Etiana was not pleased with his scheming. She attempted to squash the conversation several times, but Rerdas kept at it. It was far too good of an opportunity to pass up. Umber's affection opened an unexpected pathway to the kind of power, protection and onyx they had not possessed since Aunt Uralta had fallen ill.

He enlisted the help of their closest family friend in his efforts, one of the only people in Kirinoll who knew the full scope of their desperate situation. Earl Dantin Heckly was one of Uralta's oldest and most loyal friends. He had proved himself their ally time and time again.

Heckly was a portly figure with a trim white mustache bristling over his thin lips. He came from a family of modest holdings, but since taking control of his father's trading businesses, he had acquired substantial wealth and an even more valuable network of contacts. Yet even with all his means and interesting friends, he spent his most contented nights in the warmth of the Toriem cottage. Rerdas thought Heckly's favorite activity might be sitting back and watching him spar with his damned obstinate cousin.

"Dantin," Rerdas began, stretching an arm toward the Earl opposite him, "Etiana will not listen to reason. We have a priceless opportunity within our grasp—"

He was interrupted by an irritable snort from his cousin. "You're a fool, Rerdas. And I won't have you make me into one too!"

"What is it?" Heckly asked. Hammond swooped up beside him to refill his mug with fresh tea.

"I was on a hunting trip with His Highness—"

"The trip with the yarrow buck?" Dantin asked.

"Who told you about that?" Rerdas yelped. His cheeks stung with a mortified flush.

"Oh, I can't remember...one of the ladies, I think. I'm glad to hear you didn't kill the damn thing. I was in a panic when she started telling me that story. But don't worry. Most of the prince's companions think it was funny."

"Wonderful," Rerdas said miserably. Etiana grinned at him, and he narrowed his eyes. "But that's not what I was going to tell you about. I spoke with the Duke of Umber after the hunt, and he seemed especially interested in Etiana."

"Oh, blessed Eternals, would you leave the goddamn Duke of Umber alone?" Etiana snapped.

"How did you discover this interest?" Heckly's bushy eyebrows shot up his forehead.

"He brought her up numerous times, and then invited us to his next ball!"

"There is not the slightest possibility that the Duke of Umber is interested in me. I met him once, and it was ages ago," Etiana said.

"You may have made an impression, my dear," Heckly said. "And Rerdas is right. This is a great opportunity, if handled correctly."

Rerdas grinned triumphantly, slapping his open palms on the table.

Etiana ignored him. "Dantin, you can't seriously think that the duke would even consider marrying me! To throw myself at him would make me the laughing stock of the entire court!"

"Well..." Heckly trailed off. He pressed his lips together and exchanged a knowing glance with Rerdas.

"Nobody said you had to marry him Etiana," Rerdas said. "Just...make him happy."

"You idiots want me to be his mistress?" Etiana screeched.

"He's one of the most powerful men in Kirinoll. He'd be an invaluable patron," Rerdas countered. "And it's a better plan than risking everything on a sullen battleboxer far past his prime."

"Consider it this way, Etiana. Even if you don't sleep with him, you can still earn the Duke's favor. It is immensely valuable to be within the shadow of his protection. Things are shifting quickly in the Queen's palace...and no one seems to know exactly what she and that awful advisor are up to," Heckly said. His nose wrinkled distastefully at the mention of Advisor Yadi.

"Being friendly with him is a weak prospect compared to the value he might place on you if you were his mistress," Rerdas said. Etiana slapped her open palm on the table.

"I can't believe you two! This is a stupid plan. I'd make a terrible mistress."

"I'm sure we could find you some discreet courtesans to teach you a few tricks," Rerdas joked, leering dramatically at her.

Heckly choked on his tea.

"That's not what I meant, you filthy minded pig of a boy," Etiana boomed.

Rerdas collapsed beneath waves of laughter.

His cousin smiled in spite of herself, before she reassembled a stern expression. "Besides," She crossed her arms resolutely across her chest. "I have nothing to wear to a duke's ball."

"That, dear heart, is something I'd be happy to help you with," Heckly said, and raised his mug toward her with a wink.

Rerdas stood up. "I'm glad you've come to your senses, cousin dearest. Do we have any extra tea left in the pot, Hammond?" He turned back to the butler, who nodded and began to fill a large black mug with a lid attached.

"I don't think you should keep giving Imalroc things like that, Rerdas. It's not at all proper," Etiana said.

"It's freezing in that cellar, Etiana," Rerdas replied. He looked up to meet three disapproving gazes. "He's no use to us if he's too sick to fight. The last of the stew as well, Hammond. He didn't get much of a lunch."

"Don't try to be too kind to him Rerdas," Heckly said. The white bristles of his eyebrows drew together as he frowned. "Battleboxers don't see generosity, they see weakness. He's been conditioned far differently than the rest of us."

"It's just a bit of hot food. I don't think he's going to attack me for it." Rerdas balanced the bowl and mug in his hands as he kicked the door open and stepped into the night.

It had been raining all day again, a sure sign that the warmest part of the year was fading. Soon the leaves would turn and then crumble, baring skinny winter trees. Red King's Eve was creeping closer. Rerdas told himself it was only the cold that made him shiver.

He moved carefully across the courtyard and rounded the manor house. It was not until he reached the squat door to the cellar that he realized he had forgotten to bring his hunting dirk with him. He hesitated, and set the bowl down so he could rap his fist against the wet wood, signaling Imalroc to stay away from the cellar entrance. The bolt rasped free of the latch as Rerdas drew it back and shoved the door inward. Gripping the bowl and mug, he took a cautious step. Tried desperately to shake the feeling that he was walking into a prisoner's cell.

The battleboxer had been well trained. He squatted in a corner as far from the door as he could get, pale blue eyes fixed on Rerdas' feet in a further gesture of submission. Rerdas hooked a finger through the handle of the door and pulled it shut behind him in a futile effort to keep out some of the cold. This cellar was going to be practically unlivable by the time winter fell.

Rerdas crossed the room slowly and set the stew and tea beside the lantern that flickered near Imalroc's bed. The battleboxer did not move. Rerdas had a vivid flash of an injured wildcat that his father had once captured. The animal would not take any offered food with a human nearby. He felt a surge of pity for Imalroc, but tamped it down before it could show.

"Stand up," he commanded. He was never sure if he sounded as false as he felt when he was trying to project authority. If Imalroc sensed his uncertainty, the battleboxer had never shown it. He followed Rerdas' orders swiftly but always with a wary tension that never entirely dissipated.

"Arms." Rerdas lifted the lantern toward the battleboxer. Imalroc pushed his sleeves up and stretched his arms out. They had repeated this ritual so many times over the past few days that there was no need for further instruction.

The huntmaster studied Imalroc's lean limbs. He gave the battleboxer what he could, but Imalroc still looked too skinny to be a battlebox champion. He needed more food and more exercise. And practice. Rerdas glanced over at the bag of sawdust swinging idly from the ceiling of the cellar. He picked up the stick he usually left propped against the door and held it out to Imalroc.

"Take a few swings. Overhand it. We've got to loosen that shoulder," Rerdas said. He was sure he sounded like an idiot, pretending to know something about loosening a sword fighter's shoulder.

Imalroc padded silently toward him and accepted the stick. For a moment, his eyes drifted to Rerdas' hip and then lifted. Something cruel and cunning flashed through the pale blue depths of the battleboxer's gaze. Rerdas went rigid. His pity vanished. He had just handed a thick piece of wood to a murderous killer who had clearly noticed that he was without his blade.

"Move," Rerdas snapped, squaring his shoulders and strangling his instinct to step backward. Imalroc's eyes flashed in the lantern light. He stood still long enough for Rerdas' pulse to triple, but then he turned and loped toward the sawdust bag.

Rerdas clutched the lantern and began to inch toward the door. The stick plowed into the sawdust again and again, but Imalroc was barely putting dents in the bag with each strike. Rerdas took a steadying breath and tried to focus.

He examined his motion, watching for the slight hitch in the battleboxer's swings. It was still there, a barely perceptible jerk. Imalroc's strokes were sluggish, and his pace quickly diminished. But he kept smacking the stick into the bag until Rerdas stopped him.

"That's enough. Go sit." He pointed toward the bed. The door was close enough that he could lunge for it, in case that look came back into the fighter's eerie blue eyes.

Imalroc dropped the stick and obeyed. Rerdas watched him for a long moment, but the battleboxer did not look up at him again. He left the lantern and backed out of the cellar, not taking his eyes off of Imalroc's hunched form until he was outside with the door safely shut and bolted.

Once outside, Rerdas gulped in the night air and leaned against the wall, heedless of the still-damp stone. His heart thumped against his ribs, and his knees went weak. He was absolutely certain that Imalroc had considered killing him moments ago. Thank the Eternals for whatever had stopped him. Rerdas inhaled through his nose and tried to settle his pulse.

A sound like wood splintering made him leap away from the wall. The cellar door shuddered with an unseen impact, and then was silent. Rerdas stared at the door. He half expected Imalroc to come tearing through it. But that was nonsense, the damn thing was well bolted. Nothing to be scared of. When he had reassembled enough of his nerves, Rerdas crept to one of the narrow windows and crouched to peer into the cellar.

The wooden practice stick he had given to Imalroc lay shattered in front of the door. The battleboxer paced the room like a caged greatcat, hissing. He swept along in a ceaseless circle. When he turned, the lantern light flared over his face and Rerdas saw that the docile mask to which he had grown accustomed concealed pure rage.

He pulled back and stared blankly at the dark courtyard around him. What in the name of all Eternals were they doing with that creature locked up on a virtually undefended estate, only a few steps from where they all slept? Etiana was mad. And he was equally insane to have gone along with her. He eased back toward the window.

For a moment, he thought the battleboxer had disappeared. There was no trace of him in the cellar, until Rerdas looked down. Goosebumps swept over his arms, and the hair on his neck stood on end. Imalroc was directly below the window, his ice-blue eyes wide and pinned on Rerdas.

The huntmaster threw himself away from the dripping hunger in the fighter's expression. He staggered to his feet. In his rush to get back to the safety of the cottage, he felt like a child fleeing the grasp of a nightmare. But this nightmare was worse than the others. Imalroc would still be all too real come daylight.