“Esmerelda and I have parted ways.”

The old man nodded. “She said as much.” Rushka spat into the dust at his feet. “Then she took up with him.”

“Who?” Hawk asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“We do not speak the name. He is employed on your land with the working of metals.”

“Who is he?” Hawk pressed.

“You know the man I mean.”

“Yes, but who is he, really?”

Rushka rubbed his forehead with a weary hand.

Yes, Hawk realized with amazement, Rushka had definitely been weeping.

“There are situations in which even the Rom will not do commerce, no matter how much gold is promised for services. Esmerelda was not always so wise. My people apologize, milord,” Rushka said softly.

Had the entire world gone mad? Hawk wondered as he drained the last of his coffee. Rushka was making no sense at all. Suddenly, his old friend rose and whirled about to watch the the stream of gypsies trailing down to the valley.

“What’s going on, Rushka?” Hawk asked, eying the odd procession. It looked like some kind of Rom ritual, but if it was, it was one Hawk had never seen.

“Esmerelda is dead. She goes to the sea.”

Hawk surged to his feet. “The sea! That’s the death for a bruhdskar. For one who has betrayed her own!”

“And so she did.”

“But she was your daughter, Rushka. How?”

The old man’s shoulders rocked forward, and Hawk could see his pain in every line of his body. “She tried three times to kill your lady,” he said finally.

Hawk was stunned. “Esmerelda?”

“Thrice. By dart and by crossbow. The bandage you wear on your hand is our doing. If you ban us from your lands, we will never again darken your fields. We have betrayed your hospitality and made a mockery of your good will.”

Esmerelda. It fit. Yet he could not hold the levelheaded, compassionate, and wise Rushka responsible for her actions. Nay, not him nor any of the Rom. “I would never seek to bar you from my lands; you may always come freely to Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea. Her shame is not yours, Rushka.”

“Ah, but it is. She thought with your new bride gone you would be free to wed her. She was a strange one, though she was my daughter. There were times when even I wondered at the dark thing in her heart. But he brought her to us last night, and by the moon she confessed. We had no choice but to act with the honor we owed to all … parties … involved.”

And now the procession to the sea, with every man, woman, and child carrying white rowan crosses, carved and bound and brilliantly emblazoned with blue runes. “What manner of crosses are those, Rushka?” Hawk asked. In all his time with these people he’d never seen the like before.

Rushka stiffened. “One of our rituals in this kind of death.”

“Rushka—”

“I care for you like my own, Hawk,” Rushka said sharply.

Hawk was stunned into silence. Rushka rarely spoke of his feelings.

“For years you have opened your home to my people. You have given with generosity, treated us with dignity and withheld censure, even though our ways are different from yours. You have celebrated with us and allowed us to be who we are.” Rushka paused and smiled faintly. “You are a rare man, Hawk. For these reasons I must say this much, and the risk to my race be damned. Beware. The veil is thin and the time and place are too near here. Beware, for it would seem you are at the very core of it somehow. Take great care with those you love and no matter what you do, do not leave them alone for long. There is safety in numbers when this is upon us—”

“When what is upon us, Rushka? Be specific! How can I fight something I don’t understand?”

“I can say no more, my friend. Just this: Until the feast of the Blessed Dead, keep close and closer those you love. And far and farther those for whom you can’t account. Nay.” Rushka raised a hand to stop the Hawk even as he opened his mouth to demand more complete answers. “If you care for my people, you will not visit us again until we celebrate the sacred Samhain. Oh,” Rushka added as an afterthought, “the old woman said to tell you the black queen is not what she seems. Does this mean something to you?”

The only black queen that came to mind was now scattered ashes in the forge. Hawk shook his head. The old woman was their seer, and with her far-reaching vision she had inspired awe in Hawk as a young lad. “Nay. Did she say more?”

“Only that you’d be needing this.” Rushka offered a packet bound with leather cord. “The camomile poultice you came for.” He turned back to the procession. “I must go. I am to head the walk to the sea. Beware, and guard thee well, friend. I hope to see you and all your loved ones at the Samhain.”