“A matter for another time,” I declared to the empty corridor, steadying myself as I made my way back to the study.

  The few servants I passed regarded me with barely concealed concern. A maid, mid-step, faltered at the sight of me, whispering hurriedly to her companion before both made a deep curtsy. Two pairs of wide, fearful eyes darted over my bloodstained face and robe. Another lowered her gaze, feigning disinterest, though the nervous writhing of her hands betrayed her unease.

  None, however, dared to question why their lord was covered in blood.

  Still, the whispers would weave their way through the castle halls, heedless of my indifference, adding new strokes to the wild tapestry of my growing legacy. Sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder what unbelievable stories my successors would tell about me once I was long gone from this world.

  Unfortunately, Daaris was not so easily dissuaded.

  “My Lord Vorat! What, by Azur’s name, has befallen you?”

  He was already waiting in the study when I arrived. Unlike the majority of my house staff, Daaris was among the rare few who could afford to disregard my potential ire without consequence.

  I offered him a sidelong glance, choosing to respond with a question instead.

  “Is the list I requested prepared, Daaris?”

  My s’uldin had served me for long enough to allow nothing to disturb his professional demeanor.

  “Of course, My Lord,” he replied smoothly. “Shall we review the details forthwith, or would you prefer to defer them until a later time?”

  The unspoken query hung between us—was I in any condition to address the matters at hand?

  I was tempted to postpone everything in favor of a long bath. A very long bath. But instead, I settled at my desk, waving a hand for him to commence.

  “There are, in truth, but a few matters of pressing concern,” Daaris began, adjusting his small, round reading glasses upon his nose. “The reconstruction of the northern wall has proven more problematic than anticipated. The engineering team has discovered fissures in the rock beneath the foundation. If left unattended, they may—over time—compromise the castle’s stability. To proceed as planned, we would require the services of a Mage, My Lord. It will be expensive, however.”

  “Always the same with the Academy, is it not, Daaris?” I sighed, tapping my fingers against the desk. “What sum do they demand this time?”

  “The most advantageous offer I could secure on such short notice was three thousand two hundred gold anarandi,” Daaris looked up from the list, meeting my gaze. “That includes welding all fissures and reinforcing every weak point within the castle’s foundation—not merely beneath the northern wall.”

  I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over my face—only to further smear half-dried blood across my skin. My irritation only deepened. The Academy’s extortion was nothing new, but their shameless avarice had only worsened in recent years. Three thousand anarandi was roughly the monthly wages of a thousand elite soldiers—if not more. And for what? The mere act of melting a few stones together?

  “Two thousand, and not a bronze oner more! I also expect the complete welding of the rock to the entirety of the wall’s foundation encompassed within that sum,” I declared, prompting an approving nod from Daaris. “In the event that they resist our offer, remind them we can seek qualified services elsewhere.”

  “I shall ensure they accept your terms, My Lord.” His voice held such conviction that I almost pitied the Academy’s representative. Almost. “The next matter concerns the reception we are hosting in mid-Sepait. Do you foresee any alterations?”

  As Count of Amalay, one of my duties was to safeguard the well-being of my people—both common folk and nobility alike. While overseeing the former was straightforward in times of peace and prosperity, the latter demanded far more effort, tact, and resources. To that end, I had resolved to host monthly receptions, extending invitations to all noble Families within my jurisdiction, as well as distinguished guests from beyond Amalay. These gatherings served multiple purposes. They allowed me to assess the broader political landscape, to observe and cultivate alliances, and to remind every attending noble exactly who ruled Amalay—second only to the Archduke of Kiriador.

  This particular reception, however, was of far greater significance. Their Blessed Majesties, Lazaris and Ka’rna Raniat, were expected as guests of honor during their customary tour of Kiriador.

  I understood Daaris’s concern, especially in light of my unplanned departure. I had yet to determine how long resolving Arin’s affairs would take, but I fully intended to return to D’al Vorat by month’s end even if I had to drag him back with me.

  “No,” I replied after a moment’s consideration. “Proceed as previously outlined.”

  “As you wish.” Daaris looked up from his papers, his sharp gaze meeting mine over the rim of his glasses. “There is still the unresolved matter of Arlin Bael. The Tribunal continues to insist you assume the role of Adjudicator for the upcoming trial.”

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  “By the Overlords, those insufferable relics!” Frustration surged through me, and I threw my hands up. “How many times must I refuse before they comprehend my meaning? Bael is guilty beyond question. The current Adjudicator is more than capable of rendering a fitting sentence!”

  Daaris merely shrugged. “I doubt you will be able to avoid it, My Lord.” His tone lacked any sympathy. Daaris had never approved of my attempts to evade these duties—or any others, for that matter. “Sooner or later, they will involve the Archduke, and once that occurs, you will have no choice but to comply.”

  “There is always a choice,” I muttered, rubbing a weary hand across my eyes.

  Daaris arched a brow. “Indeed, a prudent choice, My Lord.”

  I grunted in response, knowing that Daaris was right.

  Arlin Bael had kidnapped and violated the daughter of a minor noble from D’al Vorat, then had the audacity to demand a ransom of five hundred gold anarandi for her safe return. My guards had apprehended him within days, conducting a parallel investigation alongside ransom negotiations. His guilt was indisputable, and the Tribunal was more than capable of passing judgment—yet outdated tradition demanded otherwise. As the victims were nobles under my protection, I, as Count, bore the honor and duty of passing sentence.

  The issue lay in that such trials were long, tedious affairs. As Adjudicator, I would be required to hear all testimonies, account the findings to the Tribunal, render judgment, and oversee the sentence’s execution—a process that would steal several valuable days from my already thinning patience. And with problems mounting upon each other like eager gurrki, I had neither time nor tolerance for such empty formalities.

  “The longer you delay, the longer Bael enjoys his existence—even if confined to a cell,” Daaris remarked, ever my moral compass. “And with the Tribunal naming you as the responsible authority, Lord Narudin will soon question why you hesitate to dispense justice upon his daughter’s abductor.”

  In moments such as these, I truly loathed my s’uldin—primarily because he was unwaveringly, undeniably correct. In truth, I had no real recourse unless I wished to deliberately tarnish my reputation or forfeit the support of a noble Family—minor as it may be.

  “Very well,” I sighed, resigned to the inevitable. “Inform the Tribunal that I shall attend to the matter. However, the trial will occur in mid-Sepait, following the reception, and not a moment sooner. Until then, Bael’s rations shall be reduced—a bowl of water daily, a piece of bread every other day. Ensure Lord Narudin is made aware of this.”

  “It will be done, My Lord.” Daaris’s expression left no doubt that he fully approved of my decision. He hesitated briefly, his gaze lingering on my blood-smeared face before demonstratively folding the list. “In fact, I can handle the remainder myself. Do you have any specific instructions for the period of your absence?”

  “No, Daaris, merely ensure that all matters proceed without complication.”

  “Certainly, My Lord. When do you intend to depart?”

  “Within the partition.” He nodded, unsurprised. “See that I am provisioned for three days, and have Tarun prepared forthwith.”

  Daaris bowed and departed.

  I exhaled slowly, turning my thoughts to the journey ahead.

  Westgate lay three days’ ride from D’al Vorat, and for the most part, the road was secure. But this time, the true perils awaited me at my destination—and they were of a decidedly different nature. Armor, whether for myself or Tarun, would only encumber us, placing an unnecessary strain on him. Sturdy travel clothes and only the most essential personal effects would suffice—anything more would be dead weight. Whatever else I might require, I could procure in Westgate.

  As for weapons, I needed nothing heavy nor cumbersome.

  After some deliberation, I chose Aur’Dor and Aur’Sol—the exquisite pair of swords my brother had gifted me three years hence.

  For a long time, Arin had insisted I required more refined weaponry, believing I had grown too attached to my functional yet cumbersome battle axe. When he realized I would not part with it on my own, he had decided to surprise me by commissioning a special order from the renowned swordsmith Badaran Laor.

  The result had been a masterpiece.

  The swords were crafted with exceptional care, devoid of superfluous ornamentation, yet elegant in their simplicity. The delicate, interwoven motifs upon their steel bespoke without a doubt their true worth. And since they had been forged specifically for me, each bore my personal variation of the Family crest—a golden spear and two upturned horns upon a white disk, embossed with the relief of Castle Vorat.

  I still recalled the childlike excitement on Arin’s face as I unwrapped the gift, his unrestrained joy unmistakable. Considering all factors, the choice of weapons felt… right.

  Next, I withdrew the larger of the two leather wallets from my desk drawer. It was well-suited for travel and built for discretion, providing ample space as well as a hidden compartment.

  From the vault, I retrieved the casket of anarandi and secreted fifty gold coins into the wallet for the journey. Given the uncertainty surrounding Arin’s predicament, I could not foresee how much additional funding I might need once I arrived in Westgate. The Bankers’ Guild would cover for any amount, however, their services were slow and expensive. Therefore, after some thought, I also added a few high-value debt notes from the Trade Consortium in the County of Maey.

  My personal comm-disc followed suit—should Daaris need to contact me in case of emergency.

  Then, at last, I picked up the pouch containing the or’dain. As I slid it into the wallet, its weight felt… deliberate. As though it resented leaving the tomb behind. Keeping it close to me was the prudent thing to do. Yet it brought little comfort.

  I required naught else.

  Tucking the wallet beneath my arm, I departed the study and made my way to my chambers. My ears still rang occasionally as a reminder of Ra’maen’s backlash. A dull headache had seemingly taken root behind my brow, and my skin still reeked of dried blood.

  A cold bath would remedy that. Though I doubted it would do anything to alleviate my worries about the challenges ahead.

  The tranquility of yesterday was gone. And there was no returning to it.

  Not anymore.

  Hey, thanks for reading this far!

  I hope you've enjoyed the story until this point and I'd like to hear your thoughts about it. Also, I am trying a new, more contemporary style in my English writing and I am curious to hear some feedback about it. So, let me know in the comments below!

  Boris Khan