“You idiot!”

“I-” was about as far as I managed to get.

“You complete and utter idiot!” Cyrus snarled, black-clad shoulders hunched forward as he ceased his pacing and glared down at me. My leather couch, one of several comfortable chairs located in my exercise hall, suddenly felt like a rather uncomfortable place to be sitting. “You unfeeling, sadistic, egotistical . . . moron!”

“Cyrus! You-”

“I mean . . . her!” he growled, teeth actually baring themselves in righteous anger at me briefly as he began pacing once more. “You would do that . . . to her!? You insensitive, maggot ridden dog! You cretinous-”

“Cyrus!” I half-shouted, standing up from my seat.

He stopped his pacing and stood still, glaring at me.

“I rather humbly suggest,” I said between gritted teeth, pulling at the bottom of my vest and smoothing my garments, “that you take a moment and consider who you are talking to, your relationship with that person, and perhaps, if you're not too busy, make a note of the current time.” I gave my Knight-Captain a pointed look. “You are, in fact, in the presence of your Lord . . . and what's more, you are actually working at the moment. And since there's nothing in our agreement I can recall that stipulates that I must tolerate this level of familiarity from you, I would suggest that you modify your tone and use of honorific immediately!”

Cyrus stiffened, taking a quick breath and standing at attention.

“I'm very sorry, Milord. It shall not happen again.”

“See that it doesn't,” I said.

“You,” Cyrus said, his voice calm and even, “are a complete and utter idiot. Milord.”

“See? Much better,” I said, pretending to flick some dust from my shoulder. “And you'd be referring to what happened with Talia, I take it?”

“Milord, she-” anger flashed briefly across his face, and he closed his eyes for a moment before continuing, forcing himself to relax. “It was a cruel thing to do, Milord.”

“Cruel? In what way?” I asked, mystified. “Asking her to play along as I rid myself of a troublesome employee? She was in no danger, and though I will admit it may have caused her a spot of awkwardness, she-”

“Awkwardness?” Cyrus sputtered.

“Cyrus, could you please explain your sudden behavior? Why exactly is it that you're acting this way? I'm trying to come up with a good reason why her distress over an unexpected bit of playacting has you so bothered. Is it-” I frowned at him, struck by a sudden realization, “Are you . . . courting her again?”

He stared at me dumbly, his jaw slack with disbelief. I'd touched a bit of a sore spot, obviously, and I began to nod in understanding. Cyrus was an extremely protective fellow, somewhat overprotective at times. Then again, in his line of work I considered that to be an asset.

“Well, okay . . . see? Now it's out in the open and I know, I'll be more careful in future. I hardly expected her to react that poorly, but I know well enough that this sort of activity isn't for everyone, and I can see how her sudden distress might upset you. And now that I know, I'll be sure to avoid it.” I lowered my head slightly, eyebrows bobbing the same question to him as my upturned palms. “Apology accepted? Will that do?”

He shook his head dumbly at me, and I felt momentary puzzlement. I wondered what else I could possibly offer to do, or refrain from doing, that might satisfy him.

“God of dimwits,” he said breathlessly, still shaking his head, his eyes wide. “You don't even know. The most cunning Lord in all of Harael, and you don't even-”

“What? Don't even know what?” I asked angrily. “Is everyone conspiring to speak and act in riddles today? What don't I know, Cyrus?!”

“Talia's in love with you, moron!” Cyrus roared, glaring at me ferociously. A moment later, and through clenched teeth, he added, “Milord.”

I furrowed my brow at my Knight-Captain, eyebrows making my forehead wrinkle in an entirely new way, mouth falling open. I felt my eyes narrow, and after closing and opening my mouth a few more times I let it speak the carefully crafted thought my brain had finally settled upon as adequately describing how I was feeling.

“What?” I blurted.

“No idea at all . . . you idiot!” he said forlornly, still shaking his head as he walked over to the seat beside the couch and sat down heavily, hand immediately moving to his temple as if to either assist with heavy thoughts, or attempt to suppress a headache.

I stared at him for a few moments as he sat there, shaking his head.

“What?” I repeated.

“I have to ask, are you blind Milord?” he asked, still shaking his head in disbelief, like his neck just couldn't stop. “You pick up on subtleties between other Lords and Ladies that I'm looking for and cannot see, point out things it might take me a lifetime to learn to spot, and yet you did not see the signs?”

“Signs? What signs?” I asked, glad that my brain had managed to add a second word to my suddenly limited vocabulary.

Closing his eyes, Cyrus exhaled through his nose in a disgusted manner.

“Gods. How about the Festival of Masks, Milord . . . let's start with that.”

“What of it?”

“Last year, Milord. You were dressed as Erik Raynesteppe, from that play 'Broken Chimes' that you enjoyed so much.”

“So?”

“So?” Cyrus said, heated indignation causing his voice to catch slightly. “You perhaps didn't notice who it was who dressed up as Lady Winterwren that night? Or the year before, when that silly children's play was all the rage. You dressed up as Happenstance, and she-”

“She was Lady Luck, yes . . . I do recall.” I said, looking at him thoughtfully. “I'd remarked on the coincidence, catching her dressed like that before whatever dance she'd-”

“There was no dance! She hadn't been invited anywhere! Sweet merciful demons, I don't even know why I'm telling you all this,” he said darkly, shaking his head in wonder yet again. “I wasn't even in your service then, but I've heard this story from her so many times it's like I was right there. Milord, do you recall eight years ago, when you took ownership of your family holdings? The Festival of Masks was a week later, and you hosted it here to celebrate. Do you recall your conversation with Talia that night?”

“Uh . . .” I said, uncertainly.

“You were in very high spirits, from what I've heard. You'd dressed up as Lord Ashmane, all dead-looking and sporting those silly paper wings. You encountered Talia, and said something about how you desperately wished she'd been wearing wings as well that night, so that the two of you might dance together as Lord and Lady Ashmane, awaiting the rising of the sun, just like in the story. And you kissed her,” he pointed to his brow, “on the forehead.”

“Uhm . . .” I said, even more uncertainly. I remembered a goodly amount of wine that evening, but-

“And since that time, every year,” he slammed his palm in anger against the padded leather armrest of his chair, “every year, she's made a particular point of finding out your festival costume, so that she might dress to match.”

Oh gods! I felt the contents of my chest lurch unpleasantly.

“Cyrus, are you serious?”

“Idiot,” he snorted. “Of course, she had feelings for you before then, but that incident seemed to cinch things for her. And this is but one of the things, Milord. One of many.”

“I . . . why? Why did no-one tell me?”

“We thought you knew, obviously!” Cyrus nearly shouted. “You aren't stupid! You have eyes! We thought you were politely refusing to acknowledge the fact in order to gently push her away, whatever your reasons, though there was much speculation over how anyone in their right mind could possibly refuse such an offer.”

I stood there, stunned.

“Of course, now . . . after hearing about how much of an idiot you are, and after you've gone and done something like pretending to propose to her, I can now see we were perhaps a little generous in our assessment of your intelligence! Did you never think to ask yourself why she becomes a stammering, nervous wreck whenever you're around?” he asked, not bothering to hide his disgust. “Baal-be-damned idiot.”

There was a gravelly rasp of stone against stone coming from the far end of the room, and I saw traces of movement from the cleverly concealed secret door that led to the hallway connecting Theodore's keep with my own. A moment later I saw the familiar burly features of my best friend as he entered the enormous room about thirty yards distant, stooping slightly, his long fingers of wavy hair mixing with those of his beard, which he'd taken to growing out much longer lately for whatever reason.

At last, some backup! I admit I was growing weary of having my nose rubbed in the evidence of Talia's infatuation, something that I still had trouble believing, even with the rather startling information Cyrus was providing. Still, he wouldn't make jokes about something like that – pranks and teasing while on duty were about as rare for my Captain as the appearance of color in his wardrobe. I swear, if I ever saw him wearing a uniform that wasn't entirely black, I'd be tempted to ask him if anything was the matter.

“That's 'Baal-be-damned idiot, Milord', thank you very much,” I said to Cyrus, nodding to Theo as he approached. “And how exactly is it that I am supposed to figure out that she gets tongue-tied around only me? If that's the only side of her that I get to see, I hardly think it's quite fair to believe it an obvious conclusion for me to come to. I could just as easily believe that she was like that around nobility of any sort, like Lord Haundsing here.”

Theo listened to the last of my words with an uncertain, bleary look on his face. Then he looked a question at Cyrus, appearing to ask for some explanation.

“Lord Tucat just proposed to his keepmistress, Talia,” Cyrus scowled. “You know . . . as a joke.”

Theo looked at me, and then closed his eyes, as if something suddenly pained him.

“Idiot!” he said.

“Hey! It's not like I meant-” I started, hotly. Then, I gave my friend a look of wide-eyed puzzlement. “You knew about this as well? God of small favors . . . did nobody think that this information might actually have been worth telling me about?”

“Vincent,” Theo said, fingers pressed firmly against his tightly shut eyes, “when you think I'm being an idiot about something, do you tell me I'm an idiot?”

“Yes!”

He took his fingers away for a moment and gave me a look.

“Okay okay, so I don't actually outright call you an idiot,” I amended, “but I do make every effort to dance around the notion in an attempt to show . . . you . . . that-”

My voice trailed off as I realized my friend was nodding slowly, and in an knowing fashion.

“He was completely oblivious, too. I couldn't believe it,” Cyrus interjected. “It's bewildering enough that he doesn't fancy her at all, but to not pick up on the fact-”

“Oh, he fancies her,” Theo said. “You should hear him go on about her some days. I make certain suggestions or recommendations that I know will infuriate him in an attempt to point out certain aspects of his situation to him, make him aware. 'Dancing around the notion' as he puts it. I learned long ago not to outright tell him anything about his romantic troubles, no matter how obvious. Sometimes you can tease him without him even realizing it. I once threatened to offer Talia a position on my staff, you should have seen how grumpy that made him. I don't know what his problem is. It's like he doesn't think he's good enough for her.”

“It's that . . .” I could feel a flush rising up my neck. “Look, not that it's any of your business, but it's about knowing how I'm seen by others, okay? Painfully aware. Blight scar on my face, dozens you can't see, jokes told behind my back. And besides, what could I even hope to offer her, or any woman for that matter? I can't have any children, as I'm sure you're aware, and-”

“See?” Theo said, raising his eyebrows at Cyrus.

“Idiot,” muttered Cyrus.

I closed my mouth and began to glare at the two of them angrily.

“Well,” Theo walked past me so he could make his way to the drinks cabinet, “I'll leave the rest of this conversation to the two of you - it sounded like it was going well. Let me know when it's done, so we can have our little strategic planning meeting . . . thing. I find myself in dire need of a drink.”

“Yes, actually, we really should be talking about that, and not the embarrassing details of something that nobody thought to tell me, which isn't anybody's business to begin with,” I said, glad for the sudden opportunity to shift the topic. “Cyrus, we were hit again last night, were we not?”

He scowled slightly, looking down at the floor. “Twice.”

Yes, something definitely needed to be done about this situation.

“So let's start talking about something more productive than how much of an idiot everyone thinks I am, shall we?” I said, sitting back down heavily. “As fun as calling me names must be, I'm afraid we have more urgent things to discuss. By the way Theo, there's an open bottle of Tre'vier twenty-two back there.”

“I said I need a drink,” he said mildly, not turning around. I heard the muffled clink of my heavy square glasses, and the fairly unfamiliar sound of my scotch decanter being opened. Unusually early for something like that, but he'd probably been out rather late again last night, judging from his bleary expression and the amount of pink around his eyes.

Cyrus pulled out his handwritten notes from somewhere and began sorting through them, waiting respectfully for Theo to return to the table and sit down in his chair. It had become a regular thing, us sitting down discussing matters on a daily basis, and I noticed we'd unconsciously developed the habit of sitting in the exact same chairs every time. Tomorrow I'd have to try sitting down in one of their chairs, just to confuse them and see what happened.

“Okay, so there were two attempts last night,” I began, taking note of the particularly full glass that Theo had poured for himself. I'd definitely have to ask him about his evening later. “I only heard the one, I thought, though I must say that new floor mat you picked up from that one shop worked exactly as the fellow said it might. I woke up in a panic, and the noise was so loud I thought my teeth were going to break!”

“Yes, it does work rather well, though we'll probably want to put it away after it's been tripped once or twice – a noise that loud will most certainly affect the staff who still remain here. By the way, speaking of the remaining staff, have you made any headway on your decision regarding which keep we'll be permanently operating out of?”

“Not yet,” I said, uncomfortably. I'd actually been finding it much easier not to think about the notion of moving out of the keep I'd grown up in. Besides, there was too much other stuff happening. “I know, I know . . . there's a huge amount of work to do at Greybridge Keep yet. I'll let you know. By the way, we no longer have to worry about Freyla. Just see that she completely removes herself and all her things by the end of the day when you go back there, will you? Oh, and make certain that all of her things are her things, if you know what I mean.”

“I will, Milord. I do suppose that's one piece of good news to come from what happened this morning. The overall morale will definitely improve.”

“I figured it might. So, two attempts then.”

“Yes Milord. They happened almost exactly the same time,” said Cyrus.

“So, they could have been coordinated, two teams working for the same Lord?”

“No, Milord.”

I frowned. “You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

“One of them was Lord Cardgrave, Milord,” he smiled, “doing his usual best.”

I chortled, and shook my head sadly. Cardgrave was notoriously unlikable - as charismatic as a peach pit, and about as intelligent as a bowl of paste. He seemed to hate everyone, and would not willingly associate with any Lord. This would make it a total of twelve times he'd attempted to break in to Tucat Keep, always from the same side, always trying the same second-story window.

After the third attempt, as a joke, I broke into Cardgrave's keep and replaced some of the inept Lord's rudimentary thieving tools with ones that I had made especially for him – tools that activated very special alarms I'd recently crafted into that window. Approximately thirty seconds from the time he was within four feet of the window itself, the night air would become filled with the sound of dozens of slobberingly angry, barking dogs.

He really, really doesn't like dogs.

Still, it hadn't even occurred to him to try another entrance to the keep. Amusingly, he'd taken to spraying peppermint dog repellant around the window lately. After twelve times, however, it was just getting sad.

“I see. So Cardgrave tries again, same window, same results more or less. Did you have that spot in the flower garden below the window adjusted like I asked?”

“Yes, Milord. He had to leave one of his boots behind.”

I chuckled. That had been one of Theo's ideas. I looked over at my friend so I could share an appreciative guffaw.

He was still simply sitting there, same bleary expression on his face. The normally cheerful giant of a man was being uncharacteristically quiet.

“Okay,” I said, turning back to Cyrus, “so then, you're saying this second attempt was unrelated?”

“That's the part that has me concerned, Milord. Cardgrave's break-in required that two knights investigate, those knights being,” he glanced at one of his papers briefly, “Jolen and Khia. They both went to the scene, cleaned up, reset the traps and reported the event to me at the end of their shift, no surprises. However, someone had chosen that exact moment to begin their own attempt at your library door, coming down the west hallway that Jolen would have been patrolling at the time. Had the rug not scared them off, the thieves might have actually had a good stretch of time in front of the door instead of the single minute or so they'd managed before fleeing.”

“Hmmm, it does sound like the two are connected, but that's not like Cardgrave.”

“I have a theory, Milord, which is the root of my concern. We've hardly been keeping his failures a secret, so some other Lord might have actually resorted to placing a spy somewhere in the vicinity of Cardgrave so that they'd know when he was coming here for another attempt. Knowing that we'd be busy with him, they must have figured there would be an opportunity in there for them somewhere. It came close to working, from what I've gathered. The door traps needed extensive work, after.”

“How many were disarmed?”

“Seven, Milord.”

My stomach dropped. There were a total of ten alarms and traps on my library door, six of which were recent innovations, four of which would have given me substantial difficulty if I encountered them during a robbery.

“This is getting ridiculous, Cyrus!”

“I agree, Milord. The very notion that other Lords are actually spying on each other in order to find a window of opportunity like that is . . . well, I've certainly never heard of such a thing. However, the things that have been stolen from these Lords are all rumored to be either extremely valuable or extremely sentimental in nature, and it's been going on for at least three months, from what we've gathered. Their frustration is becoming quite understandable.”

“All because they think I'm stealing from them. What we need to do is put more effort into figuring out just who's been setting me up in the first place, finding out who's behind this!” I said.

“Agreed,” Theo remarked quietly, taking a lengthy sip from his glass.

“Now, when it first became apparent that I was being framed for these thefts, we started a list of possible suspects – neighboring Lords who might have cause to hate me, things like that,” I said. (I recall being a little shocked the first time I'd seen the completed list, truth be told. I mean, I know I'm not exactly universally loved by my fellow Lords, but . . . ye gods!) “We were eliminating those neighboring Lords who we'd heard were stolen from, and I think we need to re-add them as suspects. If one of my neighbors is behind this, he or she could very likely hint that they'd been stolen from to alleviate suspicion, attempt to blend in amongst the other outraged Lords who are screaming for my head on a platter.”

“Speaking of which,” Cyrus said, hastily sorting through his notes, “I wouldn't venture outside today without a couple of knights if I were you.”

“Bad?”

“Milord, I'm not even going outside if it can be helped, and on the carriage rides to and from Greybridge Keep I bring at least two other knights with me. I'm told kidnapping is not exactly an enjoyable experience, and some parties are getting quite desperate at this point.”

I swore under my breath, restraining a sudden longing to walk in the spring air and get some sun. (It was funny, I probably wouldn't have wanted to go outside had I not just been told that I couldn't.)

“Every name we've got, Cyrus,” I said, becoming angry at how inconvenient my life was fast becoming. “I want us to go over every Lord who's been robbed from and consider each a possible suspect. Except Cardgrave – he's an idiot.”

“Yes, Milord.”

Theo sat up in his chair and coughed lightly.

“While you're revising lists, Captain Cyrus, if I could trouble you to make a further adjustment to a certain other list you've been keeping?” he asked, voice containing the barest tremor. “Could you perhaps add my name to the list of robbery victims when you have a moment?”

Both Cyrus and I turned our heads at the exact same instant.

“Lord Haundsing?” Cyrus practically gasped.

“Theo!” I said, suddenly very aware of the tiredness on his face, realizing with a guilty start that the slumping of his shoulders might not be the result of any late night escapades, but from something else entirely. “You were burgled? When? What was taken?”

“Oh, late last night. Nothing much really, a bunch of unmarked nick-knacks I keep around my vault . . . that jade brooch with the filigree that's bent a little, jeweled letter-opener, that dog figurine you got me for my birthday a few years back . . . the one with the rubies in the eyes.” He swirled the warm amber liquid in his glass, looking down at the floor.

“Well, that's not too bad,” I began, a touch relieved. “At least-”

“Oh yes, I almost forgot,” he said, raising his glass and dumping the last of its contents down his throat, downing the fiery liquor with a swallow and a grimace. “A longsword - Haundeuse, the sword commissioned for the Haundsing family, crafted by the legendary Fierance Knothill half a century ago. The one handed down to me by my father.” His jaw was jutting out slightly, his lips pursed, and he stared bleakly at the both of us through red-rimmed eyes even as he maintained his calm, conversational tone. “The one I told you I'd never use, even for practice, because I couldn't stand the thought of the blade getting notched or marked. Yeah, looks like they got that too. I say, it appears I'm out of scotch . . . would you mind terribly if I helped myself to another?”