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state raised an alarm in Ronan’s mind. “What’s wrong Jeremy?”
    “We’ve received a visitor at the palace. A young soldier named Davin Keel arrived from the village of Porthleven less than an hour ago.”
    Ronan rolled the name around in his head. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. “What does he want? What’s so urgent?”
    Jeremy’s face flushed. “To be blunt, I’m not sure I believe it myself, but I know the man who sent him, and I’d trust him with my life.”
    “Who sent him?”
    “Sergeant Reed,” Jeremy said. “Sergeant Harrison Reed.”
    Ronan’s stomach sank. “He served in Redkeep didn’t he?”
    Jeremy nodded. “He led our forces in the Lost Valley last summer. They kept Merric Pride’s troops running all over northern Meranthia.”
    Ronan placed the man’s face in his mind. He’d seen Reed speak with Devery on several occasions last summer. He led Devery’s ragtag militia with competence rarely seen in a man so young. “Did Reed send a message?”
    Jeremy held Ronan’s gaze for a long moment before responding. “Reed told him to run and to not stop until he found you.”
    “Why?” Ronan said.
    “Davin served under Sergeant Reed in the Lost Valley Militia,” Jeremy said.
    The elusive memory snapped into place, and Ronan placed his face. “Private Keel….” Ronan rubbed his chin and gazed skyward. “He’s a red haired boy? Freckle faced. What is he? Sixteen seasons?”
    Jeremy nodded. “That’s him.”
    “I know him. He’s a solid boy, but Devery’s men are all solid.”
    “Davin saw Sergeant Reed murdered on Porthleven’s dock.”
    Ronan’s legs turned rubbery. “What? Did he say who killed him?”
    Jeremy shook his head. “He said whatever killed Sergeant Reed wasn’t human.”
    Ronan swallowed hard waiting for Jeremy to crack a smile or let him in on the punch line. Instead, the shield knight’s expression remained sober and stone-faced. Ronan swore the temperature had dropped twenty degrees. He whirled and faced his footman. “Manfred!”
    The footman snapped to attention and gave a short salute. “Yes Your Majesty.”
    “Give my apologies to Master Renau, and gather Lady Finn,” Ronan said. “We’re returning to the palace immediately.”
    ***
    From the palace’s central kitchen, the aroma of roast pork mingled with the sweet scent of hot baked cinnamon apples. A trio of great stone hearths lined the kitchen’s rear wall. Kitchen staff rolled dough atop wide flour-stained stone counters. Dinner remained hours away, but the royal kitchen never stopped.
    Ronan stepped into the kitchen flanked by Devery Tyrell, Sir Alcott, Knight Jeremy, and Rika. He paused and scanned the kitchen.
    Piled-high bags of flour, wooden barrels, and cabinets lined with glass jars filled every nook and cranny. “You’re sure he’s in here?”
    “Sergeant Gibbons escorted the boy here not less than ten minutes ago,” Sir Alcott said. “According to him, Mistress Pell insisted the boy eat a hot meal before he dropped.”
    Ronan smiled. Mistress Pell had served two kings, a queen, and now Ronan. She’d changed Ronan’s soiled diapers when he’d arrived in Meranthia almost twenty years ago. Besides the royal family, her word carried absolute authority among the palace staff.
    Rika tugged on Ronan’s sleeve and pointed past a stack of empty iron soup cauldrons and a small mountain of wrapped ham and bacon. “Ronan, look over there.”
    A shock of bright red hair and a single mud-caked leather boot appeared from the edge of a long wooden table set in the kitchen’s stone wall.
    Ronan strode through the kitchen ducking beneath long strands of dried garlic cloves.
    Mistress Pell, a plump well-dressed middle-aged woman sat at the worn but intimate kitchen table. Across from her, a freckle-faced lad scooped the last bites of seasoned pork and baked cinnamon apples from his plate. Dark rings lined his puffy eyes marking a stark contrast to his pale baby face and