was telling the truth, and maybe the force of her belief would overcome the force of Stanton’s distrust.
She clambered down from the tree and ran to the edge of the clearing, just in range of the light from the pine branches. She didn’t want the stone in her hand to disturb Stanton’s carefully constructed Trine.
Stanton made a noise of protest, but Dag rushed over to Emily. He took her hands, looked at her face.
“You sure this is what you want?”
“It’s not what I want,” Emily said, “but it’s what I have to do.”
The sound of a train whistle coming closer made them both look down the tracks.
“Thank you, Dag,” Emily said. “Thank you for watching Pap, and not telling Caul—”
“Maybe you don’t want to thank him just yet.”
The voice came from behind them, from down the tracks, beyond the perimeter of light cast by Stanton’s glowing brands. Then there was the sound of horse’s hooves crunching on the gravel beside the tracks. As the rider came into the circle of light, Emily’s heart thudded behind her ribs, twice. Hard.
It was Caul.
He sat straight-backed on a horse that seemed too small for his bulk. He wore a long canvas riding coat, dark with wear, and a battered felt hat with frayed tassels and tarnished sabers. His white-streaked muttonchop whiskers gleamed in the werelight cast by Stanton’s torches.
Dag stared at Caul. Confusion lined his brow. He took one step back. “No,” he said. “You were supposed to go to New Bethel. That’s what I told you.” Dag looked at Emily, his eyes wild with anguish. “Em, I swear to you … I swear I didn’t—”
“Sure you didn’t,” Stanton growled, not taking his eyes off Caul’s hulking form.
“He didn’t have to.” Caul’s voice was as strange as Emily remembered it: flat and uninflected. The big man slid down from the saddle, his weight threatening to drag the animal down sideways. He stood before Stanton briefly, regarding him with contempt. He flicked a fingernail against the magical barrier and was answered by a light recursive ringing, like the chime of a thousand small bells.
“A Trine. Delusion made physically manifest.” He stared at Stanton with fish-dead eyes, gesturing vaguely at the tinkling echo as it faded into the night air. “What a waste. To throw away the rest of your life pulling rabbits out of a charlatan’s hat. When you could have been and done so much more.”
“Don’t speak of my life as if you know anything about it.” Stanton’s voice was even and calm, as measured and emotionless as Caul’s.
“I know more about it than you imagine,” Caul said. “I know you could have served your country well, Stanton—if you hadn’t squandered every opportunity that was presented to you.”
“I have squandered nothing,” Stanton said. “And I have seized every opportunity my conscience allowed.”
“Conscience.” Caul’s mouth curved without humor. “Not the word I’d use, though it does begin with the same letter.” Then he turned his eyes toward Dag and Emily. Quickly, Dag pushed Emily behind himself, putting his body between her and Caul.
“I’ve had better men than you try to throw me, Hansen,” Caul said. He walked toward them slowly, his feet crunching in the gravel. “I heard what happened in New Bethel long before you told me. I heard that you helped these two escape. And I knew about the love charm Miss Edwards put on you—Besim gave me an extended and detailed accounting before he died. You wouldn’t have come to tell me about New Bethel unless you were trying to send me off in the wrong direction.”
Dag looked desolate. His broad shoulders slumped with guilt. Emily longed to reassure him, but she knew enough about guilt to know that it wasn’t that easy to dispel. She glared at Caul. She had never hated anyone before, but suddenly she felt its bitter blackness like a fist clenched around her heart.
“The stone in your hand is required for the public good.” Caul stared into her eyes as he walked toward her, seeming to savor her hatred. “Surrender it now, Miss Edwards.”
“And exactly how am I supposed to do that?” Emily flared, lifting her hand challengingly and wiggling her fingers.
Caul pulled a long silver knife from his belt as he walked toward her. It gleamed in the flickering light.
“During the war, I served General Grant as a battlefield surgeon. Sometimes he would visit the hospital tent. He would try to comfort weak men with the idea that it would hurt less if they didn’t