Melmond Manor, Twenty-five Years Ago
Redden rushed after his brother through the halls, buttoning his wrinkled suit jacket as he went. Cid, who had trained with the guards that morning and was already cleaned up and properly dressed, hurried on with no regard for Redden's struggles. "Could you slow down?" said Redden. "I've hardly rolled out of bed!"
"The meeting's already started," Cid said.
"I fail to see how that should matter," Redden grumbled, but not loudly enough that Cid could hear it. Cid took their so-called duties far too seriously, a real feat, considering no one had ever been able to spell out to Redden's satisfaction just what those duties were supposed to entail.
He'd wrestled his jacket into some semblance of order by the time they reached Lord Westen's office where, as Cid had told him, the meeting of the Lords' Council was already underway. No one seated at the long table so much as glanced at them when they entered and took their usual seats on the bench beside the door. A small mercy, Redden thought when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror against the far wall and saw the state of his hair, white-streaked red clumps spiking up everywhere.
The lords were arguing, but Redden didn't listen, more focused on running his hands through his hair, checking his appearance in the mirror. It was purely for appearances that he and Cid were there at all, twin sons of noble birth allegedly foretold by one of Melmond's oldest prophecies. They'd been sitting in on these meetings for as long as Redden could remember, but were never permitted to speak. He'd stopped listening years ago.
It surprised him then, when Lord Westen, standing at the head of the table, angrily swept his arm over it, scattering papers. "Plant farther north?" he shouted at the young Lord Quincey, who had taken up his father's post only that spring. "Plant farther north? Is that all you have to offer? We've barely enough food to see us through the winter! What happens next year if the north fields rot out from under us as the south fields have done?"
The Rot. That was what the commoners called it, a blight on the countryside that turned the land into a festering mire. Redden had talked to people who had lost their lands and their livelihoods, who were now forced to take whatever work they could find around town. Nothing survived in the Rot, no plants, no animals, not even the insects that thrived in the stretches of swamp that surrounded much of the city. Wherever the Rot took hold, the air became stale, the water undrinkable.
Quincey stood, hands braced on the table as he shouted back. "What would you have me say? We've no cure for this Rot, and no way to stop its spread!"
The young man's words echoed through the small room. No one spoke as Quincey and Westen glared each other down. Finally, the younger lord sighed, deflating somewhat as common decency overtook his youthful indignation and he resumed his seat.
Westen stared down at the empty tabletop. Redden could see the despair in his bearing and that frightened him. Westen was a hard man; Redden had never seen him so defeated.
A voice spoke into that despair, the gruff rumble of the old white mage at the opposite end of the table, soft and quiet, but it rang out in the silence. "We know where it comes from."
Father Bram, the representative of Titan's Cathedral in the lower town, rarely spoke in these meetings. The hook-nosed priest had come to white magic later in life. Now more than eighty years old, he still resembled the farmer he'd been in his youth, stocky of frame and strong of demeanor, often seeming out of place among these rich lords.
Westen took a calming breath before he addressed the older man. "We do. For all the good it does us."
We found the Underworld, the man had said all those months ago. Redden's heart beat faster at the memory of that day. Men had gone to the south cape since then, investigating the disturbance in the mine; only a few came back. The stories they told of unnatural creatures, dead things rising to kill the living, beggared belief. It couldn't be coincidence that the Rot had started in the south.
"It may yet do us some good," Bram said. "I believe this calamity, this Rot, can be Cured."
The assembled lords muttered. Westen raised a hand for silence. "Your people have tried. Father Ladimer himself told me it would require more white magic than your entire cathedral could muster."
"Father Ladimer is my superior and I owe him every respect, but his expertise lies in the healing of men. Mine is in the healing of the earth. And while it is true that I lack the power to Cure the entire countryside, I believe I have enough power to cut this thing off at the source. If I can reach it, that is."
The lords did more than mutter this time, speaking loudly about the impossibility of Bram's plan. "You'll never make it that far," one said.
"It's suicide," said another.
Lord Hornwood, a thin man in his middle years, said, "The last time we sent men to that cave, none of them returned. Not one, out of fifty. How many do you propose we send as your escort? A whole squadron?"
"No," said the white mage. "I only propose you send your best."
Again, no one spoke. Around the table, men shifted in their seats, avoiding eye contact with one another. It seemed none wanted to be the first to send their best warriors to their deaths.
Cid broke the silence, breaking protocol as he did so, speaking in the council meeting where he was not permitted to speak, standing before the lords where he was not permitted to stand. "I'll go," he said.
Every eye turned to the two young Carmines. It didn't matter that only Cid had spoken; the twins had always been taken as one unit. Redden thought he could tell by their expressions - some frightened, some angry - which of the lords believed in the prophecy and which put as much stock in it as Redden himself did. Only Westen said anything, a low whisper that carried in the small office. "Out of the question."
Cid shook his head, undeterred. "We're here for a reason, aren't we? What if this is it?"
Redden sighed, coming to his feet. It didn't matter whether he believed in the prophecy or not: he would always stand beside his brother.
Melmond Harbor Market, Present Day
The crowd bothered Jack at first. Since he'd begun using dark magic, he saw auras all the time, whether his aether sight was active or not. This was the most people he'd seen in one place since then, the streets here fuller than those of Elfheim due to the impending holiday, a riot of souls in their myriad colors, but he soon grew used to it. As he browsed the market with Lena and Kane, the colors faded into the background and Jack began to relax a little.
For all his talk of starving, Kane slowed as they walked past the vendors' stalls, seeming intrigued by the festival decorations they sold. Lena, too, smiled and laughed as though delighted. They listened to a man playing the pipes, and Jack threw a coin in his hat. Lena bought a pastry and split it with Kane; she offered some to Jack, but he declined, feeling too exposed here to remove his scarf. They stopped in front of the mask vendor that Jack knew Lena had lingered over before he and Kane found her, and Kane joked about which masks would suit them.
"The heron for you, to go with your scrawny legs?" the guardsman suggested.
"Too bad they don't have any large enough for your head," said Jack.
Lena chuckled, hiding her smile behind one delicate hand. "It's a shame they're so expensive," she said, tracing a finger longingly over one of the smaller ones, black lace with a spray of green feathers on one side.
He watched her admiring it for a long beat, screwing up his courage before he said, "I could buy it for you."
She blushed prettily. "Oh! No, th-that's not… You don't have to do that. I won't get a chance to wear it. Lord Redden said we weren't staying…"
"I want to," he said.
The vendor smiled at the exchange. "Eight gil for that one."
Kane scowled as Jack paid the man. "Is that my money you're spending?"
"Was," Jack said. "Let's go eat. I know a place."
They soon left the market behind, Jack taking the lead as they left the harbor district. They passed shops and houses decorated with flags and banners, musicians performing on street corners, children already wearing their masks as they ran about. The quality of the buildings improved the farther into the city they went, but the streets remained muddy throughout, and in some places they had to make wide detours to get around the mud. The locals paid it no mind, walking right through with their wooden shoes. Jack would have as well, in his boots, but avoided the mess for the sake of Lena's sandaled feet.
"How much farther?" Kane asked, mopping his brow with the back of one hand.
"Not far. The next street over," Jack said, noticing how much his friend was sweating. He looked down at Lena on his arm, smiling as she watched a pair of children playing in the mud, and he noticed she, too, appeared flushed from the heat. Jack didn't feel it, and that worried him. He wrapped his senses around Lord Redden's sword, gripping the weak focus spells in his mind.
Lena stumbled beside him, pulling his attention back to the street. "I'm sorry, my lady. Was I going too fast?"
"No," she said quietly. "There's a man. I think he's following us."
"I think you're right," Kane said, darting glances behind them.
Jack threw a quick look over his shoulder, saw the burnt orange aura of the man Lena was talking about, matching their pace from a distance. "Can you read his intentions?" he asked her.
Lena gripped his arm a little tighter, closing her eyes as she walked, face pinched in concentration. "He's only curious. Very curious. He doesn't seem to mean us any harm, but that doesn't mean he isn't planning to rob us."
Jack nodded, casting his senses back to keep track of the man who followed them. Why? he wondered. Robbery seemed an unlikely motive. Neither their clothes nor their possessions would have marked them as rich travelers. He and Kane were both armed; they'd passed plenty of people who were not, who would be far more promising prospects for a thief. Did he realize we're mages? Had someone overheard him telling Kane about tracking Lena's aura? Had Lena done something to attract attention before he found her? He wouldn't risk her, not again, not here. "Kane, I hate delay your lunch, but we're going to take the long way."
"You think we can lose him?" the guardsman asked.
"Only one way to find out."
They turned a corner. Sure enough, the man turned after them, and again at the next street.
"He's definitely following us," Lena said, with a tremble in her voice. "He's planning something. Jack, I don't like this."
"Alright," he said, gently pulling her hand from his arm and gripping it tightly in his own. "Kane, on my signal, we run."
The guardsman nodded, hand resting lightly on his sword hilt. "Ready when you are."
Jack looked up the street, planning their route. The largest tavern in Melmond lay in that direction; if they were lucky, perhaps their follower would assume they were heading there. As he considered this, his hold on the focus spells wavered and a chill crept up his back as the ice rose. Beside him, Lena shivered, and the solution came to him like an onrushing tide. He closed his eyes, calling up his aether sight as he did so, aiming all of his attention at the orange aura he'd seen before, and he drew.
There was a sudden commotion behind them, a man crying out in pain, the voices of concerned passers-by. "Now," Jack said, pulling Lena into the nearest alley. He stopped only briefly to be sure Kane was still with them, and then they ran.
In a grimy, dimly-lit tavern not far from the docks, Thad squinted at the paper the registrar had given him. It was very official-looking, all signed and dated, with a little seal at the bottom. He liked the curvy writing; he wondered, if he practiced, if he might learn to write like that. He wondered how long it would take. He traced his finger over the swooping T at the beginning of his name…
...which, according to the paper, was Thancred Locke.
"Put it away, young master Locke," Orin said from across the table.
"Why do we have fake names?" he whispered, folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket. "I mean, I get why you and Redden have fake names, but why me?"
"Who is this Redden you speak of?" Orin said, smiling.
Thad rolled his eyes. Redden - or whoever he was supposed to be - had left them once they entered the city together, off to speak with his contacts in the market district; it sometimes seemed to Thad that the man had "contacts" everywhere he went. Even Orin had alluded to the existence of his own "friends" in Melmond that would require a visit before he and Thad returned to the ship. "I'm serious! It's not like-" He stopped talking as a serving girl brought their drinks and waited for her to leave before he spoke again. "It's not like anyone here knows my name. I'm a nobody!"
Orin nodded. "And you shall remain a nobody, even if Thancred Locke finds himself at the center of attention." The monk winked at him, sipping his drink.
"I know how to keep out of trouble! I'm not stupid!" Thad picked up his own mug and sniffed it. Watered wine. It smelled alright. He took a sip but then spit the weak drink back into the cup again, setting it aside with a grimace. A whole city having a festival and we come to the cheapest dockside tavern we can find, he thought. It was a shoddy building, with gaps between the clapboards. All of the tables were tall but half of them didn't have stools. Most of the patrons didn't seem to mind, standing about as they drank. This was not a place for sitting around over a quiet drink. This was a place for a quick pint and a shady deal. Thad hadn't seen the inside of this sort of tavern since he'd left his father. His pappy wouldn't have been caught dead in a place like this. "Why are we here?" he asked, letting his feet swing idly beneath his tall stool.
Orin chuckled. "An excellent question. I am most glad you have asked it. The answer lies in your identification papers."
Thad cocked his head. "The fake ones?"
The old man nodded. "The names are false, of course, but when the registrar asked if you had an occupation, what did we tell him?"
"That I was your apprentice?"
"Indeed." The monk took another long sip of his cheap wine then set the cup down on the table. "You have a number of disreputable skills, young master Locke. Gollor and I spoke at length about the tasks he set you to do around Elfheim castle. Have I ever told you that I, too, was a thief in my younger days?"
"You mentioned it," Thad said, holding his own cup without drinking it just to be doing something with his hands. "You said you stopped when the old king hired you."
"Yes, that is so. King Fuller was a dear friend." Orin smiled a small smile, as though at a fond memory, then sighed, shaking his head before he went on. "But did you ever wonder what use a king would have had for a known thief in his employ?"
"I… No?"
The monk grinned a wicked grin. "Then it is high time you learned."
The three of them came to a residential area, less crowded than the business district. Lena was glad of that. She walked with her soul sight up now, watching for the man who had followed them, but they seemed to have left him behind. Kane, too, was wary, checking often over his shoulder, but Jack didn't seem worried at all. She could almost read him through her soul sight, a strange mixture of relief and guilt and satisfaction that made no sense to her given the circumstances. What did he have to feel guilty about? And why should he simultaneously be pleased about it?
Honestly, I wish I could read minds, she thought. Or not sense any emotions at all. It's like only having one half of a picture.
They'd gone down several streets, taking odd turns and doubling back sometimes to be sure their mysterious follower was indeed no longer with them, so Lena was quite lost by the time they turned a corner onto the strangest street she could have imagined.
"Well, that's… different…" Kane said, stopping in amazement.
"Oh!" Lena gasped. The house that stood at the end of the street was grand, old and stately, with a wide covered porch in front, and with an iron fence around it, though the gate stood open. But the thing that drew the eye was the color. It was painted in vibrant shades of purple and yellow and green.
"That looks like something Refial would wear," said Kane.
Jack chuckled. "I knew someone once who would have loved it." Lena felt his fondness for that person - it lingered like a perfume in the air as he gazed at the house ahead of them, but then he shook his head and the emotion dispersed like smoke as he led them forward again.
Lena looked at the other houses as they walked up the street. Many of them were painted in other unusual colors, blues and reds and pinks, but none were quite as bright or as jarring as the large house at the end. It wasn't until Jack led them through the black iron gate that Lena realized that was where they were going. "Jack, I thought we were going to find lunch?" she said.
"I happen to know the cook here," he said.
She could feel him laughing - not real laughter, not out loud, but he gave off an emotion that she felt as a low rumble in her chest. It was a vague sensation. She felt more emotion from Kane, though he walked several paces behind them and to one side, than she felt from Jack. Kane was confused and hungry, impatient for the meal, but entertained and curious enough over this strange house to go along with whatever Jack was planning.
They walked up the broad steps to the huge front door and Jack rapped the heavy knocker three times. When the door finally opened, they were met by a short, wrinkled woman, with dark eyes and a smile full of teeth that seemed too large for her mouth. "Master Jack!" she said, pulling him in for a rough hug that nearly knocked him over and made Lena squeak as his arm was pulled so quickly away.
"Liza," he said, straightening again. "Is Seward in?"
"Yes, yes," the woman said. "He's in his study. He'll be so pleased you're back!"
"Thank you. We'll show ourselves in."
"I hope you'll be staying for lunch!" the woman called after them as they crossed the large entryway and went through a door at their left. Lena felt Kane's pleasure at the words.
They passed through a sitting room with gleaming wood floors and dark red walls, full of heavy-looking furniture - chairs and side tables with thick, carved legs - then turned down a hallway hung with portraits, some of them clearly quite old. They passed two maids as they went, one with a broom and one with a duster; both stopped their tasks to curtsy as Jack went by.
At last, they came to a huge wooden door, carved with an image of the god Titan creating a mountain with his bare hands. Jack pushed it open without knocking, leading Lena with him as he stepped inside.
The room seemed much like a mage's workshop. There were the usual overcrowded bookshelves and tables strewn with books and papers, but she saw no potion-making supplies. Where Lena would have expected to see the herbs and vials, there were instead a pair of workbenches covered in bits of wood and metal and a number of tools that looked like something she would have found in her uncle's forge only much smaller. A machinist's tools, she thought. The area near the large window that took up most of one wall was occupied by a sizable telescope.
Beside the telescope, a man napped in an overstuffed chair, with a book open in his lap and his mouth open as he snored. He was plump, but as he wore a rumpled shirt that would easily have fit a man twice his size, Lena thought that perhaps he was not as plump as he had once been. Still, when Jack crept nearer the chair and barked out, "Seward!" the man started awake and leaped to his feet with all the speed of a man several stone lighter, and perhaps twenty years younger.
"What's that?" the man asked blearily as he peered about the room. He blinked when he caught sight of his guests, and a slow smile spread over his round face. "My lord! You're back!"
Kane laughed. "Lord?"
Jack ducked his head in what Lena assumed was embarrassment, though he gave off nothing. "Lena, Kane, this is Lord Unne. I worked for him when I stayed in Melmond," he said.
The portly man nodded, reaching out for Lena's hand and kissing it in a courtly fashion. "Call me Seward." He offered a little bow to Kane and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you both."
"Likewise," said Kane. He threw Jack a grin over Lena's head. "Since when are you lord of anything?"
Jack cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Seward said, "Only our little joke, I'm afraid. That was once the proper form of address for a mage, you know, back in the Leifenish empire."
"Ah," Kane said, dismissively, instantly uninterested. Lena didn't know what it was about Leifenish studies that put the young guardsman off; perhaps he'd spent too many hours listening to his father go on about them.
A realization struck her and she spoke without thinking, tugging Jack's sleeve. "Is that why I'm your lady?"
She undoubtedly felt Jack's embarrassment that time, saw the tips of his ears turn red. "Something like that, yes."
"Oh! Are you a mage too, miss?" Seward asked, raising an eyebrow.
Lena's stomach flipped. It occurred to her suddenly that she had said too much. Kane rolled his eyes, muttering something about her safety, but Jack chuckled. "She is. Though you're unlikely to see a demonstration. Did you know black magic was banned in Cornelia? It rather hinders one's studies."
Lena squeezed Jack's arm, uncomfortable at the lie he implied, but when she looked up into his face, he winked at her, unrepentant. Seward will think I'm a black mage! she thought. What will I say if he asks me about black magic later?
"Is it truly?" Seward said, merely being polite; Lena could feel that he didn't care about the answer. "Ah, well. You're better off without it, miss. All a lot of flash and bang with very little purpose. The whole world would be better off with less magic, if you ask me - no offense to either of you! Magic has fallen quite out of favor in Melmond, I'll have you know, what with the Rot and the sea storms; everyone blames mages for their troubles."
"Wait," said Kane. "Aren't you a mage? I mean, with all these books around, and Jack called you 'lord'..."
"Sweet Titan, no!" Seward said, laughing. "He called me 'lord' because I am one! Lord of Half-Moon Mountain, north of here. My ancestors were the kings of Melmond, back before the monarchy was overthrown."
There was a knock at the door and one of the maids they'd seen before stuck her head in. "Lunch is on, my lord."
"Oh, good! Thank you, Mina. Shall we, friends? I hope you all like salad."
They crossed the sizable manor, passing back down the portrait-lined hallway, the red sitting room with its heavy furniture, and the grand tiled entryway where they had come in, with Lord Unne talking all the way, pointing out features of the house and the history of his family. "Melmond wasn't always here, you see. It was originally on the slopes of Half-Moon, but they rebuilt it here after Leifen fell - nearer the harbor and all that. My family still owns the land. We've a few silver mines up that way, and when the miners find Leifenish artifacts, they send them along. You'll see a few of my favorites just there!" He pointed out an ostentatious display at the end of the hall ahead of them, bits of carved stone and pottery arranged on pedestals. "The large one at the center is part of the prophecy of the sons of Titan. Jack did the translation when he stayed with me before."
Kane walked behind them, looking lazily about, radiating boredom, but Lena marvelled at Seward's passion for his subject, and the artifacts were beautiful in their own way. "Jack said he worked for you?" she asked.
"Indeed! He did translations for me in exchange for room and board until we could find him passage to Cornelia. Took us weeks to do it! The ships just haven't been running as they used to."
"He could have looked harder," Jack said mischievously. "I think he was waiting until I'd worked through his library."
"Well!" Seward gasped, opening the door as he led them into what must have been the dining hall except that it seemed more like an extension of the man's study: the long rectangular table at the center was covered with diagrams and tools, though space had been cleared for the portly lord and his guests to eat. "That's not true at all! There's still plenty of translating left to do! In fact, I've acquired three new volumes since you left that I would love to have your assistance…"
The man went on, but Lena stopped listening, her attention caught by something else: a flood of pure awe from the guardsman behind her. Kane had stopped just inside the doorway and was staring slack-jawed at something in the room. She followed his gaze toward an orrery, a device of clockwork and gears, whirring as it simulated the movement of the moon and stars circling a model of the world. It was the biggest that Lena had ever seen, larger even than the one at White Hall. "Kane?" she said, standing beside her friend as Jack and Seward proceeded to the table, continuing their discussion of Leifenish books.
"What is that?" the guardsman asked, watching the rhythmic motions with rapt attention.
"It's called an orrery. You've never seen one?" she asked, though she could feel the answer.
He shook his head, his voice almost reverent, as he asked, "Is it magical?"
"No," she said, smiling. "It's a machina."
"Machina? What's that?" he asked, but his eyes never left the device in the corner.
"Don't know about machina? By the founders!" Seward said. "Why, machina were a wonder of the Leifenish empire, spreading the benefits of magic to the masses! Did you think only mages could pilot their flying ships?"
Kane finally pulled his eyes from the swirling device, looking to Lord Unne in shock. "I thought the flying ships were only stories."
Seward stared at him, a long, withering look, full of pity and disappointment. Finally he pointed at a chair. "You sit by me, young man. We have much to discuss."
After the meal, Lena sat at the table enjoying the company. She didn't speak, yet she was thoroughly entertained. Jack sat beside her, chatting amiably and openly with Seward across the table, his scarf hanging loosely about his neck, forgotten. She kept stealing glances at his face, marveling at how expressive it could be: the way he bit his lip when he was thinking, the way his scars shifted as he smiled. She thought he might be happy, though she continued to feel very little from him.
By contrast, she felt plenty from Kane: a curiosity that rivaled anything she had ever sensed from Thadius. The guardsman sat across from her, intent on a tiny machina device Seward had handed him, a little platform, no larger than the palm of her hand, with a riot of gears on top and four wheels underneath. At the turn of a small key, it would roll a few inches across the table. Kane gazed at it as lovingly as she had seen him look at Princess Sarah.
Lena reached across the table, patting his arm to get his attention. "Eat," she said when he looked up at her.
The young man who had claimed to be starving in the market earlier looked down at his nearly full plate, pushed off to one side, and seemed surprised to see it there, picking up his fork once more. He ate perhaps three bites before his attention wavered and returned to the little machina.
Lena stifled a laugh, letting her own attention drift back to the mage beside her. "I just don't think geographic dialects can account for these differences, not for an empire supposedly tied together by airships," Jack said, pointing at the Leifenish notes in front of his empty plate.
"Ridiculous!" Seward scoffed. "Why, you can find two distinct dialects of plain speech between here and the West Hills, and that's only a distance of ten miles! The Leifenish empire is bound to have had similar differences!"
"In speech, yes," Jack replied. "Not in writing." He reached for the glass in front of him, his eyes flicking to Lena as he did so, and his smile twitched as he caught her staring. She noticed the slight hunch of his shoulders, the way he ducked his chin closer to the folds of the gray scarf, and she hastily looked down at the remains of her meal.
The door to the dining hall opened and the maid, Mina, stepped in, bringing a little cloud of worry with her. "Beg pardon, my lord. But there's a man at the front door. He's asking after master Jack."
Lena's eyes went straight to Jack again, but Jack looked to Kane. The guardsman stood, checking his sword as he turned toward the door. "What does he look like?"
The maid shrugged, uncertain. "Um, about… about your height? Dressed in red. With long, white hair. He was looking for all three of you."
Kane slouched on hearing his father's description, hands falling heavily to his sides. "Gods, we're in for it now."
"Show him in, please, Mina," Jack said, sighing as he put his scarf back up. He took Lena's hand and together the two of them went around the table to stand by Kane.
Lena felt Lord Redden's anger before he ever reached the dining hall, like an ominous cloud on the horizon heralding a storm. He marched stiffly in after Mina, who curtsied and left once she'd seen him inside. Redden bowed in Seward's direction, speaking with practiced politeness in stark contrast to the emotions that emanated from him. "Lord Unne, I apologize for barging in like this, but I'm afraid we're on a tight schedule." He turned to Kane then, his face calm and his voice even, though his temper bubbled beneath the surface. "Son, do you recall the conversation we had only this morning about leaving Lena on the ship?"
Kane swallowed audibly, as though he had a lump the size of the little machina in his throat. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Good," Redden said, patting his son companionably on the shoulder. Kane winced when the touch landed, though Lena could see it had been only a light tap. "I was worried for a minute there that I had imagined the whole thing."
"No, sir." Kane's voice wavered, and Lena could feel the anxiety rolling off of him.
"I was certain we had had that conversation. So I'm sure you can understand my surprise," Redden went on, his voice rising in pitch, "when I returned to the bloody ship and the three of you weren't there!"
"I can explain," Jack said.
Redden silenced him with a cold glare. "Please, do! Particularly the part where the registrar informs me that I've acquired another son as well!"
Jack stuttered, then shook his head, apparently at a loss for words.
"What part of 'not attracting attention to ourselves' escaped you? Do you have any idea how easy it was to track you across this gods-blasted city? What if the wrong sort had been looking for you?" Redden crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking between Jack and Kane, not once lowering his eyes to Lena standing between them. The fury he gave off gradually faded into a smoldering ember of anger. When he spoke again, his voice was a low hiss. "I'm very disappointed in you boys."
Jack wilted, but Kane sputtered, "Us? What about her?"
"As if you'd ever convince me any of this was her idea. You two are a bad influence. Come on. We're leaving."
"But-"
"Now, Kane. We've stayed too long as it is."
Kane scowled, grumbling something about Bahamut under his breath. He turned and bowed to Seward. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Unne," he said, his voice just as calm and courteous when he addressed the lord as his father's had been though his mind roiled with displeasure.
"Of course!" Seward said. "I'll, uh, I'll just see you all to the door, shall I?"
Lena trailed behind as Jack walked with Seward, speaking quietly as they went, Jack offering hasty apologies for their rushed departure. Redden and Kane came behind her, neither saying anything.
When they reached the door, Seward shook hands with each of them, including Redden. "It was delightful to have guests, however briefly. I hope you'll all consider coming by if you're ever this way again."
"We will," Jack said. "Thank you for lunch. It was good to see you." He opened the door and stepped out onto the wide porch, where he stopped with a spike of panic and confusion that startled Lena before he tamped it down. "Um," he said incoherently.
Redden didn't seem to have noticed, pushing her and Kane out the door after the mage. Once outside, she saw the cause for Jack's alarm: the man who had followed them before stood just inside the iron gate in front of Seward's manor, and with him were a number of uniformed guards.
"For Titan's sake," Redden hissed under his breath when he saw them. "How did you boys get into so much trouble in so little time?"
"We didn't-" Jack said, at the same time Kane was saying "But that's not-"
Both were interrupted, though, by their former follower, who stepped forward and spoke with an air of authority and with the bearing of a soldier. "Lord Redden Carmine? Come with us, please."
Author's Note: 12/2/16 - I couldn't resist having a little fun with Thad's fake name in this chapter. Might as well call him Thief Thief, right?
I'm also using a bit of creative license with Unne here: in the game, he was "Dr. Unne", a scholar of Leifenish, but even in the game's version of Melmond (muddy and falling apart), he seemed to be doing pretty well for himself financially. I figured he must be one of those "gentleman scholars", you know? Studying in the copious free time he has from being well off? That's just my take on it.
I got my copy of Final Fantasy XV and it is so, so pretty. I'm still getting used to the combat – I worry I might be too old to figure out all these complicated games anymore – but I'm impressed by the scale of it so far. I told all my loved ones not to call me for at least a month. "Pretend I'm in Australia," I said, because that's the farthest point on the globe from my current location.
Are you all playing it with me? I'd like to imagine that you are.