At the Queen_s command

Owen nodded despite goosebumps puckering of his flesh. It occurred to him in a flash that the book's true author might be Doctor Frost. I would never betray him. "Of course. Is there a problem?"

"The document is seditious. Be careful. Do not let Rivendell know you have read it."

"I won't."

"One last matter."

Owen looked up. "Yes?"

"If Lord Rivendell were to lose his mind and lead the expedition to ruin, do you think Prince Vladimir could take over? Allowing that he would use Count von Metternin as an aide. Would you be able to command troops in his name?"

"Yes, to the first. A conditional yes to the second, since colonels will be commanding the regiments."

Deathridge smiled coldly. "I yet have it within my power to do certain things, Owen. Before I leave, I shall write out a sealed order and give it to the Prince. It will grant you a field promotion to General in the event that Rivendell is relieved of command. I will brief the Prince on this matter."

Owen blinked. "Are you certain, Uncle?"

"I am. You have to be my man here, Owen. You have to be Norisle's man here. If we fail to deal with du Malphias, our position in the world is compromised. My enemies do not see it that way, but it is quite clear. I know it, and I know their will is such that when adversity strikes, they will withdraw and merely hasten a collapse that never need happen.

"You, Owen Strake, have seen the evil that is Guy du Malphias. It falls to you to eliminate him. It is our family duty to thusly serve the Crown."

Owen shook his head as if to clear it. Is this truly my uncle?

He knew there had to be more going on than he was seeing. Before he could even begin to puzzle it out, his uncle set the whisky down and extended his hand. "I must be leaving."

Owen stood and shook his hand. "But I thought… Dinner?"

"One last ruse, and you will understand." Deathridge smiled curiously. "You will still have dinner, and you will enjoy the company."

Deathridge exited to the foyer. Owen made to follow, but a voice from behind, from the dining room, stopped him. "Owen."

He turned, his heart instantly in his throat. There she stood, perfect and smiling, a gown of white reminding him of the day they wed. "Catherine!"

She flew to him and he gathered her into his arms. She clung to him, burying her face against his chest, her body wracked with sobs. She grabbed handfuls of his coat. She seemed so small and delicate. All he could do was hold her and stroke her hair.

"Shhhhh, nothing is wrong, beloved."

She pulled back and looked up, her cheeks wet. "I thought I had lost you."

"No, darling, no."

"Owen, I sent you from me and then when you were hurt, when you almost died. It was my fault. I had hurt my husband, my love."

"Hush. I am fine."

"You don't know, Owen. But for the kindness of your Uncle Richard, I should have been undone." She stroked his face, holding it in both hands. "It really is you, isn't it?"

He smiled and turned his face to kiss her palms each in turn. "You never lost me. You never came close to losing me."

"Oh, you are such a frightful liar." She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his breastbone. "Your uncle, too. He would not tell me how close to death you were, not for the longest time. But I was inconsolable, Owen. I love you so much."

He tipped her head up, then kissed her. She melted into his arms, her hands running beneath his jacket, holding him tightly. She broke the kiss, then kissed his chest. "I thought I should never have you in my arms again."

"I am here, now, Catherine."

"Yes, you are." She pulled back and took both his hands in hers. She led him into the hallway and deeper into the apartments. On the left, toward the back, she brought him into a bedroom and bade him sit on the bed. She knelt and tugged his boots off, then stripped him of hose.

"Your uncle brought me to Mystria because I could not bear to be without you. He said nothing of my passage on the packet boat to surprise you. I had to go with him, of course, since it would not do for me to be left alone on a troop transport. You soldiers can be such a randy lot."

Owen stared at her. "If one of them touched you…"

"Calm yourself, Owen. None of them did, beloved. None of them touched me as you have, as you will." She peeled his coat off him and slowly unbuttoned his waistcoat. Both of them she deposited on a spindly chair, pausing then to kiss him again and press herself to him. Smiling, she unbuttoned his shirt, teasing, kissing exposed flesh.

His hands rose to hers, stopping her halfway.

"There are new scars, Catherine."

"They are part of you, husband, so I love them." She opened his shirt and shivered, but just for a moment. Her smile grew wide again. She leaned in and kissed the bullet wound on his left flank.