Chapter 12
Two days of hard riding brought them to Millhaven by late afternoon.
The journey had been efficient, stripped of everything unnecessary.
Nine men, fast horses, minimal supplies.
No wagons. No ceremony. Just the steady rhythm of covering ground quickly and the cold focus that came with knowing every hour mattered.
They had stopped only when the horses required it, slept in shifts when darkness made the roads too dangerous to navigate, and spoke only when strategy demanded it.
Valerius had left the estate at first light with Leon, Edric, and six of his most reliable guards.
He had informed Lynara of his departure the evening before—a conversation he had expected to be difficult.
Instead, she had been pragmatic. She understood she would slow them down.
She was not needed for a pursuit on horseback.
She would wait for his return. Her calm acceptance had surprised him more than resistance would have.
Now, as Millhaven's low stone buildings came into view through the afternoon haze, Valerius felt the familiar tightening in his chest that came before action. Not anxiety. Anticipation.
Montrose had been here. The clerks' testimony had been clear on that point. And if Alden Rook had done his job as waypoint coordinator, he would know where Montrose had gone next.
Millhaven was smaller than Ambervale. A trade town that existed because of its position along the western merchant routes, not because of any particular beauty or strategic importance.
The buildings were functional. The streets were wide enough for cargo wagons but not much else.
The people moved with the practiced efficiency of those who understood commerce better than ceremony.
Valerius dismounted in the central square and handed his reins to one of the guards. Leon and Edric flanked him immediately, eyes scanning the area with the quiet vigilance of men who had learned not to trust calm.
"Where is Rook's operation?" Valerius asked.
Leon gestured toward a two-story timber building near the edge of the square. A painted sign hung above the entrance: Rook & Sons - Trade Factors & Forwarding.
Of course. Right in the center of town. Hiding in plain sight.
"Approach?" Leon asked.
"Direct," Valerius said. "No advance warning. I want him unprepared."
They crossed the square in formation—Valerius in front, Leon and Edric just behind, the remaining guards fanning out to cover the perimeter. A few merchants glanced their way, noted the quality of their arms and the discipline in their movement, and wisely returned to their own business.
The factor's office was open. Inside, a front room held a long counter, shelves of ledgers, and two clerks bent over paperwork. Both looked up when Valerius entered.
One of them—a thin man in his forties with ink-stained fingers—straightened immediately. "Good afternoon, my lords. How may Rook & Sons assist—"
"Alden Rook," Valerius said. "Where is he?"
The clerk blinked. "Mr. Rook is in the back office. If you have an appointment—"
"I do not."
Leon stepped forward and placed one hand on the counter. Not threatening. Just present. "Fetch him. Now."
The clerk paled and fled through the rear door.
Valerius waited. Edric positioned himself by the entrance. The second clerk kept his eyes down and pretended very hard to be invisible.
Smart.
A moment later, the rear door opened again and a broad-shouldered man in well-tailored merchant's clothing stepped through. Mid-fifties, graying at the temples, with the kind of calm confidence that came from years of successful business dealings.
Alden Rook stopped when he saw Valerius.
Not because he recognized him. Because he recognized what three armed men in a factor's office meant.
"Gentlemen," Rook said smoothly. "I wasn't aware I had an appointment scheduled."
"You do not," Valerius said. "But I have questions. You will answer them."
Rook's expression remained pleasant. Professional. But his eyes had sharpened. "Of course. Perhaps we might speak in my private office? More comfortable for—"
"Here is sufficient."
A pause. Then Rook nodded slowly. "As you prefer."
He crossed to the counter but did not sit. Keeping his options open. Keeping distance.
Valerius did not waste time. "Lord Silas Montrose. You arranged his westward passage a few days ago."
Rook's pleasant expression did not change. "I'm afraid I don't know that name."
A lie. Clean. Practiced.
Valerius let his light magic rise. Just a faint glow at his fingertips, enough to be seen, enough to unsettle.
Rook's gaze flicked to the light. His smile thinned by a fraction.
"I handle many clients," Rook said carefully. "Privacy is part of the service I offer. I cannot simply—"
"You can," Valerius interrupted. "And you will."
The light brightened. Rook took half a step back.
"I am investigating Lord Silas Montrose on behalf of the Crown," Valerius continued, voice cold and precise. "He fled Ambervale after a failed criminal conspiracy. The clerks who assisted his departure have already been arrested and questioned. They gave me your name."
Rook's professional calm cracked by a degree. "I—I provide logistics services. If a client came to me with proper documentation—"
"Documentation you knew was falsified."
"I had no way to verify—"
The light pulsed sharply. Rook flinched.
"Do not insult my intelligence," Valerius said. "You are a merchant factor. You know when documentation is legitimate and when it has been rushed through irregular channels. Lord Montrose came to you a few days ago with sealed trunks and a need for quiet passage west. You arranged it."
Rook's jaw tightened. He glanced once at Leon and Edric, as if weighing his chances of ending this conversation through anything other than cooperation.
Leon's expression made it clear those chances were nonexistent.
Rook exhaled slowly. "If I cooperate, I want assurances—"
"You are not in a position to negotiate," Valerius said. "You are in a position to decide how much additional trouble you want to purchase for yourself."
The light at his fingertips brightened again. Rook stared at it, then at Valerius's face.
Whatever he saw there convinced him.
"Yes," Rook said quietly. "Lord Montrose came here. Five days ago."
"How long did he stay?"
"One night. He arrived late in the afternoon, stayed in the private rooms above my warehouse, and left before dawn the next morning."
"Where did he go?"
Rook hesitated. The light pulsed.
"West," Rook said quickly. "Toward the coast road. I arranged transport and documentation to get him past the regional checkpoints."
"Destination?"
"I don't know the final—"
The light flared. Rook jerked back.
"I swear I don't know his final destination," Rook said, words tumbling over themselves now. "He only told me the next waypoint. That's how these things work. Each handler knows one step. Safer that way."
Valerius believed him. The light confirmed it—fear, but not deception.
"The next waypoint," Valerius said. "Where?"
Rook swallowed. "A coastal trade town called Brackford. Three days' ride west of here. There's a shipping agent there who handles discreet cargo and passenger transfers. I gave Montrose a letter of introduction."
"Name?"
"Corin Hale. He runs a forwarding house near the docks." Rook's hands had curled into fists against his sides. "That's all I know. I arranged the introduction, provided the clearance papers, and sent him on his way. After that, he was Hale's problem."
Valerius studied him. The light magic pulsed once more, testing.
Rook's fear spiked but his story held steady. Truth, or at least truth as far as this man knew it.
"The sealed trunks," Valerius said. "What was in them?"
"I didn't look. That was part of the agreement."
"But you have suspicions."
Rook's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Documents, most likely. Records. Maybe portable wealth. Nothing bulky. Nothing that required special handling beyond discretion."
That tracked with what they already knew. Silas had taken evidence of the corruption network with him. Insurance, perhaps. Or simply the physical proof of his leverage.
Valerius lowered his hand. The light faded. "You will write down everything you just told me. The timeline. The arrangements. Hale's location and contact information. Every detail you can remember about Lord Montrose's appearance, his behavior, anything he said."
Rook nodded quickly. "Yes. Of course."
"And if I discover you have warned Corin Hale or anyone else that I am coming—"
"I won't," Rook said. "I swear it."
Valerius held his gaze for one long moment. Then he turned to Leon. "Station a man here. No one leaves this building until I say otherwise."
Leon nodded and gestured to one of the guards.
Rook looked pale but resigned. "How long—"
"Until I am satisfied you have been truthful." Valerius moved toward the door. "If you have been, you will be released unharmed. If you have not, you will join Lord Montrose in a cell."
He did not wait for a response.
◆◆◆
Outside, the afternoon had begun its slide toward evening. The square was quieter now, merchants packing up their stalls, the day's business winding down.
Valerius stood near the horses and looked west. Toward the coast road. Toward Brackford.
Three days' ride. And Montrose had left here four days ago.
If he had gone straight to Brackford, he would have reached it by now.
Three days ahead seemed insurmountable. But Brackford was coastal—a shipping waypoint, not a road junction.
Which meant Montrose could not simply keep running west when the land ended.
He might have been forced to wait. For passage arrangements. For a ship. For the right tide.
Any delay there was Valerius’s opportunity.
Leon joined him. "Brackford?"
"Yes."
"We leave at first light?"
Valerius shook his head. "We leave now. We ride through the night if the road permits it. Every hour we delay is another hour Montrose has to secure passage and disappear onto a ship."
Edric had already turned back toward the horses, anticipating the order.
Leon did not argue. "The men will manage."
They would. They had been chosen for exactly this kind of pursuit.
Valerius mounted. The others followed without need for instruction. Within minutes they were moving west again, the town of Millhaven falling behind them as the road stretched ahead into the failing light.
Three days to Brackford if they rode carefully.
Two and a half if they pushed through the night.
Somewhere in Brackford, Silas Montrose might already have found passage. Or he might still be waiting—for the right ship, the right tide, the right chance to vanish beyond the Crown’s reach.
Valerius intended to reach him before that chance came.