Page 18 of Immortal Sentry

The footman lay in Eron’s bed, lithe body spread out upon the mattress, firelight making his skin seem to glow. Eron didn’t know what criteria Rolf used for hiring, but he’d say, “Keep up the good work” the next time they met.

Sleep wouldn’t come, no matter how much Eron tried. With a partial moon and a clear night, he and Kene should watch the road. Nobles were fair-weather creatures. They’d have less opportunity for hunting as the days grew colder. At least the villages Kene watched were now provided for.

Eron dressed quietly and ventured into his sitting room, treading carefully to keep from waking his evening’s fun. He opened a window and stared up into the night. An owl hooted nearby, a mournful sound Eron sympathized with. While he enjoyed a good life, something was missing.

Movement from down below caught his attention—a lone horseman. Who traveled alone this late? One man. If Eron could get to the barn without being seen, he could mount Rhedos and intercept the traveler.

The traveler approached the gates. Someone coming here? Interesting. The first interesting thing to happen since Kene and Eron held up that duke’s carriage if one didn’t count the footman. Eron slipped through the window, lowering himself until his bare foot found the ledge of the one below. From there, he dropped to the ground, pausing and listening to ensure no one had heard him. Of course, the guards now focused on the traveler, not on the estate. And Eron had become quite an accomplished sneak.

Voices carried in the still night as he crept toward the guardhouse, using shrubs as cover. “My lord, state your business,” a guard said, the voice familiar—another one of Eron’s conquests.

He did love his conquests. They were a bit of fun, with both parting in the morning and zero expectations of anything more developing.

A gravelly yet melodic voice replied, “I assure you, I am no lord. My name is Miisov, and I believe Baroness Kennestone is expecting me.” The man sat astride a pale horse, the dark edges of a cloak covering its midsection.

He spoke like a Southerner. Interesting. And Kene was expecting him? She hadn’t mentioned a visitor to Eron.

“Wait here.” One guard remained on duty while another crossed the courtyard and entered the house. A lantern flared to life in Kene’s bedchamber. Should Eron go back to his room? What if Kene looked for him and found nothing but a footman?

She’d smirk over breakfast, at the very least.

Kene emerged from the house a few moments later, wrapped in a robe, loose hair falling down her back, glowing in the moonlight. “Greetings, Miisov. Welcome to my home. I’ll have a room prepared for you.” Despite the words, there wasn’t much welcome in Kene’s voice as she recited the expected niceties.

“I cannot stay. We must talk, then I must leave.”

Kene nodded to the guard. “Escort our guest to my study. Have Rolf bring refreshments. Do not wake anyone else. The fewer who know of this visit, the better.”

Ah. Even more interesting. The study, eh? Easy access. Eron backtracked to his room, across the hall, and into a spare room. He rolled back the rug to expose the discreet peephole in the floor and dropped to his belly.

Soft soles scuffed across the study floor. Back and forth, back and forth, until the older man came into view. Shaggy hair, whitewith a few darker strands, a plain traveling cloak, and a cane. No. Not a cane—a staff with runes carved into wood and a glowing stone on top.

It was the same kind of glowing stone that Kene sometimes used for light in dark places, like the cave where a younger Eron once waited for her, not knowing what to expect.

Kene's boot heels echoed long before she entered the room. She’d dressed all in black, not playing the role of a noblewoman now, and dropped into the chair behind her desk. “Take a seat, old man. You must’ve been traveling for days.”

The old man remained standing. What was his name again? Miisov? He’d spoken like a noble but dressed as a commoner. No matter how the man dressed, however, he exuded power. “Where is the boy?”

Kene kicked back in her chair, regarding the shaggy man standing in front of her. She looked relaxed, yet Eron noticed the tension in her shoulders. “Do you honestly think I’d tell you? I vowed to keep him safe.”

“Neither of you has anything to fear from me.” Miisov spoke calmly, though an air of authority laced his tones.

Kene jumped from her chair, slamming her hand down on the desk. “Do not try your parlor tricks on me, mage. I’ve long ago developed an immunity.”

Parlor tricks?

“I merely wished to relax your mind. You seem stressed.”

“I like my mind just fine as is, thank you,” Kene growled. “Now, what has you darkening my door at this hour? You said you’d come for the boy when the time was right. He’s been with me for twelve summers. I’d say your time is up.”

“You were only to keep him safe—”

“What is safe? Away from the king? From the king’s men? From you?” Kene brought her fist down on the desk again. “I have cared for him, provided the finest tutors, taught him to runmy estate, and had him study with highly skilled sword masters. He has become a son to me. The only one I’ll ever have.”

Really? Kene occasionally called Eron son, but so did the stable master and Rolf.

Miisov folded his hands together in front of him, holding his staff between his body and upper arm. “You’ve also taught him how to make your coffers grow at the expense of honest people.”

“Honest? Show me an honest noble. They’d all stick a knife in their own mothers for wealth and power. I know a few who’ve done so. I’ll not hear of howhonestthey are. And you know as well as I do I’m merely replacing what Bain and other greedy sods stole from their people.”

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