“How the hell do you do that, Will?”
“If you really want to know, I can smell it. Your smell changes as you try to hide something.”
From Roger’s expression, Marcus thought the man probably had not wanted to know. He wanted to laugh but held it back because he knew the rest of it. Before Roger spoke a word, William turned his head to face Brienne. She took his hand and held it tightly against her. Then she nodded. William stared at her for several minutes and then turned back to his friend.
He already knew the worst of it.
“The king is dead,” Roger said softly. “He fell from his horse in the middle of a storm. They found him the next morning dead.”
No one spoke then as they watched William struggle with the news. His father the king was dead. Enough of his men knew the truth that it took little time to comprehend it. Natural sons, and daughters, were common enough and nothing unusual among the nobles and royals. Alexander, he’d been told, never suffered an empty bed or a lack of offspring—except for the legitimate, living kind needed to inherit the throne.
“You knew, Brienne?” he asked.
“Aye. Lord Hugh told me that he was going to kill the king as part of his plan to unleash chaos even before the goddess does.”
“And I knew he was in danger. I told his royal commander to be on watch for an attack. Where did this accident happen, Roger? Do you know?”
“They said he fell off the cliff at Kinghorn in Fife.”
Marcus had not seen much of the country of Scotland yet so he did not understand the suspicious tone in Roger’s voice. “Is that unusual?” he asked.
“There are no cliffs in Kinghorn, Marcus. Only straight, level roads and a beach.”
William glanced over at Brienne. “A part of his plan that was successful.”
“I am so sorry, William,” she said, kissing his hand then.
William sat in silence for a few moments, and Marcus allowed him this short time to grieve. Another casualty in the evil one’s war to bring chaos to the world. A dead king without a clear, viable heir would do that. There was a young granddaughter, offspring of a now-dead daughter, but she was not more than a bairn, and so many things could happen to wee ones.
“Marcus?” William broke his silence. “And your news?”
He could not help the smile this time. The warblood had some sharp abilities, including the ability to detect the truth by odors. It was but one that he would discover if the old legends and stories were true and accurate.
“The gods spoke to us last night while you . . .” He did not finish that. “Aislinn interpreted the signs and the words and knows where the next circle is located.”
“North, based on the direction Hugh escaped in.”
“Aye. In the Norse isles to the north. Orkney.”
William nodded. “And the rest of it, if you please. I would know what we are up against.”
“If we know, then so does he,” Aislinn said from behind William. “He took one of our priests with him when he escaped. Devyn.”
“Alive?” William asked.
“Aye. For now.”
William began to pace around their small group. Marcus knew he was searching for a solution, but he did not know their ways.
“Can you break your connection with him?” he asked.
“No,” Aislinn said.
“Aye,” he replied. At Aislinn’s startled glance, he nodded. “There is a way.”
“Marcus, please,” she begged as she walked to him. Lowering her voice, she whispered, “You know it will mean his death. Do not do this. I beg you.”
“Aislinn,” William began, taking her hand in his and making her look at him. “He will not be alone in his death. Some have gone ahead of him and others, many others who will follow us will follow him into it. But his death will be empty if he dies at Hugh’s hands without purpose.”
