As the manor rose before them, its hulking shape looming over the fields owned by her father and worked by his peasants, Ember’s heart dropped like a stone in a well. Alistair had fallen silent, as lost in his thoughts as she’d been in her own. Ember wondered if her friend’s outward confidence belied his own doubts.
A groomsman intercepted them in the courtyard, taking Alistair’s horse and leading the animal to the stables.
“Your father is in the great hall,” Alistair told her as they passed through the manor’s tall oak doors. “With quite a feast prepared.”
“He was hoping to impress Conatus,” Ember said. “And he’s likely disappointed that he’s spent a fortune only to have young Alistair Hart appear to collect me.”
“Not only me,” he said with a quirk of his lips that might have been a smile or a grimace.
“Someone else is here?” Ember could hear her father’s booming voice as they approached the great hall. He was using the expansive tone Ember knew meant he wanted to convey his importance.
Alistair leaned close, whispering, “Someone more intimidating than young Master Hart. Though I’m loath to admit such a man lives. But in truth, it is someone your father would be less likely to dismiss.”
Curiosity brimming, Ember walked as quickly as she could without running. The hall was bursting with color, scent, and sound. Lord Edmund Morrow sat in a carved wooden chair, taller than its counterparts. A long table was overspread by silver platters laden with roasted pheasant, venison, and suckling pig. Wooden bowls were close to toppling under the weight of sweetbreads, piping hot fish stew, and savory pottage. Servants scurried about the hall, refilling empty glasses with crimson wine and amber cider.
Despite her pattering heart, Ember’s stomach rumbled. This feast was far greater than even the Christmas celebration her father had thrown. Was he so concerned about his reputation with Conatus? After all, hadn’t he spoken of them as a strange, isolated sect that had little to do with the world of court and kings?
Ember’s mother, Lady Ossia Morrow, sat to the left of her husband. She was dressed in one of her finest gowns of ebony silk. Her hair was pulled into an intricate knot and adorned with gems. Ember’s sister, Agnes, sat to her mother’s left. She was also dressed in a favorite gown of rose and cream silks. Her eyes were downcast as she picked through the meats on her plate.
The other guests at the meal were warriors—the men-at-arms who served Lord Morrow. Burly and riled up by an excess of food and drink, they toasted and jostled each other, making the most of this unexpected bounty.
The only person in the room Ember didn’t recognize was the man sitting at her father’s right hand. Unlike the other revelers, the stranger’s demeanor was stiff. Both uneasy and wary. Even though he was seated, Ember could tell he was a great deal taller than her father.
Catching sight of the new arrivals, Ember’s mother extended her hands. “Alistair! You found her.”
Edmund jabbed the tip of his knife at them. “Good lad, Alistair. As for you, errant girl, you might have taken a moment to don appropriate attire for this feast honoring our guests.”
Ember glanced down at her plain and rumpled gown, its hem covered with dirt. “I was walking in the pasture,” she said, cheeks warming with blood.
“Agnes, take your sister and help her make herself presentable,” her father said. He glanced at the tall man on his right.
Agnes began to rise, but the stranger frowned. “There’s no need for your daughter to adorn herself.”
He waved for Agnes to return to her seat, but she hovered, uncertain what to do. When her father’s eyes narrowed, she stood and scurried to Ember’s side.
“You might hail from the wild north, good knight,” Edmund answered him. “But I expect my daughter to act as befits her station, not as some peasant girl who runs around with straw in her hair.”
Ember reached up, gingerly running her hands over her tangled locks. Blushing more deeply, she picked several pieces of straw from her hair. The stranger watched her closely, and Ember thought he might be on the verge of smiling. Her embarrassment melted into irritation. Was seeing her scolded like a child so entertaining to this man?
Still holding her gaze, the knight stood up. He was at least a head taller than her father and even a bit taller than Alistair. Ember glanced at the younger man beside her. Both knights of Conatus had dark hair, but where Alistair had curls as glossy as a raven’s wing, the stranger’s smooth hair was shorn so it fell just below his ears and had a rich color, like a tree’s bark after rain.
She looked away from him only when Agnes took her hand. “Come, sister. I think the green silk gown would be a fine choice.”
“Hold!” The knight’s booming call stopped Ember from following her sister. Before her father could speak again, the stranger said to Ember, “My lady Morrow, I am Barrow Hess. Lord Hart and I have come to escort you to the Conatus keep of Tearmunn in Glen Shiel.”
Ember freed her hand from Agnes’s tight grip and dropped into a curtsy. “I understand, my lord.”
“Are you prepared to leave now?” Barrow asked her. “We’ve already enjoyed too much of your father’s generous hospitality. If you are amenable, we would take food for the journey and leave within the hour.”
Beside Barrow, Ember’s father began to sputter. Her mother gasped in horror. Agnes grasped Ember’s arm, as if that gesture alone would keep her in their father’s house.
Ember looked from her father to the tall knight. “I—”
“What sort of insult is this?” Edmund jumped up, squaring his shoulders. “I prepare a feast for you and you can’t be bothered to share in it.”
Barrow gave him a measured look. “I’ve eaten my fill, Lord Morrow. This gesture was a rich gift, but unnecessary. Lord Hart and I are here only to collect what you owe Conatus. Now that your daughter is here, we should be on our way.”
A chill crept over Ember’s skin. What you owe. Was that all she meant to Conatus? A debt to be paid?
She felt even colder when Alistair stepped forward, gaining her father’s attention.
“The Circle bade me remind you, Lord Morrow,” Alistair said slowly. “One life for another. These are the terms.”
Agnes’s fingers dug into Ember’s skin, but Ember didn’t flinch nor did she speak, even when her sister began to cry softly.