He shoved one last shirt into the bag. “JingYi boarded a barge headed to Niewberg, but she won’t stay there long. I’ll ride tonight, try to intercept her.”
“If she’s not there?”
He paused, hand hovering over the bag. He didn’t want to think about the possibility. “Then I’ll follow her trail. I’ve an inkling she may be trying to board a ship for Bashkor.”
He turned to face her fully. “I need you here to keep the estate steady. Darion will remain behind. And Conrad. Tedric too. If anything happens, they’ll support you. But you’ll have to manage the estate, the mine, the village, the harvests—everything.” He paused. “And Bertrand . . .”
Yrenna’s brow furrowed. “You think he’s involved?”
Alexander swallowed. “Too many things have gone wrong too quickly. Either I’ve gone mad, or someone is moving pieces behind our backs.”
A silent beat passed between them.
“I need someone here I can trust,” he said, cupping her cheek. “Can you be that person for me?”
She nodded, a small smile blooming on her lips. For a moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of tears in those eyes.
“Go. Do what you must. Bring your wife home.”
Alexander nodded and strode out into the courtyard. A groom led Duskwane out. The stallion was freshly watered, nostrils flaring in the torchlight. He checked the girth himself, struggling to keep his hands steady amid the pulse thudding behind his ribs.
As Tedric and Conrad approached, he pulled Darion aside, voice low. “There may be a spy inside the house. Someone might’ve acted according to an outsider’s interest.”
Darion’s expression darkened. “Bertrand?”
“Maybe,” Alexander said, “but be careful. Protect Yrenna. Watch Bertrand, but don’t make any sudden moves unless you must. If indeed he planned all this, the last thing we need is to spook him. Let him believe everything is going according to plan.”
Darion nodded grimly. “Go. I’ll handle things here.”
Tedric bowed. “Bring her back, my lord.”
Conrad looked worried. “And don’t let her leave your side again.”
Alexander nodded, mounted Duskwane, and rode out.
The journey to Niewberg was best made in daylight, but he couldn’t wait for dawn. Cold and silver-edged, the night blurred past as Duskwane thundered down the moonlit path, hooves pounding a rhythm that barely outran his thoughts.
As he rounded the bend near the edge of the village, a lone figure emerged from the shadows by the roadside.
Alexander reined in, startled. “Ulrik?”
The older man stepped forward and held up a small sack. “Didn’t think you’d remember to pack supper. Figured you’d be riding too fast, too angry, and too damned worried to think straight.”
Alexander stared at the offering for a beat, then reached down and took it. The weight of it in his hand was grounding—bread and cheese, likely, maybe apples and cured meats.
“Thank you,” he said, rough-voiced.
Ulrik gave a faint grunt. “You go find your wife, my lord.”
“I intend to.”
“No,” Ulrik said, eyes sharp beneath his thick, dark brows. For a moment, he sounded like a father scolding a wayward son. “Don’t just intend to.Do it.”
Alexander tightened the reins, then nodded. “I will.”
Ulrik took a step back, giving Duskwane room. His voice dropped low.
“Bring our lady home.”