Page 99 of Centaur Bolt

The Centaurina’s mouth spasmed, and she blinked back tears. “I’ll take you to his suite. He and Emmanuel built it on the piece of land behind us about four years ago.” Her fingers twisted together as she walked, the tips turning white. “Emmanuel blames himself for this. He’s out there, searching for Marcus. And nothing I can say will stop him.”

I could well understand how Emmanuel would feel responsible. “This Isobel woman seems damn clever,” I said. “If she wants something, she figures out how to get it.”

“She was a Watcher.” Within Triss’s voice, I detected the same bewilderment as had been in Cara’s. “What has she done to Marcus, that she wants him back so badly?”

She seemed to recognize it wasn’t a question we could answer. The Centaurina led us out another door and past a sturdy building with thick stone walls. She gestured to it. “Until this happened, Marcus and Emmanuel spent most of their time at the forge.”

She rubbed her face as we continued across a meadow to a smaller structure made of the same stuff as the main residence. It had no door, only an archway leading to rooms within. I was beginning to appreciate how getting into a truck would be claustrophobic for Marcus. Everything about a Centaur required space.

I took three strides into Marcus’s smaller house, and stopped dead.

As you might expect for a creature with an equine body, his furnishings were sparse—large cushions and a few low platform-style couches. But it was what hung on the walls that captivated me.

Metal. Hammered or cast, or? I didn’t know enough about metalwork. The artwork was mostly of Centaurs, but also other animals, cleverly rendered and interwoven, and most depicted in motion.

Marcus could be a collector of art, but I’d seen Emmanuel’s armband. He wasn’t just a metalworker. He was an artist.

“These are beautiful.” Kiko scanned the creations.

“Did he forge them?” Vali asked.

Triss nodded. “He’s incredibly talented. Has been since he was young. Even before his family was killed, Emmanuel had been plying Marcus’s biological father to train him on metalwork. He was already teaching him to fight. But his father refused.” She rubbed her temple. “Of course, things turned out differently—anyway, Marcus loves creating, but he’s also a skilled armorer.”

I listened as I gazed at the sculptures. First his family, and now Isobel tearing him apart—Marcus was far more broken than I’d even assumed.

I was awestruck by both the intricacy, and the beauty, of the artwork. Then I remembered what the twins had worn—

“Did he make Trey’s and Tuli’s necklets?” I asked.

She nodded. “Their birthday gifts this year. He worked hieroglyphs from our ancient language into them—for good luck and health. He also added ones for bravery and strength, or they wouldn’t have been as likely to wear them.” She smiled, just a little.

My heart ached. That Isobel would take someone who visualized and interpreted the beauty in the world, and twist him into—what? I didn’t even have the right descriptive word.

I turned to Triss. “Is there something that was intensely personal to him that I can use?”

She tapped her chin, and her tail swished once as she wandered through to the next room. Judging by the large mattress in one corner, a bedroom, but also his workroom. A large central sloped table held a pad of paper and drawing utensils, and the wall beyond it was littered with pinned sheets featuring sketches for future projects.

Triss hesitated before a dresser and then pulled open a drawer. She lifted a small box, and stood with her fingers wrapped around it.

“He wore this for years,” she said. “As a promise, I think, to retaliate against those who killed his family. But a few months ago, he took it off. Said it wasn’t doing him any good to seek revenge. That he needed to put all that behind him, once and for all.” She stroked a finger over the little hinged lid, and then opened it, before handing it to me.

Nestled in a strip of silken cloth was a ring with an intricately wrought crest and two initials—WS.

Vali stiffened. “That’s the family crest for the Stormswifts. Where did you get that?”

Triss eyed her. “It belongs to Marcus,” she said slowly. “But there are those that might still come after him if they knew the truth.”

The Dragona’s eyes widened. “WS. The son’s name was William…William is alive?”

“William Stormswift,” Triss affirmed.

“Who were the Stormswifts?” I asked, bewildered. Marcus wasn’t Marcus?

“The Stormswifts were a prominent and extremely wealthy family who formed a coalition to fight back against the underlords, and paid dearly for it. The underlords banded together and slaughtered his entire family.”

Vali had gone completely still. “I remember the night his family died. My father swore he wasn’t involved, but I wasn’t sure I believed him. The Stormswifts were a real thorn in the sides of the underlords. But how did William escape? Their home was burned to the ground—my father said they’d all died.”

There were tears in Triss’s eyes, but she straightened and met the Dragona’s gaze. “William escaped, and we brought the boy here.”

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