Page 16 of Fragile Oath

Was the Viper there that day? Or was it a general paranoia, more along the lines of Isobel’s caution and the traitorous soldiers who insisted thatthe Viper was everywhere.

Now Tavish was dead, and the Viper clearly wasn’t, putting me back at square one.

“Do we think the Viper could be a group?” I asked when we slowed our horses, although I already harbored a suspicion about the answer.

Gal looked thoughtful, but his sister shook her head.

“I don’t,” Gwyn said. “The prisoners were terrified of the Viper. If it was about a movement, about accountability to one another, it would be a general fear of the Uprising.”

“True,” Gal chimed in. “Besides, not one of them gave any outward signs of lying when they mentioned him.”

“Or her,” Gwyn chimed in, biting into one of the meat pies she had procured in the last village.

Gal inclined his head. “Of course. Gender equality comes first when we’re dealing with mass murderers.”

Gwyn shrugged like that was fair. Despite the noose hanging over us and the unrelenting sense of danger and dread that followed us everywhere these days, I couldn’t help but offer a small half-grin in return. Not for the first time, I was grateful my cousins had come along.

“It’s probably old Lady Fenella, poisoning the tips of the copious amounts of feathers she uses in her clothing,” I managed to infuse more lightness into my tone than I felt. “She certainly seems capable of such atrocities.”

Gwyn heaved a sigh.

“First of all, that fashion is an atrocity all on its own,” she said around her next bite. “And I’m only saying, I’m just as likely to murder someone as you and Gal are. Station and gender have nothing to do with it. Maybe Lady Fenella wouldn’t murder someone, but I bet Fiona would.”

Gallagher shook his head, the moonlight highlighting the exasperation in his features. “I know you don’t like her, but I doubt she spends her spare time torturing people…unless it’s by sleeping with their husbands or taunting them about their inadequacies.”

Was he right? I tried to picture the gorgeous courtier handing out poison capsules like candy and weaving a tenuous web of fear and revolution. She liked to push buttons, to be sure, but that was a whole different level of insane.

Gwyn wiped the crumbs from her cloak. “Our options are hardly narrowed down to those two. Man or woman, we have to consider half the lairds and their wives. MacBay, MacArthur, Jameson, just to name a few. Anyone who has the resources is a suspect.”

“Not just anyone,” Gal said. “They just have to have a special kind of ruthlessness, and the ability to inspire mass amounts of fear in their followers.”

“Or worse, loyalty.” I shook my head grimly, thinking of the soldiers we had executed. Some of them were afraid, but others, like Scottie, had just been zealots. It was a different level of commitment.

That realization effectively soured the mood. It was an unwelcome reminder that the Viper was cruel and capable and manipulative, a lethal combination in a revolutionary.

And they wanted Galina dead.

* * *

Our next stopwas the most productive yet. After hours of visiting the brothels just outside of Whitmire, I finally heard word from one of my contacts. For the first time since we set out on this journey, I had a name, an actual lead instead of just the feeling in my gut propelling me down back roads on a wild goose chase.

Horas Atcheson, owner of the Fair Maiden tavern, was, at present, the only person standing between me and the information I needed.

“Do you know who I am, Horas?” I asked once Gallagher and I had cornered the man in his office.

Gwyn stood guard just outside the door while our men were positioned at the front and back of the tavern, each of them on alert for anything suspicious. The man blanched, looking between my cousin and me as if I had asked a trick question.

“It’s an easy enough question,” Gal said when Horas hesitated too long. He leaned casually against the door. “I recommend that you answer it.”

A wave of gratitude washed over me for his ability to stay calm in situations like these. As much as I loved Gwyn, it had been all too easy to decide who would stand guard and who would join me for questioning. The duchess wasn’t known for her subtleties.

Horas dipped his head once, the knob in his throat bobbing nervously. “Yes, of course, mi’laird. You’re the king’s nephew. Both of you.”

“We are indeed.”

“Pleasure to meet you in person, Horas,” Gal chimed in. “Apologies for checking your mouth before we gave a proper greeting, but one can never be too careful these days, what with the rebels poisoning themselves left and right.”

He paled. “I’m no rebel—”

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