Chapter 1
The servants of Blackthorn Castle had feared the black hound for eleven years.
They called him Morcant.
No one knew who had named him first.
Some said the name came from an old border word for death.
Others said the beast had been born during an eclipse in the ruined kennels below the north wall and had killed two littermates before his eyes opened.
Maeve did not believe either story.
Maeve believed Morcant was a dog.
An enormous dog.
A dangerous dog.
But still a dog.
That belief had kept her calmer than most whenever his nails clicked along the stone corridors after dark.
It did not keep her calm the morning he attacked Lady Elodie.
Maeve was crossing the lower east balcony with a basket of clean linens when she heard the baby scream above her.
Not cry.
Scream.
She looked up.
The tower window stood open.
A black head appeared behind the carved stone sill.
Morcant.
His jaws gripped the edge of a thick blue blanket.
The blanket moved.
Something small kicked inside it.
“Elodie!”
Maeve dropped the basket.
Above, a woman shouted.
Lady Sabine.
“Release her!”
Maeve ran toward the stairwell.
Then she heard a snarl.
A thud.
Another scream.
She stopped because something changed in the window.
Sabine appeared.
Her dark hair loose.
Face white.
She had Elodie in both arms.
For one second Maeve nearly collapsed with relief.
Sabine had pulled the child free.
The hound was behind her.
Alive.
Growling.
The danger was over.
Then Sabine looked down.
Not toward the hound.
Toward the balcony below.
Toward Maeve.
Their eyes met.
Maeve would remember that forever.
Not panic.
Not confusion.
Calculation.
Sabine stepped to the window.
“No,” Maeve whispered.
Sabine lifted Elodie.
“No.”
Maeve ran.
Sabine threw the baby.
The world narrowed to blue wool and white skin falling through cold morning air.
Maeve dropped to her knees and reached.
Elodie struck her chest hard enough to knock Maeve backward.
Her shoulder hit the stone balustrade.
Pain flashed.
She wrapped both arms around the baby and rolled onto the balcony floor.
Elodie screamed.
Maeve screamed too.
People came running from three directions.
A cook.
Two guards.
A stable boy.
Father Tavin from the chapel.
Above them, Sabine shouted:
“The hound!”
Maeve stared upward.
“The hound knocked her!”
No.
Maeve knew what she had seen.
She tried to stand.
Her right arm failed.
Elodie still cried.
Good.
Crying meant breath.
Then Lord Gideon appeared in the archway at the end of the balcony.
He had no cloak.
No sword.
Only a black tunic half-fastened and terror in his face.
“Elodie.”
Maeve held out the child.
“My lord—”
Gideon took his daughter with both hands.
His face collapsed.
“Elodie. Elodie.”
He checked her head.
Her arms.
Her mouth.
The baby clutched his collar and cried against him.
“What happened?”
Sabine’s voice came from the stairwell behind them.
“Morcant.”
Everyone turned.
Lady Sabine descended quickly.
There was blood on her sleeve.
Not hers.
The blanket had a torn edge clamped in Morcant’s jaws when Maeve last saw him.
Sabine pointed upward.
“He dragged her across the nursery. I pulled her away, but he lunged again and knocked me against the window.”
Maeve said:
“No.”
The word came out small.
Sabine looked at her.
Maeve stood slowly.
Her shoulder screamed.
“You threw her.”
Silence.
One guard inhaled sharply.
Sabine’s face became still.
“Maeve.”
“I saw you.”
“You were below.”
“I saw you look at me.”
Sabine’s mouth tightened.
“She fell.”
“No.”
Gideon stared at his sister.
Sabine looked at him.
“Gideon, she is in shock.”
Maeve said:
“I was not in shock when your hands opened.”
A growl rolled through the stairwell.
Everyone froze.
Morcant appeared at the top step.
He was enormous.
Black from nose to tail.
A broad-headed war hound with a chest like a small pony and scar tissue over one eye.
The servants stepped back.
A guard drew his sword.
Morcant descended one step.
Then another.
His muzzle was wet with saliva.
A scrap of blue blanket hung from one canine.
Gideon shifted Elodie behind his shoulder.
“Kill it.”
The guard raised the sword.
Sabine snapped:
“No!”
Too fast.
Everyone looked at her.
She recovered.
“I mean—wait. If it has gone mad, one blow may only enrage it.”
Gideon stared.
The hound growled.
Then Maeve noticed something at Sabine’s throat.
Silver.
A chain.
A small whistle.
She had seen it before.
Never thought about it.
Sabine wore it often beneath her collar.
Gideon noticed too.
Perhaps because Maeve was staring.
He said:
“What is that?”
Sabine’s hand rose to the whistle.
“Nothing.”
Morcant took another step.
The guard tightened his grip.
Gideon held out his hand.
“Give it to me.”
Sabine laughed.
“Now?”
“Give me the whistle.”
“It belonged to Mother.”
“Sabine.”
Morcant growled louder.
Elodie cried.
Gideon moved forward and tore the silver whistle from Sabine’s chain.
“Gideon!”
He looked at it.
A simple tube.
Three tiny holes along one side.
Not decorative.
Not a pendant.
A working whistle.
He put it to his lips.
Sabine went white.
“Don’t.”
Gideon blew once.
A thin sharp note cut through the stairwell.
Morcant stopped growling.
Then sat.
The entire balcony went silent.
The guard lowered his sword slowly.
Maeve forgot her shoulder.
Gideon stared at the beast.
Then at Sabine.
He blew again.
Different pitch because his finger covered one of the holes.
Morcant lowered his head to the floor.
Sabine whispered:
“Stop.”
Gideon’s face changed.
Not rage yet.
Understanding.
He looked at the torn blanket in Morcant’s mouth.
Then at the whistle.
Then at his sister.
“The monster was trained.”
Sabine shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”
Gideon laughed once.
A terrible sound.
“For eleven years this castle has feared that animal.”
“It is dangerous.”
“Because someone taught it to be.”
Morcant remained flat on the stone.
Perfectly still.
Waiting.
Gideon turned to Captain Rowan.
“Take my daughter to the healer. Maeve goes too.”
Maeve started:
“My lord—”
“You caught her. You’re injured.”
“I can still—”
“Go.”
Then Gideon looked at Sabine.
“Do not let her leave the east wing.”
Sabine’s eyes widened.
“You’re imprisoning me?”
“I am keeping you where I can find you until I know why my sister threw my daughter from a tower window.”
Sabine’s face twisted.
“I did not.”
Maeve stepped forward.
“You did.”
Then Morcant lifted his head.
Not at Gideon.
At Sabine.
Waiting.
She looked at the hound.
For one second, Maeve saw something pass between them.
Recognition.
Command without sound.
Sabine moved one finger near her thigh.
Morcant’s body tensed.
Gideon saw.
He blew the whistle again.
Morcant froze.
Captain Rowan swore.
“He knows hand commands too.”
Sabine backed away.
Now fear.
Real.
Gideon handed Elodie to Rowan only long enough to take the whistle more securely.
Then looked at Maeve.
“Did you ever see Sabine use this?”
Maeve thought.
Not clearly.
But memories shifted.
The kitchen maid Lysa cornered by Morcant three winters ago.
Sabine arriving and the beast suddenly backing away.
The old steward Perrin found mauled near wine cellar.
Sabine insisting Morcant had escaped.
The stable hand who claimed someone whistled before the dog attacked his horse.
The servants had laughed at him.
No.
Not laughed.
Whispered.
Then silenced because Lady Sabine said fear made fools.
Maeve looked at Gideon.
“I have seen him stop when she entered rooms.”
Sabine said:
“He knows me.”
Maeve shook head.
“He obeys you.”
Gideon’s jaw tightened.
Then a young guard ran onto the balcony.
“My lord.”
“What?”
“The nursery.”
He was pale.
“We found meat on the floor.”
Everyone looked.
“Meat?”
“Raw. Hidden beneath the cradle.”
Maeve felt cold.
The guard continued.
“And the tower door latch was tied back with cord.”
Morcant had not broken in.
Someone let him enter.
Then another guard appeared.
“The kennelmaster is gone.”
Gideon’s eyes narrowed.
“Master Orren?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before dawn.”
Sabine closed her eyes.
Only for a heartbeat.
Gideon saw.
“So Orren knows.”
Sabine said nothing.
Captain Rowan asked:
“Knows what?”
Gideon looked toward the hound.
“The commands.”
Then at the whistle.
Then his sister.
“And perhaps why my daughter needed to look as if she had been killed by a beast.”
A bell rang in the courtyard.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Not alarm.
The main gate signal.
Someone leaving.
Rowan turned.
A guard shouted from below:
“Rider at the south road!”
Gideon said:
“Orren.”
He handed Elodie back to himself? Better he already has her. Let's say Rowan had held briefly, now Gideon takes.
“Close the gates.”
The guard hesitated.
“The rider is already beyond them.”
“Then send men.”
Sabine suddenly spoke.
“Don’t.”
Gideon looked.
“Why?”
She was breathing too quickly.
“Because you don’t know where he’s going.”
“Then perhaps you can tell me.”
Silence.
Gideon stepped closer.
Elodie whimpered against his chest.
“Sabine.”
She looked at the baby.
Something moved in her face.
Grief?
Regret?
Fear?
Maeve could not tell.
Then Sabine said:
“You think this began today.”
Gideon went still.
“What does that mean?”
Sabine looked at Morcant.
The giant hound sat obediently on the stone.
A monster only because everyone had been taught the wrong story.
Then she said:
“You should ask what happened to the last three heirs before Elodie.”
No one moved.
Gideon’s face lost color.
There had been no last three heirs.
Not officially.
Blackthorn’s history said Gideon’s older brothers died of fever as children.
His cousin Isolde died after falling from the west stair.
Another infant cousin had “never drawn breath.”
Family tragedy.
Bad luck.
Old stone.
Old winters.
Maeve watched Gideon understand that Sabine was not confessing.
May you like
She was opening a door.
And whatever lay behind it had been living in Blackthorn Castle far longer than the black hound.
