and then up at Magnus’s face. “So I was right,” he said softly. “I saw the way ye looked at her earlier. She means something to ye.”
“Aye,” Magnus replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “She does.”
“Who is she?”
Magnus hesitated. “She...” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the right words. “She’s someone who shouldnae be dragged into all of this. Someone who deserves better.”
