“History and archaeology are her passions and what filled her shelves the last time I visited. Admittedly, this onedoeslook old.” Syla brushed grass clippings off a tome with yellowed pages. “Maybe, if Fograth isthinking of Teyla as a potential wife, he sent these over for her to read.”
“If that’s true, the delivery person may be fortunate that your cousin threw the books out the window instead of at him.”
“That sounds right.”
Syla eyed the titles as if she might return the books to the damp lawn. Instead, she tucked them under her arm and carried them to the front door. Maybe she didn’t approve of the mishandling of any books, even those on unappealing subjects.
“If that’s your cousin’s window—” Vorik pointed back to the second-story room, “—maybe we should climb up, open it, and extract her that way.”
“Climbing walls isn’t my forte. Or trees. Or ropes. Anything, really.”
“Did you forget that your fortes have been expanded?” Vorik pointed toward Wreylith, but she’d moved away from the tower and was sniffing at the stable doors.
“Horses aren’t for eating, Wreylith.” Syla lifted a hand to knock on the front door, but it stood ajar.
They smell like prey,the dragon replied, including Vorik.
“I’ve had this discussion before with Agrevlari,” he said.
“How did it turn out? For the horse?” Syla lowered her hand and frowned at the door before pushing it fully open.
“We came to an agreement that only wild horses should be preyed upon. Those being groomed and trained by humans aren’t permissible for consumption.”
“Hello?” Syla called into the dark foyer inside, travertine tiles stretching toward windows and glass doors in the back that overlooked the lake. To one side of the foyer, wide stairs with a blue carpet runner led to a balcony and rooms on an upper level.
The air smelled of recently baked bread, and Vorik’s nostrils twitched with appreciation. Maybe after they completed their mission of rescuing the cousin, they could also rescue edible goods from the kitchen. It would be a shame to leave them in a captive state.
Nobody answered Syla, and she stepped inside. She hadn’t gone far when a scream came from upstairs, startling her into dropping the books. Vorik surged to her side, sword in hand as footsteps thundered in an upstairs hallway beyond the balcony. Whoever had screamed didn’t come in their direction. It had sounded like a woman.
“Teyla?” Syla called, not sounding certain. “Anyone?” She looked around the downstairs before her gaze shifted to the balcony again. “Do you think someone glanced out a window and saw Wreylith?”
“That’s possible.” Vorik didn’t add the thought that came to mind, that the red dragon might have been in the middle of plucking a horse from its stable.
Syla took a step toward the stairs but paused.
“I don’t sense anyone magical in here, do you?” She raised her moon-marked hand.
“Just you.” Vorik tried to remember how distinctive her cousin’s aura had been. She’d been an attractive young woman, but she hadn’t emanated as much power as Syla. Would he be able to sense her if she was in the manor? He wasn’t certain.
“Hm.”
Vorik walked at Syla’s side as she climbed the stairs. He thought about walking infrontof her—Fel would approve, surely—but he trusted he could react quickly to any domestic trouble they might run into in a lord’s manor.
They passed a couple of open doors, some leading to guest rooms and sitting rooms and one a library, but they didn’t see any occupants. After the arrival of a dragon, the staff had cleared out.
Vorik and Syla left the balcony and entered a wide hall, and she waved toward the end. “Teyla’s room is down there right before her father’s suite. It was herparents’ suite, but her mother passed some years ago. She was the one who inspired Teyla to become an archaeologist.”
“Are all the women in your family academics?”
“There are a lot of us, but no.” Syla stopped before a closed door but glanced toward open double doors at the end of the hall, then turned back for a longer look. “Is that…”
Feet in socks were visible—someone lying on the floor to the side of the door. Someone lying and not moving. A pile of linens lay in the threshold. Dropped by a maid who’d intended to walk in and change the bedding?
Syla veered in that direction, sucking in a startled breath when the rest of the man’s body came into view. His throat had been slit, and blood spattered the cream-colored rug that he’d died upon. Clad in only the socks and a nightshirt, he looked like he’d been startled awake in the middle of the night by whatever intruder had done this. A fireplace poker lay on the floor near the linens.
“That’s Lord Abbingdar.” Syla gripped the doorjamb. “Teyla’s father.”
Vorik walked into the room, one of several in the suite. He looked behind furnishings and into closets, but he believed the murder had happened several hours earlier. The bloodhad dried. Had nobody gone looking for the lord earlier that morning? Maybe he regularly slept in.
