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the toddler astride one hip. Harliss looked at the pair of them as if they were beggars, although Hugh’s clothing was as rich as Cherbon’s hall had at one time looked, and Leo wore a gown of silk and wool embroidered with gold thread, and tiny leather slippers upon his feet. He looked like a small prince.
    The costume was the last gift Aurelia had given him. Roderick had watched her fashion it with her own hands.
    â€œWod-wick!” Leo shouted, and held his arms toward Roderick.
    â€œHe can’t take you now, Wart. But do get down and have a run about,” Hugh declared, and set the toddler on his feet. Leo immediately ran to Roderick despite Hugh’s words, tripping as his feet became tangled in the dead vines, but catching himself with Roderick’s long cloak, burying his face behind Roderick’s knees.
    Roderick struggled not to let his leg buckle under the slight but horrendously painful pressure of the boy’s head.
    â€œCherbon is yours,” Friar Cope continued, as if Hugh had not interrupted them. “But there is a condition to the inheritance, Roderick.”
    Hugh turned a frown to Roderick. “What kind of shit is this, Rick? A condition? Ridiculous. You know these two, I suppose?”
    Roderick nodded, and the knot in his stomach threatened to snap. Of course there was a condition. Even from the grave, Magnus was intent on making certain his son was miserable.
    â€œCherbon’s Friar, Cope,” Roderick said through clenched teeth. “And my old nurse, Harliss. Where the other residents of the keep are, I know not.”
    â€œAh, at last I meet Harliss the Heartless,” Hugh said with more than a bit of frost in his tone. “I have heard much of your charity.”
    â€œI save my charity for those in need,” Harliss sneered. “It is wasted on prideful, disobedient little boys.”
    Roderick pinned the old friar with his glare. “What condition?”
    â€œAh, well,” the friar stammered, “in order to claim Cherbon, you must marry.”
    â€œIs that all?” Roderick said, the knot loosening.
    â€œAh, the lady must be of good family,” Cope muttered, searching the folds of his robes. “I have the directive here, somewhere….”
    â€œIt matters not. Does the king know of this?”
    â€œOf course, my so—my lord,” Friar Cope corrected himself. “Magnus ordered a copy sent to him shortly after you departed for the Holy Land.” The round man crossed himself. “But, my lord—”
    Harliss spoke again. “Act not as though you didn’t know he was ill, Roderick,” she accused. “You abandoned your own father when you knew he would surely die!”
    Roderick stepped toward her. “Whether you believe that I had no knowledge of his illness is of no consequence to me. But I am surely glad that he is dead. Magnus goaded and shamed me until I consented to make that damned pilgrimage.” Roderick pulled back his hair from the side of his face, fully revealing the wicked scars that tangled over his skin, then snapped back his cloak, displaying his walking stick. “See you the treasures I reaped for my holy duty?” He thought he saw a glint of satisfaction in Harliss’s soulless eyes. “And if you address me by my Christian name again, Nurse, I will have you whipped.”
    The old nurse’s throat convulsed, as if she choked down her fury like vomit. “My apologies, my lord, if I overstepped my place.” It was not at all sincere.
    Behind him, Leo began to whine softly.
    â€œNow,” Roderick snapped, “where have the rest of the servants gone to?”
    â€œThere are yet a score at Cherbon,” Harliss offered grudgingly. “They are in the chambers above—the only ones left much untouched by the pillaging.”
    â€œRoust them, lest I find them first. And the rest?”
    Harliss’s lips thinned to the point that