The huff became a wheeze. Silas's tone sharpened. "Cousin, stubborn pride will ruin the estate."
Bramble's distant thought punched through my skull: Lemon man smells like rope.
I stiffened.
Bramble continued: Wexham, too. Rope and river mud. Bad buckles. Bad man.
I peeked through the curtain gap. Wexham leaned close to Rowan, one hand on the chair arm. His cuff lifted. On his wrist was a red cord bracelet tied with a brass buckle shaped like a small hook—insulting buckle.
I shifted, and the coal scuttle betrayed me with a clang.
Silence.
Silas strode to the curtain and yanked it aside. I stood there holding the scuttle like a weapon and wearing the expression of a woman who had recently become interior decoration.
"Miss Finch," Silas said softly. "How curious."
Rowan turned his chair. "I asked her to tend the fire."
"Behind the curtain?"
"Draft," I said.
Wexham stared. "With coal?"
"Ambitious draft."
Rowan made the smallest sound. Silas heard it and flushed.
"Leave," Silas ordered.
I looked at Rowan. He nodded once. His eyes told me he had understood enough. I left with my coal scuttle and a heartbeat racing faster than any horse.
That night, Rowan did not come to the training ring. Bramble woke me anyway.
Danger. Stable. Now.
I ran.
The stable smelled wrong before I opened the door: sharp oil, smoke, fear. Bramble slammed his hooves against his stall, not in panic, but rage. A small flame crawled along straw near the tack room. I grabbed the water barrel dipper and shouted for Peter. He stumbled from the loft half-dressed and swearing. Together, we doused the fire before it spread, but the tack room door had been forced.
Rowan's old saddle lay cut apart: panels ripped open, girth sliced.
Bramble's thoughts shook with fury: They look for papers. Under leather. Old saddle. Evelyn hid things there.
"Evelyn," I whispered.
Peter looked at me. "What?"
"Nothing. Wake His Grace. Quietly."
Too late. Rowan appeared at the stable entrance in his chair—hair disordered, coat thrown over nightclothes. Silas stood behind him, too neatly dressed for a man awakened by fire.
"What happened?" Rowan demanded.