Chapter II

A Chapter by Emily C.

The next morning found Deorsa up early, knocking on Arlyn’s chamber door to wake the boy. The heavy pounding paused as he heard a muffled groan from within the room. As all sounds ceased within, Deorsa rolled his eyes and resumed hitting his heavy hand against the wood.

“Get up, you lousy good-for-nothing!” He yelled, the chuckle that came after ruining his attempt at appearing angry. Arlyn had overslept by two hours that morning, and his concern over the boy’s absence had finally nagged at him enough to have him go and attempt to wake the dead. A moment later, Arlyn appeared at the door dressed in his nightclothes, eyes still crusted with sleep. It was rather obvious that, despite his attempts last night, the boy hadn’t gotten much rest.

“Wha’d’you wan’?” His speech was slurred nearly beyond recognition, serving to only make Deorsa laugh harder. The boy’s terrible case of bedhead made everything worse. It was akin to someone being struck by lightning, with his hair sticking up all over the place.

“Did you forget that we had things to do today?” Deorsa asked, looking quite amused at the boy’s predicament. It took a moment for Arlyn to search his memory before his eyes widened and he slammed the door closed in his guardian’s face, presumably rushing to dress.

As Arlyn made his way downstairs, he could smell the fresh breakfast Aatos had prepared. He found the servant and Deorsa in the kitchen, and joined his guardian at the small table set off to the side. Aatos smiled gently at him, bidding him good morning as he set a plate of food before him. Arlyn thanked him in earnest, returning the greeting brightly before devouring his meal, pretending to not hear the chuckles coming from both older men. His manners were reserved for when they were actually needed; why should he have to keep up appearances with people he saw every day?

“I modified our schedule for the day,” Deorsa informed him, “we will be going to the castle first, see what information we can get on the good lord before we pay a visit to the estate. See if anything doesn’t match up to the story the family gives us.”

“Yuh ‘hink ‘e d’dn’ t tell th’ truth ta bot’ par’ies?” Arlyn mumbled around a mouthful of food. Deorsa regarded him with un-amused, blatant disgust. Arlyn’s cheeks flared red as he realized he had made a complete fool of himself, as opposed to the usual partial fool. He swallowed quickly, cleared his throat and repeated himself. “I mean, do you think he neglected to tell the truth to both his family, and the queen?” Deorsa nodded absently.

“It is a distinct possibility. Either he was hiding something he should not be doing from the queen, or he is hiding his true business from his Lady and family.” From across the room, Aatos cleared his throat softly.

“Or he could simply have been an unfortunate casualty who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the old servant added. Deorsa huffed.

“Oh, I suppose,” he said, rolling his eyes. The smirk he threw over his shoulder at his old friend let him know he was poking fun once again. Arlyn took a moment to really look at the situation. Living with Deorsa had taken a long time to get used to. The man’s sense of humor was certainly a welcome comic relief most of the time, and he was a great friend. It was easy to tell when something was bothering him, and Arlyn could see the underlying tension in the man’s eyes now.

His brows knit in concern as Deorsa and Aatos joked with each other lightly. Eventually, he let the feeling pass, and soon after, he and Deorsa were on their way to the palace that was housed in the center of the large city.

﴾ • ﴿

Navigating the streets was easy enough now, but when he had first been introduced to the booming port city, Arlyn had become hopelessly lost immediately. Now, he could almost find his way to the palace with his eyes closed. Almost.

Deorsa led the way into the extravagant structure, nodding to the guards as they passed. They came and went often enough that the guards knew who they were, and knew them well enough to exchange minor pleasantries.

While he knew the streets of the city like the back of his hand, Arlyn could not say the same about the winding halls of the palace, yet Deorsa took each sharp turn with certain confidence, never hesitating. They quickly reach the queen’s private guest reception room, where she would oversee more personal or confidential situations. Deorsa knocks loudly on the door, and waits for the given order to enter.

Arlyn and Deorsa step into a brightly lit, plain but comfortable room. It is not small, but not overwhelming, like the public reception hall. Queen Kira sat at her desk. She finished scratching something down on a document before lifting her head to meet Deorsa’s gaze.

“Ah, there you are,” she said, giving the man a stern look, but her voice was filled with a warm fondness. “I sent for the two of you yesterday.” She turned her attention to her servant, who was sitting at his own smaller desk off to the side of the room. He bowed his head nervously to her, and she gave the crown of his head a knowing look, recognizing the misplaced guilt the scrawny man was feeling, but said nothing further on the subject. She, of all people, should understand how stubborn the man before her could be. Deorsa stepped forward, dropping into a formal bow in front of the queen.

“Your Majesty,” he addressed her, eyes downcast, trained on the floor in front of the slightly older woman’s feet. Kira waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, signaling for Deorsa to stand. “I apologize for our tardiness; it was a fault of my own, and not poor Darius, that we are a day belated.”

Kira nodded, sending a gentle, teasing smile to the small man at the desk. “There is nothing to apologize for. It was already dusk when I sent Darius to find young Arlyn.” Her voice was soft, never reaching above the level of regal gentleness.

Arlyn stood behind Deorsa and to the left, watching the proceedings with only mild interest. He knew the pattern: they would exchange teasing pleasantries and flirtatious glances, keeping up appearances until everyone concerned was certain there would be no nosy, eavesdropping servants. Only then would they broach the true subject of their meeting.

He left them to their ritual bantering, sweeping his gaze around the room. Everything had always been the same; plain and boring, decorated with pieces of artwork and tapestries that held no interest for him. The stack of parchments that had made their home upon the queen’s desk the last time he had visited had been removed, replaced with a map of the city and its surrounding manors.

The prominent greens and blues of the room stood out more the longer he looked, giving him a sense of calm, though he stood rigid in the presence of the woman, afraid that one wrong move would set her off and land him in a cinderblock cell, with no one but the mice to keep him company. He shuddered at the thought, knowing in the back of his mind how ridiculous the idea truly was. The sentiment remained regardless.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by movement in his peripherals. The queen had beckoned Darius to her, and the soft murmuring of their harmonious voices piqued his interest, even if only on a rudimentary level. Arlyn’s eyes trailed Darius as the queen dismissed him, and the man fled the room. Deorsa cleared his throat, catching the boy’s attention, and bid him forward. Arlyn stepped hastily, coming to a stop beside Deorsa by the queen’s desk as she pulled a map to the middle of the table. Kira addressed them quietly, taking care to keep her voice low and soft.

“Now, about what we have found,” she began, her tone serious and tense. “I have had some people watching Lord Leith over the course of the past few weeks; nothing serious, just a precaution regarding an issue one of our civilians brought to my attention.”

Deorsa was silently mulling over each piece of information Kira gave them. When it came time for the pair to leave, he bowed formally to his queen once more, exuding the confidence of someone who had every detail worked out in his head, though Arlyn was fairly certain that was not the case.

They made their exit quickly, giving the guards a simple parting nod and disappearing into the crowded streets, blending easily among the vendors and consumers of the early afternoon market.

﴾ • ﴿

Arlyn caught up with Deorsa’s fast pace easy enough, but had slight trouble dodging the rushing market-goers. Coming up beside the man, Arlyn addressed him loudly, taking care to be heard, but not overheard.

“Where are we going? To Leith’s?” He asked.

“Where else would we be headed?” Deorsa gave him a slight mock-condescending glance, shaking his head as a small, indulgent smile appeared on his face. “Yes, we shall pay our respects to the distressed household. The recent widow may be able to shed some light on this dismal situation.” The brittle grin on his guardian’s face unnerved Arlyn, and, not for the first time, concerns began creeping into his mind about the personal connection his guardian seemed to have regarding the case.

﴾ • ﴿

As it was, the depressing, lackluster welcome they received had not been what either was expecting. It was true that the Lord of the estate had recently been found murdered, but Deorsa had been told many a time before by Lady Siara herself, Lady of the deceased Lord Leith, of how terrible the man treated those that were employed under his roof.

The servants, both elderly and youthful, were in a somber state, greeting the two men with despondent glances. Deorsa approached a plump middle-aged woman who was seated in a chair in the main foyer, sobbing quietly into handkerchief.

“Pardon me, Alaina,” he addressed her familiarly, “but could you perhaps enlighten me as to the events that have taken place here?” Deorsa knew this woman, she had been with Siara before she had been united with the Lord Leith, and had remained faithful at her side. The woman gave a great, heaving sob, jolting from her seat and throwing her arms around Deorsa’s neck.

“Oh, my Lord Deorsa, it is simply tragic,” she exclaimed, looking up at him with tear-stained cheeks. “Lady Siara has-has… Oh, Lady Siara!”

An elderly male servant stepped forward to comfort the weeping woman, rubbing his hand along her back soothingly. He cleared his throat, the tears in his own eyes casting glassy pools over the wise hazel depths.

“My Lord, our Lady has taken her own life in despair after the death of our Master.”

While Deorsa had not coupled with Siara often, the two had remained close companions until her marital arrangement had been announced. The news of her death hit him hard, and suddenly, the frigid winter wind blowing directly over Deorsa’s heart.

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