Forty-five
The sky morphed from gray to purple and pink as Jonathan and his fellow Regent’s men tracked Farrin and Wolfe. Margrave signaled for them to rein in their horses and he dismounted. He crouched in the dirt, soft from a recent rain shower.
“More footprints.” Margrave looked in the direction they led. “And there’s another fresh print.”
“Is it the same person?” Wedmore asked, sitting his horse like a man unafraid of losing it all. He’d had decades to suppress the fear, and his calm put Jonathan more at ease.
Margrave nodded. “Still only one set, but I agree with Hackberry. The heel is different from the local footwear. It has to be Farrin or Wolfe.”
“I wonder what separated them,” Jonathan said, shading his eyes to check the horizon. In the distance, ruins rose up like gravestones of those forgotten.
“Knowing Farrin,” Margrave said, “he left Wolfe for dead somewhere. Wolfe is too loyal to leave him.”
“How long before we overtake him?” Jonathan asked.
“It isn’t a sundial.” Margrave stood, dusting off his gloves. “But I think we’re close.”
Whichever man they were tracking, he had become turned around in the dark, veering west first before walking south and now east. He was essentially walking in a circle that carried him several hundred feet off the well-traveled road.
There was still no sign of a horse, so Dom hadn’t met up with Farrin yet. Maybe he had reached the rendezvous point further north and was waiting. Then again, Jonathan had intercepted the message. Dom could be unaware Farrin’s plan was in motion.
Jonathan’s gut tightened. All this time he had lived alongside Dom, believing they were aligned. He’d played Jonathan, kept alive the lie of Wedmore being a traitor. Dom had urged Jonathan to follow orders—no, demanded—knowing all along the true traitors’ identities. Hell! Dom was one of them.
“The terrain is growing too rocky for the horses,” Margrave said. “We need to track him on foot.”
Jonathan agreed. He was more comfortable climbing than sitting a saddle anyway after years of working digs. They secured the horses to a cluster of olive trees and followed Margrave.
Their party stopped when he held up a fist and examined the ground. He pointed out another footprint and trampled brush. When he waved them forward, they moved in silence.
Ahead, silvery brush shuddered as something larger than a rabbit moved through it. They held position, waiting for someone, or something, to reveal itself.
The silhouette of a man walked into a clearing forty feet ahead. He turned, freezing when he spotted them. Slender build, average height. It wasn’t Wolfe.
Jonathan exhaled, muscles tensed.
Farrin raised his arm to shoulder height. There was a flash and fizzle.
Jonathan dived for cover a second before the bang. He shouted for Wedmore and Margrave.
“Here!”
“Here!”
No one was injured. Farrin had taken his one shot.
“Let’s catch this bastard,” Jonathan said and ran after him.
He broke ahead of Wedmore and Margrave, leaping over larger rocks that slowed Farrin. Still, the man was fast and had the advantage of a head start.
Jonathan closed the distance as the ruins soared into the sky, growing larger.
Footsteps pounded behind him. Margrave and Wedmore were on his tail.
A low wall enclosed the ruins, and Farrin scrambled over it, dashing for the shadowy interior of what was once a grand villa or temple. Jonathan planted a hand on the stone wall and hopped over it as Farrin disappeared inside.
“Split up and surround him,” Jonathan called to Margrave and Wedmore while he followed Farrin.
When he entered the ruins, he couldn’t see.
He stopped to allow his eyes to adjust and listened.
A scrape of a boot against stone drew him deeper into the structure.
Vines pushed up through cracks, climbing walls and forming a thick canopy overhead.
Farther inside, the ceiling had caved in.
Moss grew on the rubble, and shafts of dim sunlight filtered through the overgrowth.
Jonathan’s heart thumped loudly as he eased around a crumbling column, heading toward where he had heard the sound.
Margrave and Wedmore would be close, though they moved like fog, quietly creeping through the ruins.
Jonathan kept his pistol harnessed. He didn’t want to fire at one of them in reflex, and Farrin was out of ammunition.
A mouse skittered up the wall. Jonathan looked up.
A roar and rush of movement shot from the shadows.
He spun as Farrin tried to smash his head with a large rock.
He weaved to the side, the rock grazing his shoulder.
The momentum knocked Farrin off balance.
Jonathan pivoted and drove his boot into Farrin’s lower back.
He arched away from the blow, yelling in pain.
Jonathan drew his pistol. “Don’t move.”
Farrin was panting and wincing. Sweat poured down his face. “Aim for…the kidney,” he said between wheezing breaths. “I…taught you…that.”
“You taught me many things a seventeen-year-old boy should never know.” He didn’t take his eyes off Farrin. “All clear!”
Bootfalls echoed off the stone floor. Jonathan didn’t glance behind him. “There’s rope in my saddlebag,” he said to Margrave and Wedmore.
“No, let’s end it here.” The click of Dom setting the hammer on his flintlock sent a chill down Jonathan’s spine.
A grin spread across Farrin’s dirty face, even as he was hunched forward, holding his back.
Jonathan pivoted to see Dom but kept his pistol trained on Farrin. Dom didn’t blink. He was hardened and closed off—unrecognizable.
Jonathan’s mouth felt too dry to speak, but he forced himself. “He’s the traitor. You heard Margrave.”
“Margrave is a bloody liar,” Farrin spat. “His allegiance is to Wedmore.”
Dom slowly walked toward Jonathan and Farrin.
“Please, Dom. You know what he stole from us. We gave him control over our lives, but he played God.”
Farrin bared his teeth. “Don’t be stupid. You cannot take Margrave’s word over mine.”
“Don’t you know me by now,” Dom said. “I think for myself.”
Margrave and Wedmore stepped out of the shadows with their pistols aimed at Dom.
“Lower your weapon,” Margrave barked.
Dom didn’t flinch.
“Don’t let it end this way.” Jonathan took a careful step toward Dom, arms held out at his sides. He held Jonathan’s gaze, his eyes like steel. “Please, Dom.”
His friend blinked and folded his thumb across his palm.
Brotherhood. Jonathan’s breath caught. “Margrave, wait!”
“Don’t be stupid,” Margrave shot back. “Move away.”
Jonathan held his ground.
Wedmore called him off, and Margrave lowered his firearm.
Dom walked closer to Farrin. “You have always said you have eyes and ears everywhere.”
Farrin’s eyes narrowed. “Closer than you realize.”
“But I have connections in Athens.”
Dom gave a sharp, short whistle. Four Janissaries stormed into the ruins and swarmed around Farrin.
“The Ottomans have agreed to hold you until I can take you back to England to face charges.”
Farrin raged like an animal, flailing as they seized him and slapped shackles on his wrists and feet.
“You think you’ve won?” He glared at Wedmore, spittle flying from his mouth. “Do you think you’ve beaten me? I knew you would intercept my message and leave the henhouse unguarded. Everyone you love is gone. Wolfe has ended them all.”
The air rushed from Jonathan’s lungs; his surroundings blurred. Then he was running.
He cleared the wall in one leap, barreling down the path toward the horses. A low roar in his ears drowned out everything. He startled when Margrave ran past him to untie his own horse. Wedmore was a couple of steps behind.
“My lord?” He looked to Evangeline’s uncle for reassurance, but Wedmore’s grim expression said it all.
Farrin wasn’t lying.