The Black Prince rode far away from the castle and cut the belled jesses from the Golden Falcon’s legs. He tossed her into the air and shouted, “Go!”

The bird wheeled and tried to return to his arm, but he threw pebbles at her until she at last screamed her grief and flew away.

He watched until he could see her no more. Then he returned to his father and presented him with a still-bleeding chicken heart.

The Black Wizard smiled. “Well done, my son.”…

—From The Black Prince and the Golden Falcon

She’d failed.

Alf slid down a balcony roof, jumped to a stack of crates, and hopped down to the cobblestones, desperately scanning the carriage she’d been following from the rooftops. It was drawn by a pair of blacks, the one on the right missing half an ear. The carriage was the second one they’d tossed Kyle into. Now it was stopped, the horses standing with their heads lowered, dozing, and the driver smoking a pipe. Her worst fears were confirmed when she ran around the back and saw the interior was empty.

She’d lost Kyle.

“Bloody hell!”

Alf turned in a circle, searching the street, searching the crowd. He’d been hooded. Had they somehow left the carriage without her seeing? Bundled him into one of the buildings along the way? Should she retrace the carriage route?

But what if they’d pulled that trick again? What if they’d put him into yet another carriage? Or a wagon under a blanket? He could be halfway to Bath and she none the wiser.

“Fucking hell!”

She began jogging back the way she’d come. Maybe Talbot or Jenkins had been more observant.

But that hope was dashed when she turned a corner and saw Talbot peering under a tarp on a cart, ignoring the swearing driver.

Talbot turned and saw her and started in her direction. “Do you know where he is, miss?”

She shook her head bitterly. “I lost him in the second carriage they put him in.”

“Better than Jenkins and me,” Talbot said bitterly. “We followed the first until we saw it was empty.”

Jenkins came jogging toward them, his brow damp with sweat and his face grim. “Nothing. I looked in all directions at the crossroads. There wasn’t even a carriage in sight. We’ve lost him.”

She closed her eyes, trying hard to think. “Where would they take him?”

“I don’t know, miss,” Talbot said.

“Well we can’t just stand here,” she growled, hands on hips. She made a decision. “Right. Back to Kyle House. We’ll consult with Riley. Maybe send out Bell and some footmen to St Giles. I have contacts I can direct them to. At least try and get some information.”

“That’s a good idea, miss.” Jenkins began walking swiftly. Alf had to jog to keep up with the two men. “I’ll work at the cypher. It seems strange that the earl reacted so violently to the theft of the papers. Other than the cypher, they all seemed innocent enough.”

Alf nodded, feeling bad for taking out her worry for Kyle on the two men. “We ought to send word to Lady Jordan as well. The more minds the better.”

But when they returned to Kyle House, they found Iris already waiting in the library.

She looked up as Alf and the two former soldiers entered. “Is it true what Mr. Riley tells me? That Peter…”

Alf nodded once. “Yes. Kyle brought the papers to Exley, and we followed them when they took him away, but…” She shook her head. “We lost them. We lost him.”

“Oh.” Iris sat suddenly in Kyle’s chair, her face paper white. “Oh.”

“We don’t know where they may’ve taken him,” Alf said, feeling restless and useless. “Where they might have Peter.”

Iris suddenly looked up. “But I might help.” She fumbled in her pocket.

“What do you mean, my lady?” Talbot asked.

“I solved the cypher,” Iris said, drawing her copy out of her pocket. “It was quite a lovely little puzzle and it did take me a while, but around seven this morning I remembered Polybius and his checkerboard, and after that it was quite easy, really.”

She pointed to a strange little diagram she’d drawn beside the two columns of numbers:

“You see? Each letter is composed of two numbers. So, for instance, A is 61 and CAT would be 636194. It’s quite clever.” Iris glanced up from her cypher and seemed to realize that none of them—with the possible exception of Jenkins—had any idea who Polybius was, let alone what she was talking about.

Iris cleared her throat. “The point is, it’s a list of names. But at the bottom, you remember those longer numbers?”

“Aye,” Alf said, looking over her shoulder.

Iris smiled. “That’s a location.”

“Oh,” Alf breathed. Hope suddenly rushed into her breast. She looked up and caught Talbot’s eye. “Have the carriage brought around.”

“Yes, miss!” The big man was already rushing out the door.

She turned to Jenkins. “Find three footmen to guard Kit. We’re going to need Riley. And we’ll need to arm ourselves.”

Jenkins raised his eyebrows. “We, miss?”

She nodded. “I’m going, too.”

“I don’t know that the duke would want you putting yourself in danger, miss,” Jenkins said gravely.

“Well, he’ll just have to tell me that himself after we rescue him, won’t he?”

She was out the library door and rushing up the stairs while Iris was still protesting. She had her daggers hidden on her body, but her swords were still under the bed in the servants’ room.

Five minutes later she was back down the stairs, buckling on her swords. Iris and Kyle’s men were gathered in the hallway.

Riley looked intently at her. “You know how to use those, miss?”

Alf raised her chin. “Yes, I do.”

The three men—all former soldiers and older than she—exchanged glances. Then Jenkins nodded. “Good enough.”

Alf turned to Iris. “Please send word to Copernicus Shrugg, the King’s secretary, about what has happened and where we think the Lords of Chaos have taken Kyle.”

“I’ll send a man on horseback at once,” Iris said, and then blurted, “dear God, be careful.”

She hugged Alf hard.

Alf squeezed the other woman back, inhaling her delicate rose scent. “Can you take care of Kit while we’re gone?”

“Of course I can.” Iris stepped back with tears rimming her eyes. “Now go.”

They ran out the door and down the steps and into the carriage. Jenkins and Talbot sat on one bench, she and Riley together across from them.

The carriage rattled into motion.

Alf sat tensely, watching out the window as the carriage rumbled through the streets. The address Iris had deciphered was east, by the river, and she wondered now if they should’ve tried to take a wherry. Exley had a head start. They might not even arrive in time, before…

But it was too late to second-guess herself. Better to make a plan and stick to it.

She glanced at the others in the carriage. Riley was jiggling his leg up and down, but he shot her a quick grin when he caught her eye. Jenkins was stoic. Talbot had his head back against the seat, his eyes closed, and appeared to be whispering to himself.

“Likes to pray before we go in,” Riley murmured, tilting his head at Talbot. “He’s a religious sort.”

“Ah.” She nodded, fingering her long sword.

“You’re the Ghost, aren’t you, miss?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her brows raised.

The Irishman grinned as he swayed with the carriage’s movement. “He was taken with you, miss, right from the start.”

Across from them Jenkins cleared his throat.

Riley flushed. “What? You know it’s true.”

Jenkins sighed. “Yes. It’s most certainly true.” He cleared his throat. “We were all quite pleased when we realized you were the Ghost, miss. Quite pleased indeed.”

Alf bit her lip and looked down because she didn’t want to cry in front of these seasoned soldiers—not after she’d assured them that she was capable of handling herself in battle. But she was unaccountably touched by their words. By their acceptance.

In that moment she realized that she might have a place, here among them. Here with Kyle and his sons. In his life. In his bed. Perhaps even in his heart.

If she could find the courage within herself to ignore Ned’s long-ago advice and let herself become close to someone else. Let herself rely on someone else.

If they could get Kyle and Peter out alive.

She drew in a breath, straightening and bracing herself. There was no point in returning to Kyle House or even St Giles if they didn’t rescue Kyle and Peter safe and sound. There wasn’t anything left for her there.

So she’d just have to make sure they succeeded.

HUGH GAGGED AND desperately fought down the urge to vomit. He still wore the hood, and if he expelled the contents of his stomach he might choke to death. He could hear the sound of oars and feel the sway of the river.

And his arse and shoulders were wet.

He was definitely lying in the bottom of a boat.

The boat thudded against wood, and someone kicked him in the ribs. “Get up.”

He clumsily rolled to his knees and then stood. Rough hands grasped his elbows and helped him out of the boat. At least they didn’t want him at the bottom of the Thames.

Yet.

He wondered how long he’d been unconscious. How far they’d rowed down the river. He could feel stone under his feet as he stumbled up the river steps. He was led down a gravel path, up more steps, and into a building.

“Welcome, Hugh Fitzroy, Duke of Kyle.” That was Exley’s voice, echoing oddly. “You wanted to know about the Lords of Chaos. Our members. Our business. Our private, sacred ceremonies.”

The hood was pulled from his head by one of his guards.

Hugh blinked. He stood in what had once been a church, by the look of the carved stone pillars marching in parallel rows. But there were great gaps in the ceiling and jagged, blackened beams outlined against the blue of the sky.

Exley stood in front of what looked like a crude stone altar—certainly not the one original to the church. He was highlighted by a beam of sunlight, his arms raised in a parody of a blessing. Surrounding both him and Hugh was a circle of men in black robes, their faces entirely covered in animal masks, at least a dozen in all.

Exley grinned a ghoul’s grimace. “Are you glad to have your wish fulfilled?”

Hugh tested the ties on his wrists. “Where is my son?”

The earl’s grin dimmed a little. “You grow repetitious, and I assure you, you are not the important one here.” Exley raised his arms again, his voice louder. “Lords of Chaos, welcome! We have had a winter of travails, a time of testing. Only the strongest, the most intelligent, and the most ruthless Lord is fit to lead our body.”

The earl paused to gaze at his audience. His upper lip curled. “Sir Aaron Crewe thought himself capable of leading us. Yet he brought the prying eyes of Kyle down upon us by his folly in murdering the Duchess of Kyle.”

The masked figures hissed their disapproval.

Exley raised his hand to quiet them. “Never fear, my Lords. I have dealt with Crewe as I have dealt with Chase, another who sought to contest my leadership, for I—I am your rightful leader, your Dionysus!”

Exley made a slight bow as the Lords cheered. “Today, my Lords, we celebrate. We celebrate a new Dionysus and we celebrate the destruction of our enemy. We are all-powerful, my Lords. Not even a duke—the son of a king!—may seek to bring us to our knees.”

The man was mad.

Exley snapped his fingers, and a robed man wearing a mole mask led Peter into the ring of figures.

Thank God. He was alive. Hugh felt his throat close.

Peter had no such problems.

“Papa!” he shrieked. “Papa! Papa! Papa!”

The man in the mole mask must not have been expecting such a strong reaction from a little boy, for Peter wriggled from his grasp and ran to Hugh.

Hugh knelt and swung his bound hands over the boy’s head, hugging him close. Peter was crying, his face a wet, hysterical mess.

The man in the mole mask clutched at the boy’s shoulders, trying to tear him from Hugh’s arms.

“Get your bloody hands off my son!” Hugh growled, backing away. He picked Peter up and clutched the boy to his chest.

Two other Lords started for him.

“Come now, Your Grace,” Exley crooned. “Don’t be foolish. Let my men take the sweet little boy. It will be far more pleasant in the long run, I think. For both of you.”

Hugh looked at Exley. Looked at that damned mockery of an altar behind the earl.

He had Peter in his arms, and yet Alf and his men weren’t making an appearance.

They had lost him.

There was no rescue.

And he knew what the Lords of Chaos did at their revels to sweet little boys.

He couldn’t give Peter up, couldn’t back down, couldn’t escape.

He was going to have to do this alone.

Hugh bent his head to his son’s wet face and whispered in his ear. “I love you, Peter.”

Then he put his head down and charged the man in the mole mask.

Mole Mask hadn’t been expecting his charge. Hugh hit the man in the belly with his shoulder and head and knocked them all to the ground. Peter was screaming, terrified. Hugh rolled, putting his son underneath him, and felt the blows as the other two Lords piled on top of him. He grunted, elbowing and kicking as best he could while still shielding Peter. Somehow he had to make it through the ring of robed men.

Someone kicked him in the head and then the side.

Hugh grunted. Got to one elbow and both knees and started crawling, awkwardly holding Peter in one arm.

Dragging three men on top of him.

And then all hell broke loose.

Two shots rang out in rapid succession.

Hugh jerked at the sound, nearly falling on his face. He glanced up in time to see Exley lurch, his eyes wide in astonishment, as he fell backward, scarlet spreading over his chest.

Bloody hell, maybe they were about to be rescued after all.

Then he caught sight of Riley, grinning as he holstered his pistols and drew his sword. The Lords were shouting, some fighting, though by no means all. Some seemed stunned by this turn of events.

Hugh grinned.

He bent to Peter and kissed his cheek. “Listen to me. Stay down, cover your head, and close your eyes. Do you understand?”

The boy immediately screwed his eyes shut. “Yes, Papa.”

Hugh unlooped his arms from Peter’s body, clasped his fists together, and slammed them into the side of Mole Mask’s head. He shook off the man still on his back, elbowed him in the throat, making the man gag, and then brought both fists down on the back of the man’s head.

Two down.

He turned to his third assailant, but Jenkins was already there, clubbing the man down. “Is the boy all right, sir?”

“Yes,” Hugh replied. “He’ll be fine as soon as we can get the hell out of here.”

The gray-haired man nodded, unperturbed. “We’re working on that, sir.”

Hugh staggered upright, his feet braced over Peter’s prone form to guard him, and saw Talbot, wading into the black-robed figures, his bloodstained sword swinging.

A man in a badger mask charged him. Hugh put his shoulder down and braced himself, catching most of the force of the attack. The man reeled, his mask falling off. Hugh caught the back of his head, looked him in the eye, and slammed his forehead into the other man’s nose.

Badger crumpled to the floor.

Hugh glanced up again and finally saw Alf. She was whirling, graceful and free, both swords working at once, one blocking, one thrusting, laying her enemies out with ruthless, feminine precision.

“I think it’s time to leave, sir,” Jenkins said.

Hugh picked up Peter, holding him close. “Are your eyes still closed?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Hugh put his head down and ran to Alf with Jenkins by his side.

“This way, guv,” Alf said, pointing to a side door.

Talbot and Riley were covering their retreat.

They ran, Hugh clutching Peter, aware of his son’s legs wrapped around his waist, of the boy’s wet face pressed against his body, of how glad he was of the slight weight.

A carriage was outside the ruined church, but as they came abreast of it, another vehicle rumbled up, accompanied by the thunder of a dozen mounted soldiers.

“Kyle!” Shrugg was waving to him from the open carriage window, his gray wig slightly askew. “I say, Kyle! Are you and the boy well?”

“We are indeed,” Hugh called back. “But if your men would care to do the honor, there are the remains of the Lords of Chaos to be cleaned up inside that ruined church.”

Shrugg looked positively gleeful. “Consider it done!”

Hugh turned back to his own waiting carriage, where Talbot swiftly sawed through his bindings. His men scrambled to climb on the outside, and he and Alf ducked inside with Peter.

The carriage jolted off.

“Peter?” Hugh said, prying the boy’s face away from his chest. “Are you all right?”

The boy inhaled noisily on a sob. “Uncle David said he’d buy me a bag of sweets but then he wouldn’t take me home, and he went away and left me with those bad men. I don’t like Uncle David anymore!”

“Neither do I.” Hugh sighed and kissed the boy’s sticky, sweaty face. “Did the bad men hurt you?”

Peter looked up, his big blue eyes betrayed, his lower lip trembling. “They hurt my arm when they made me go to that place.”

Hugh closed his eyes, thankful that had been the only damage done to Peter.

Then he took his son’s face in his hand. “No bad man will ever hurt you again.”

Peter frowned as if he wasn’t entirely certain. “Promise?”

Hugh nodded.

“Good.” The little boy put his head back on Hugh’s chest, then rolled his eyes to look at Alf. “Can you sing me the moon song, please?”

Alf blinked hard and smiled. “Of course.”

Peter sighed and thrust his grimy thumb into his mouth as Alf began to sing huskily about a moon and seeing someone you loved. At any other time Hugh would’ve reprimanded him.

Not today.

Instead he wrapped one arm around his son and the other around Alf and tugged them both closer to his heart.