Chapter III

No one in the Leith household had any truly useful information. The stories the staff relayed to them matched the information they had obtained from the queen. Nothing seemed to be out of place or suspicious, but Deorsa had locked himself away in his study in order to go over everything once more with a clearer head. Arlyn had offered to help, but the older man had just shaken his head absentmindedly and shut the door in the boy’s face.

That had been nearly two hours ago, and the master of the house had yet to surface. Aatos sat with Arlyn in the kitchen, chatting with the young man and trying to entertain him to sway his curiosity. Still, there was a nagging sensation at the back of the boy’s mind. Something he had seen or heard that day just hadn’t quite added up, but he would be dammed if he could recall what it was.

By the time the evening meal was prepared and Deorsa still had not left his study, Arlyn began to grow nervous and fidgety. Just as he was about to storm up the stairs and demand answers from his guardian, there was a mighty crash from the floor above them. Arlyn sprung from his chair and was halfway up the stairway before Aatos could stop him. The door to the study slammed open before the boy could even reach for the handle, a wide-eyed Deorsa filling the frame as Arlyn came to a halt in front of him.  

“It is impossible!” Arlyn eyed the older man carefully, trying to connect pieces that made no sense to him. Deorsa continued unheeded, as if he were still thinking to himself. “It just does not match up, nothing about this ordeal does. Siara, she had grown to hate her lord, but had decided to keep up appearances to avoid a scandal among the public.” He began pacing back and forth along a short stretch of the corridor.

“So she would not have killed herself over this loss?” Arlyn ventured hesitantly. Deorsa rolled his eyes at his charge.

“Of course not,  do not be daft.” Arlyn huffed and crossed his arms about his chest,  resting back against the wall as he waited for Deorsa to finish his train of thought on his own. “No, she would not have wished for harm to come to him, but she would have been pleased by the freedom she would have gained in his absence.”

“Yes, that is all well and good, but you saw her body for yourself,” Arlyn countered, “it looked to me like it was definitely her own hand. Aside from that, how would you explain the note? You said it was undeniably her handwriting.” Deorsa stared at the young boy for a beat, as if he had grown a second head.

“Are you truly that dense?” he asked. “Have I truly done such a poor job with your training? I thought for sure I had taught you better than to take things at face value.” Arlyn leveled a glare at the other, tapping his foot irritably.

“Get on with it, will you?” he prompted. Deorsa gave him a shadow of his usual confident smile.

“Someone forced our dear lady’s hand, my friend. Obviously, it would have been easy enough for someone of superior strength to persuade her to write her own suicide note.” Arlyn’s eyes lit up in understanding.

“And it would have been just as easy, if not more so, for that same person to turn the scene of a murder into the scene of a suicide.” Deorsa clapped his hand to his disciple’s shoulder, leading him back towards the stairs.

“I knew I did not raise you to be an idiot.” The remark earned him an elbow to his ribs, but he could not focus on the lighthearted play as he usually did. There was so much more beneath the surface than the boy realized. Deception and murder were just the beginning, he was sure of that.

Deorsa stopped them in the main foyer, giving them a moment to adorn their heavy cloaks. Aatos appeared from the kitchen, bearing both of their knapsacks. He had filled them with enough provisions for a small number of days, as well as an assortment of discrete weapons and tools. Arlyn rucked around in the pack, his fingers curling about the smooth, familiar shaft of his favorite dagger. Retrieving it, he tucked in within his boot, enjoying the feel of the chilled iron against his warm skin.

Deorsa retrieved his sword belt from the chest by the drawing room, securing it about his waist and slotting his best weapon through the strip of leather. Slinging the straps of his knapsack over his shoulder, Deorsa turned to his companions. “Shall we?”

“Stay safe, my Lord,” Aatos began, “you know how I detest searching for a new means of employment.” The older man said this with an emotionless tone and a straight face, but both younger men knew exactly what he wished to say.

“I assure you, you cannot expect me to parish so easily.” Master and servant shared a friendly smile and clasped hands before Arlyn and his guardian disappeared into the poorly lit streets. It was a bleak night, the sky overcast, stars and moon blotted out by dark clouds. They had nearly gotten to the edge of the city when Arlyn finally spoke up.

“So, where are we headed?” The question was innocent enough, but Deorsa groaned and gathered all of the patience he could afford to offer.

“We are revisiting the Leith abode, my dear idiot.”