The city’s hush clung to the carriage all the way up the hill. The closer they drew to the Ravenscroft estate, the thicker the atmosphere seemed to get. No hawker’s call followed them, no laughter unspooled from tavern doors—only the steady thud of hooves and the creak of axles.
The gate stood before them, closed tightly with armed guards at both sides; four in total. Normally, only two guards would stand posted, so instantly, Morena’s suspicion of something being wrong was confirmed.
One recognized the crest and bowed deeper than custom before waving them through. Morena watched their movement closely as they passed, the emotions on their face—it was strained.
The courtyard should have been busy at this hour. Caretakers, porters, a clatter of buckets at the well. Instead, space was empty, maids moving around at a quick pace. Two stable lads hurried forward, eyes downcast, and a single lantern burned on the far post, its light keeping the yard from the coming dusk.
Adolf was waiting at the foot of the steps.
He had always seemed carved from oak—steady, worn smooth where duty had polished him—but tonight even that veneer looked thin. His hair, more gray than Morena remembered, was slicked carelessly back, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes.
"Lady Morena. Lady Alina."
He bowed as they exited the carriage, not as low as the gate guard, but lower than he had any need to.
Alina hopped down first, winced as her bandaged leg touched stone, then forced a grin as if that alone might lift the weight in the yard. Morena followed, dropping lightly.
The spear on her back tapped once against the carriage frame before settling.
Morena outright asked. No pleasantries, no cushion.
Adolf’s eyes flicked—just once—toward the eastern wing before returning to her face. He smoothed his cuffs as if that action could smooth the truth.
"Managed? What requires managing then?"
Morena repeated the word.
He hesitated, and she didn’t force it; instead, she allowed the man to think until he sighed, shoulders falling a few inches.
"My lord returned three nights past. He was injured on the road north, near the Old Mill Bridge. He lives, but..."
He gestured toward the house.
"He is abed for the present."
Alina’s breath hitched.
Adolf said quickly, as if to ease her worry and correct any misunderstanding at once.
"Speaking. Clear-headed. He asked to be told the moment you arrived."
"Then tell him we’re here. I would like to meet him right away."
The steward nodded once and turned. As they mounted the steps, Morena let her gaze rake the familiar stones. Lamps were lit, yes, but every second sconce sat empty. The hinges on the southern door hadn’t been properly oiled; the faintest squeal gave it away.
A puddle dried on the flagstones beneath a gutter that should have been mended last winter. Small things were amiss, the kind that accumulated when attention was dragged elsewhere.
As they walked down the hallways, she noticed the lack of servants; it wasn’t that there weren’t any, but the numbers were drastically reduced. In their place, the halls were patrolled by warriors, keeping the halls safe.
Safe from what? She wasn’t sure.
Alina’s fingers brushed the back of Morena’s hand, quick as a bird.
She murmured, convincing herself first, even repeating it twice.
Morena looked at her and didn’t speak. The girl was closer to their father than she was, and she was younger; her emotions were bound to be a mess in such a situation.
They reached the eastern wing. Adolf knocked once on the painted door and then opened it without waiting for an answer.
The room smelled of fresh linen and bitter herbs. A brazier glowed low near the hearth, a misty heat filling the air with the scent of medicinal herbs.
However, below that scent of herbs, Morena could pick up on a hint of a different scent. Thanks to her enhanced senses after becoming a mid-tier apprentice, she could smell things better than a normal person could: the scent of rot.
It was hidden, but it was there.
Lord Ravenscroft sat propped against pillows, plain linen shirt open to the collarbone, bandages crossing his ribs under the blankets. Pale was not a word that usually fit him.
Yet his eyes were the same, pinning them both as surely as a spear, as clear as could be.
He said with a motion of his hand. His voice held, thinner than a week ago, perhaps, but there.
Alina forgot protocol and went to him first, dropping to one knee at the bedside.
He set a hand on her hair, the weight of his palm gentler than his face would admit.
"You’ve dirt on your cheek."
He said, which was as close to tender as he allowed himself. Then his gaze cut to Morena.
She crossed the room without hurry, stopped where she could see him and the door both.
"You look terrible, Father."
She said, and for a heartbeat, the corner of his mouth tugged.
"I’ve been better, but you look like someone who frightened the forest."
He answered. His eyes flicked to the spear behind her shoulder.
"Adolf tells me we have a champion in the house."
"Rumors overdo it sometimes; it’s nothing impressive."
Morena said, but Alina, who had intended to tell the tale herself with flourish, burst anyway.
"She hunted alone. Deer. A boar. Wolves—direwolves. Two of them, you should have seen the faces of everyone when they announced it."
Lord Ravenscroft’s brows rose a fraction. He studied Morena afresh, and a proper smile decorated his face with a hint of pride in his heart.
"You did more than good. If I could stand now, I would hug you. I’m sure you learned a lot."
"It was more enjoyable than I thought it would be, albeit all the nonsense chatter was annoying. It did teach me how quickly rumors can spread, though, and how much of it isn’t useful."
A brief silence, the brazier crackled. There was a topic that both Alina and Morena wanted to touch upon, but neither could seem to call attention to it.
Adolf cleared his throat in the corner, retreated into stillness when Lord Ravenscroft lifted a finger.
"How did you get injured? I thought you were strong."
He exhaled through his nose.
"This little thing is nothing but a scratch. It’s not a great tale. Patrol came late with reports from the east trail about some bandits. I rode out with six because it was a small matter."
His voice was stern, his eyes focusing on something far off, as if reliving the memories in his mind.
"We were crossing the Old Mill when arrows came from the anchors. The first volley took the horses, but no proper warrior would be injured from something like that."
"Bandits ambushing a patrol? How did they get the information?"
Alina asked, and she was right.
How could the bandits have possibly known that they would be taking that path, that they would be coming? Unless they had set up an ambush there in the off chance they might pass that way at that time, it didn’t make sense.
"Maybe bandits. Maybe men who learned to hide like bandits."
"They moved like trained warriors; their fighting skills were beyond that of normal bandits. We drove them off in the end, but there was a warrior hiding amongst them, a Rank 1. I took a blade under the ribs. Not deep, but it was poisoned."
"Poison that could harm a Rank 2 Warrior? That’s not something a bandit could get their hands on. The Council?"
Morena commented, narrowing her eyes.
He did not nod, but he did not need to.
"While I was in the litter, two of them arrived with a priest in a white sash and a ledger. ’To assist,’ they said. ’To ensure continuity,’ or something like that."
His hand drifted to his side and stilled there.
"They asked for inventories of arms. Of grain. Of men. They wanted things to cure the poison."
Alina straightened, mouth opening—then closing at his look.
Daylight robbery from the church; it was obvious that there was some sort of conspiracy behind this. Bandits with hidden Warriors? Poison that could harm a Rank 2 Warrior? And the church appeared right after the council?
Only a fool would be blind to overlook that chain of events.
Morena stepped closer.
"What did you give them?"
"I told them basic information they would already know; I gave them nothing."
He shifted, wincing from the pain.
"They’ll press harder. They’ve been pressing since winter."
"The city is odd, everyone’s keeping their head down, voices hushed. Why?"
He watched her a moment longer, as if measuring whether the thing inside her now—this steadiness the old Morena had not carried—was a fire he could trust not to burn the house.
"They’re nervous, rumors of my injury already spread, and they’re fearful of what will happen if I fall."
He said at last, quiet as falling ash.
"But the hunt. Bringing your sister home. Standing as you stand now."
His gaze flicked to the bandage on her shoulder.
"And earning your scars the right way. I’m sure new rumors will spread soon enough, and then you’ll see the city change once more."
Something tight eased behind her ribs, a notch she hadn’t known held tension. She didn’t smile because she didn’t need to.
He reached toward the bedside table and closed his fingers around a small iron ring. When he offered it, it clinked softly—three keys on a hoop, old metal, worn with age.
"Until I stand properly again."
He started to explain, placing the ring in her hand.
"You’ll walk the estate with Adolf. You’ll read every ledger and report. You’ll approve patrol rotations and stores. If the Council sends a letter, you’ll read it before I do. You will not answer it without my word."
He paused for a moment, then kept going.
"If they come in person, you’ll greet them in the hall, not in this room."
Alina’s head snapped toward Morena, surprise flaring bright. Adolf said nothing, but the stillness around him sharpened to attention.
Morena closed her hand around the keys. They weighed less than they should have and more than she’d expected.
Lord Ravenscroft’s tone cooled, the iron returning to the hilt.
"You can use my exclusive training room to avoid being seen. One of those keys will grant you access to the family’s restricted archives, you have full access to all but the last shelf. Don’t show them more than you must."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"And don’t let your sister sneak to the practice yard after dark."
Alina opened her mouth to protest and then made a face as both of them looked at her.
She muttered, which might have been true.
Lord Ravenscroft’s breath thinned; the talk had cost him. He masked it poorly, which meant he’d judged the mask unnecessary with them. He shifted again, and this time he did not hide the wince.