Tristan paused a moment as he exited the plane, looking out at the Isle of Man. It was gorgeous as always—a piece of pastoral paradise in the middle of the Irish Sea, halfway between the Lake District and the eastern edge of Northern Ireland. Typified by green fields, rocky shoreline, stone cliffs, and whitewashed cottages, it had seen a resurgence in interest and tourism in the last fifty years.

The capital city of Douglas boasted a population of twenty-six thousand, while the isle’s total population topped out at just over eighty-five thousand. It was overall prosperous and peaceful. The schools were good, the people healthy and happy, and the median income higher than that of either England or Ireland. The island’s main economy was tourism—and it attracted visitors who wanted to romanticize the past. Though the living history demonstrations of the life of crofters made sure to mention the poverty and disease that would have plagued those who’d worked the land, the truth was, Man’s tourism industry was selling a fantasy. The fantasy of a simpler life, a time when a family could live in peace and pastoral security.

“They know we’re coming?” James asked as they descended the steps out of the plane.

“Yes.” Tristan once more took James’s bag. He looked at Sophia’s small rolling suitcase, trying to decide if he could take that too while still keeping his sword arm free.

The problem solved itself when the cab driver the flight attendant had called ahead to arrange ran over and took Sophia’s bag. He touched his hat to his fingers as he did it—an old gesture of respect. Privately, Tristan considered almost every aspect of the isle a front designed to hide and protect the society’s seat of power. But he shouldn’t forget that there were people here who could trace their ancestry back a thousand years. People who still spoke the original language of the isle—Manx. People who he thought were probably a security threat, because there was no way these families had lived here for generations without noticing something.

The official reason why the Isle of Man’s flag and coat of arms included a triskelion—three legs joined together at the top of the thigh—was unknown. But the Manx people surely would have noticed the strangers who moved to their island, took control, and always traveled in threes.

The Masters’ Admiralty was classist. He knew that from experience. The admirals and fleet admiral assumed that anyone who wasn’t a member, or who didn’t do something that elevated them to the point of being considered for membership, was blind and deaf. When Tristan had voiced this opinion, he’d been applauded for his “inventive” thinking, and then they’d given him his first assignment and nothing more was said.

Without speaking, the driver opened each of the doors. James took the front seat, and the driver’s eyes widened a little as James wedged himself into the compact blue car. Tristan finished loading the bags, then offered Sophia a hand to assist her getting in. She slid into the car without taking his hand, but gifted him a warm smile. Tristan ignored the way his heart thumped as if he were a schoolboy, and closed her door before circling around the back and climbing in the other side.

It took them nearly forty minutes to get from the airport to their destination, which was due to the roads, not the size of the island. No one spoke during the ride. Sophia was looking out the window, James had his eyes closed, and Tristan was clenching and unclenching his fist around the handle of his sword. They passed through populated areas on the outskirts of the capital city, then headed up and in, the road rising as they traveled toward the mountainous center of the island. To an outsider, the rolling green fields and carefully tended whitewashed cottages would have seemed peaceful and nearly timeless.

The history of the isle was far darker and more complex than most of the residents knew. It had been the seat of power for the Masters’ Admiralty since 1440 AD, and the fact that the isle was a self-governing British Crown dependency, and not a fully integrated part of the British Empire, was entirely a result of the work of past fleet admirals.

Cashtal Ny Tree Cassyn was located on the northern tip of the island, far from Castle Rushen—a medieval castle that served as a museum and major tourist draw—and the cities of Douglas and Port Erin.

In contrast, Cashtal Ny Tree Cassyn—which translated from Manx to English as Triskelion Castle, or more literally, The Castle of Three Legs—was a fortified manor house and estate. Tristan had, as part of being knighted, spent two nights in the manor house—which in the privacy of his thoughts he still referred to as a castle. The fleet admiral and his trinity lived in private quarters on the third floor. The second floor had six bedrooms and a receiving room, which had been redecorated and updated in the 1700s, and carefully maintained since then. Luckily, the second-floor bathroom was entirely modern.

The first floor of the manor had a foyer, library, offices, and kitchen. But the majority of the square footage of the first floor was given over to the great hall, which would have been more in keeping with Rushen’s medieval layout. It had been built to serve as a gathering place for the society, though now the room could not have held their entire membership, which was well over a thousand individuals all across Europe.

They spotted Triskelion Castle long before they reached it. They were headed downhill, from the high center of the island toward the north shore, when they came around a curve and the view opened up—green fields, fluffy white sheep, and the wild blue ocean. And there, standing tall against the wind and waves, was Triskelion Castle.

Ten minutes later, they pulled to a stop at the outer wall and gate.

“It’s beautiful,” Sophia said as they climbed out of the car. “I’d forgotten how beautiful.”

“I haven’t been here since I accepted my invitation.” James kept his voice low, in case the driver was listening.

“I’ve been here a few times.” Tristan passed the driver a handful of British pounds, which were accepted as payment anywhere on the island, before taking the bags out of the car. He set their bags by the whitewashed outer wall of the estate and peered between the bars of the gate, looking over the outside of the structure, reminding himself what he knew of the layout. The arched gothic windows, steeply angled roofs, and intricately carved capstones would not have been out of place in a cathedral. Between the wall and the gray stone castle were gardens and lawns.

The taxi pulled away, the driver giving them a considering look. Triskelion Castle was only open to the public one day a year. The owner of the castle was still one of the largest landholders on the isle and famously reclusive. The tall wall enclosed the fortified manor house, gardens, and a second modern-style house on three sides.

The fourth side of the estate was bordered by the sea, and from where they stood at the iron gates looking in, Tristan could just barely see the tips of the white sails docked in the private harbor. The castle sat on elevated land, the boats accessed via a path that had been cut into the cliff. He could faintly hear the crash of waves. The bleating of sheep was much louder. If the taxi had continued down the road, they would have come to the farmyard that belonged to the estate. As far as anyone knew, the owner made his money by exporting coveted Manx wool.

James stepped to the side and pressed the intercom button.

A moment later, the gates parted.

Tristan stared at the open gates, and for a moment considered turning back. He’d insisted on coming here. Lorelei had not been happy, but agreed that it was better safe than sorry, even if she would not officially send him.

If they were wrong, and if the fleet admiral took exception to being disturbed, he could lose his knighthood.

It would be a drastic step, and as annoyed as Lorelei was after the fiasco with the Americans, he was relatively certain that she wouldn’t sacrifice him for the sake of politicking. After all, she’d given him this assignment, which was not the “nannying” he’d first assumed it would be.

But he hesitated.

Being a knight was everything to him. It was who he was—who he’d become. He’d put that at risk once before, when he went against orders to help his American friend, Wes. The United States wasn’t part of the Masters’ Admiralty, their “territory” coming into play too late in the history. The British territory wasn’t about to include a bunch of wild rebels in its esteemed society, so the Americans were left to their own devices.

However, the founding fathers of that new country had enough knowledge to understand how most things worked, how countries survived and thrived, not because of what their leaders did publicly, but because of what happened in the shadows.

They’d formed the Trinity Masters, which clearly proved that some far-reaching branches of the Masters’ Admiralty—legacies who’d crossed the sea to live in a New World—had been amongst those so-called wild rebels.

His friend, Wes, had uncovered a secret sect determined to bring down the Trinity Masters, and along with it, information that had rocked both societies.

Sophia raised her chin and walked forward. James followed her.

Tristan scooped up their bags and set them against the inside of the wall. He wanted to be unencumbered.

A few quick steps and he caught up, walking just behind and to the right of Sophia, while James walked on her left.

As they approached the front entrance—a heavy wooden door set in a pointy-arched alcove—armed men appeared atop the walls. The walls of the house ended in a parapet, and there was a gap between the three-foot parapet and the angled part of the room, creating a walkway that could serve as a serene place to take in the views of the countryside and sea.

Or it could be used as a defensive post for snipers.

Tristan tensed and his steps slowed.

“No, no, no,” Sophia murmured. “Show no fear. You must walk in as if you belong here.”

“We do belong here,” James pointed out.

“Precisamente.”

Tristan forced his fingers to uncurl from his sword and followed Sophia and James into the cool, dark foyer of Triskelion Castle.