Who is this man? Can this crusty old seadog possibly be the exiled Duke of Perthegon, cousin to King Weston and erstwhile heir to Silver shire's throne? This is the man who raised Nikolas, nurtured him as an infant, was both teacher and companion to him when he was a little boy. Can this be the same sociopath who plotted against the crown for more than thirty years, kidnapped an infant prince, arranged one murder and committed another…and who knows how many more?

Could we…could Nikolas…be wrong? What is a picture, after all-a portrait painted more than a century ago? A couple of chests made by the same craftsman? Can it have been as this man says? Was he only a lonely lighthouse keeper who chose to raise the foundling infant left on his doorstep?

"…a friend of mine." Nikolas was saying.

She felt the brush of whiskers and warm breath on the back of her hand, and a shiver ran down her spine. She lifted her eyes, seeking Nikolas's, and found them resting on her, their gray gaze calm and reassuring.

"Well, come in, come in." Silas said, straightening with a beckoning gesture. "I've just put the kettle on-about to have me tea and a bite. I was. You're welcome to join me, if ye don't mind tinned meat and a bit of bread."

"Nothing to eat, thanks." Nikolas said. "I wouldn't mind tea, though, Rhia?"

She mumbled something in acquiescence, feeling a little like Alice in Wonderland as she followed him into the cottage. And she took care to note, as she did, that the rifle was propped against the wall beside the door.

The front door of the cottage opened directly into a large room that was all but bare of furniture, although a large stone fireplace at one end still held the remnants of a recent fire. It was dim inside; the only light was that seeping in through the small, dirt-and salt-encrusted windows. The place smelled of stale ashes and abandonment.

"I stay mostly in here in the kitchen." Silas said as he led the way with a sprightly step across the room and through a doorway opposite the fireplace, his boots making echoing footsteps on the dusty wood-plank floor. "Make me fire in there at night, when ye canna see the smoke." He swept off his cap and favored them with his wolfish smile as he gestured toward a wooden table and chairs. "Rather not advertise me presence here, if ye take me meaning."

"Why are you here, Uncle?" Nikolas sounded merely curious. He pulled out a chair and sat down, leaving Rhia to do the same while Silas turned his attention to the teakettle steaming on a portable gas camping stove that had been placed on the warped linoleum-covered countertop. "I've been looking all over the map for you, since I found out I'm not who I thought I was."

Silas nodded without looking away from his task. "Aye, ye'd be wanting answers, I'll warrant." He spooned tea leaves into a pot and poured boiling water over them. "Ask your questions, lad, and be done with it. We have important things to talk about, ye and me."

"Is that how it happened?" Nikolas asked, and though his voice was quiet, something in it made Rhia feel chilled. "You just…found me abandoned on your doorstep?"

The old man gave his whip-crack laugh. "You think the likes o' me crept into the royal palace one fine eve and stole the royal babe from its mother's arms? Am I a ghost, then? A will-o'-the-wisp?"

"No, not a ghost." Nikolas said softly.

Silas seemed not to hear that as he carried the teapot and three crockery cups to the table and set them down with a thump. His eyes were aglow with a feverish light. "And what does it matter to ye now, eh? That's in the past and done with. This is the time that matters. It's our time now, boy-everything we've worked for, planned for-it's here now-" he made a fist with one hard bony hand and shook it in front of Nikolas's nose "-right here in our hands. Not quite the way I'd planned it…but either way, that conniving thief Weston's done. Silvershire's ours. Nikolas-ours. At last…"

The countryman's lilt had disappeared from his voice, Rhia noticed. He spoke now in the clipped accent of Silvershire's upper class-British, only more so. She reached unnoticed for the heavy crockery cup, weighing it in her hands, assessing its possibilities as a weapon.

Nikolas leaned casually back in his chair. "Ours, Uncle? Exactly how is Silvershire "ours"? I thought we were working to build a new democracy here."

Silas straightened and drew back, his eyes suddenly wary and his smile more fox, now, than wolf. "Why, that's what I meant, lad…what did you think? Democracy, aye, that's what we've been about, ye and me, t'be sure 'tis."

"Is it?" Nikolas's voice had gone deadly quiet. His eyes, Rhia noticed, were iron-hard, and were fixed unwaveringly on the other man's face. "I know what I've been working for, but somehow I don't think we've had quite the same goal in mind… .Lord Vladimir."

For the space of a half dozen heartbeats, everything stopped-all sound, all movement…even breath. The air itself seemed to freeze solid.

The older man broke the stillness first, cracking it like a stone thrown onto an ice-covered pond. But before his harsh croak of denial could form into words, it was overridden by Nikolas's cold and implacable voice.

"Don't, I've just come from Perth Castle. I've seen the proof with my own eyes." He leaned forward and placed his hands on the tabletop, and to Rhia. watching with suspended breath, he seemed almost to grow taller…broader. Every inch a king… "The only thing I want to know, Lord Vladimir, is how you did it. And why. Was it all about revenge?"

"Revenge?" Every muscle in Rhia's body tensed as Vladimir swooped down like a hunting hawk, eyes fiery with rage, fingers curved into talons. Hers clenched around the crockery teacup, relaxing only slightly when he grabbed hold of the table's edge. She could see droplets of spittle on his lips, shining like tiny diamonds. "You call it revenge? I call it justice! I was King Dunford's choice! I was supposed to inherit his crown. That weasel…Henry Weston…he plotted behind my back…poisoned the king's mind against me. He took what was mine! Took my crown, my life…left me with nothing!"

On the last word he pushed back from the table, and Rhia started to breathe again, though she kept her eyes riveted on the man's face the same way she would a coiled-up rattlesnake. He's insane, she thought, watching his glittering eyes. Completely mad.

Why, then, does he seem so familiar to me?

Vladimir drew himself up and glared down at them from his full height with the haughty bearing of an emperor. "So, I took what was his-I took his son. Is that not justice?"

"Brilliant." Nikolas murmured, studying him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. "How on earth did you manage it? Must have had help from inside the palace, I imagine."

"Help? Pah-never needed it." His face took on a crafty look, and his eyes shifted to a distant place only he could see. "I have my ways…come and go from the palace any time I please, yes, I do…and no one the wiser. Took the babe from under their noses…" He laughed-a thin, gleeful snicker. "Raised the boy to despise his father, too…taught him to hate everything the man stands for…educated him…" His gaze snapped back to Nikolas, sharp and bright again. "Oh, and you were a fine boy, a clever boy, Nikolas. Blood will always tell. That was my one mistake you know-that brat I put in your place. Low-class genes…should have known better…"

"Who was he-Prince Reginald?" Nikolas asked softly.

A sneer curved Vladimir's lips. "Bought him. Didn't cost me much-mother was a prostitute and a drug addict. She was glad to get the bit I offered her."

"What happened to her? Did you have her killed, too?"

"Didn't have to," said Vladimir with a disdainful sniff, looking as if he'd gotten something foul on his hands. "Naturally, the bitch took the money I paid her and bought drugs- too much, as it turned out. Just as well-saved me the trouble of getting rid of her."

He seemed so pleased with himself, seemed not to realize how damning his boasting was. Rhia wondered whether he didn't care if they heard his confession-and the implications of that were chilling-or whether he was simply relieved after so many years of silence finally to be able to let the world know how clever he'd been.

"Wait." Nikolas said, shifting forward in his chair like an interested student at the feet of the master. "I don't understand. If you can get into the palace whenever you want, why didn't you just kill Weston and be done with it?"

Vladimir grimaced. "You disappoint me, boy. Think- what would that have gained me? If the king dies, the crown passes to a child-Reginald, and the power to a regent. I'd have my revenge, yes. but not the rest that I'm entitled to. The power, lad." He clenched a fist as if plucking that elusive commodity from the air. "The power that should have been mine."

"So…what was your plan? And why kill Reginald, after all those years? I thought he was your ticket to the power."

Vladimir snorted. There was a pause while he picked up the teapot and lifted the lid to inspect the brew. "Why, indeed. As I said, the boy was a lowlife, and stupid in the bargain. I'd kept the proof of your identity, of course-hidden safely away until I had need of it. I meant to use it to blackmail Reginald into doing my bidding-he'd inherit the crown, but I'd be the real ruler of Silvershire-the power behind the throne. But alas, the twit got a bit too big for his britches- tried to have me killed, if you can believe it! Stupidly, too-fortunately for me, I suppose." He leveled a glare at Nikolas from under bristling eyebrows. "Well, after that, what could I do? The nitwit left me no choice. Ah…but this is so much the better. We can have it all now. Nikolas, my boy, don't you see?" He was smiling again, that wild, insane light glittering in his eyes.

He seemed to have forgotten Rhia, who sat rigid in her chair, fighting a disgust so intense she could feel her nails biting into the palms of her hands.

She looked at Nikolas, caught his eye…and the instant flash of communion between them was like electricity in a dark night, a beautiful light flooding her soul. The message in his eyes was plain as spoken words, calming as a touch.

She cleared her throat…pushed her chair back. "I'm afraid that's not going to happen, your lordship, or…whatever. You see, I'm a licensed bounty hunter with the Lazlo Group. I've been commissioned by His Majesty King Henry Weston and his regent. Lord Russell, Duke of Carrington, to take you into custody and return you to Silverton to answer charges of kidnapping, extortion, murder, attempted murder, treason…let's see, what else? Oh. a bunch of things. Anyway, now-" she rose, hitched in a breath "-I'm going to have to ask you to put your hands behind your head-"

Vladimir's whip-crack laugh cut off the rest. "You? Think you can arrest me? Tell me, wench, how you mean to do that, precisely." His sneer was almost audible. "You don't even have a weapon!"

Rage sizzled behind her eyes…twisted cold in her belly. But it was the flash of recognition that took her breath away… turned her body to stone. My God…that's who he reminds me of. Except for the madness, he's my father.

Nikolas was smiling without a shred of humor. "Trust me, Vlad," he drawled, "the lady doesn't need one. Make a move on her, and you'll find that out soon enough. I'd do as she says, if I were you. And, by the way…" His voice tookon an edge of steel.

"In the unlikely event she should need an extra set of hands, she's got me. It's been awhile, but I've found that my commando training does come back to me when I need it. I don't think you'd get far against the two-" That was as far as he got.

Rhia had quietly slipped her handcuffs from the back of her belt where they'd been hidden by her leather jacket. She was bringing them into view when Vladimir, shrieking curses, hurled the teapot full of scalding hot tea at her face and bolted from the room.

Chapter 13

Rhia's scream cut through Nikolas like a bolt of lightning, deafening him to everything else. As he dove for her he didn't hear his own bellow of rage or the crash of his chair hitting the floor or the tinkle of shattering crockery. Silas/Vladimir vanished from his mind like a puff of smoke.

Then his hands were touching her…fearfully…feathering over her cheeks, her hair, the sleeve of her leather jacket, slick now with already-cooling tea. Shaken to the core, he whispered. "God… Rhee-are you…"