Chương 9: The Interruption

Later that afternoon, Lira stepped into the courtyard beside the stables, a sagging sack of dust slung over one shoulder. The day's harvest was carefully swept and destined for the refuse heap like always. The air was brisk, dry, and sharp in her nose, a welcome change from the stale weight of dust and burned candle wax that clung to the library. The courtyard felt alive in a way the tower never did. Horses shifted in their stalls, hooves striking wood and stone in uneven rhythms.

A sharp whinny cut through the air, followed by the low murmur of a stable hand trying to calm the animal. Somewhere to her left, someone cursed as a bucket clanged against a trough. The smell was strong: hay, manure, leather, and damp earth, but it did not cling to her lungs the way the library did. Lira adjusted the sack on her shoulder and walked toward the refuse pile. But her mind was not on the courtyard. She had cast a spell. The thought came back again. The flame had been real.

She had called it into existence more than once. A cantrip, something small. Still, it was magic. She couldn't help but smile as she walked. She replayed the moment, the words, and the way the flame had answered. Could she do it without speaking? The thought came unbidden. She slowed slightly, eyes drifting to a nearby stall, where there was a candle. What if the words were only a guide? Then maybe the real work happened before the words were spoken.

Her fingers twitched faintly toward the unlit tallow candle, a simple block of tallow with a wick. No. Not here. Not in the open courtyard, with stable hands walking in and out and eyes everywhere. Still, the thought lingered. What else could she do with her magic? What else could she discover? She could go further. There were more spells in that book. At least she thought there was.

And if there was one forgotten volume of magic in that labyrinthine space, then others might exist, buried deeper in the library, hidden under years of neglect and dust. Or in the upper floors of the long-abandoned tower she had barely explored. Her grip on the sack tightened slightly. Now that she had tasted it, she had to find more... she had to learn more magic. A voice cut through her thoughts.

"You're Lira?" Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. She turned, startled. A boy leaned against the stable wall, half-hidden in shadow. Ten, maybe. Skinny, sharp-eyed, and pale beneath the dirt. His clothes were worn, sleeves too short at the wrists, and his hands looked rough, like someone used to scrubbing floors or leading horses. His gaze flicked past her shoulder, then toward the open courtyard gate, then back again. He did not quite meet her eyes.

"Who's asking?" she said, narrowing her gaze. The boy did not answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a folded scrap of parchment. He held it out without stepping closer. Lira hesitated for half a breath, then stepped forward and took it. The wax seal was intact. She did not need to see it clearly to recognize the faint impression pressed into it. P. M. Her stomach tightened. When she looked up again, the boy was already glancing away, shifting his weight toward the open space behind him.

"Who gave this to you?" she asked. The boy shrugged, still not looking directly at her.

"Didn't say. Black coat. Paid me to wait until you took it." His eyes flicked once more toward the courtyard entrance.

"Said not to linger." Before she could say anything else, he pushed off the wall and walked away. Not running. But fast enough that it was clear he had no intention of staying. Within moments, he had disappeared past the stables and out of sight. Lira stood still, the parchment in her hand suddenly feeling heavier than it should. She ducked out of sight behind the barn and broke the seal carefully. Inside, the message was short. Dear Lira, I hope the season has been treating you well.

My father, as of late, has been speaking of the future... He has taken an interest in the quieter parts of the outer provinces. He has begun wondering whether there might be a country cottage worth acquiring, somewhere he could retire comfortably without fearing he is intruding on a lord who actually resides there. If, in the course of your duties, you happen to hear of estates whose owners might be under some financial strain, those could also be of interest.

My father believes such places are sometimes easier to negotiate for, provided one approaches the matter delicately. He also asked me to keep an ear out for properties that are seldom visited by their owners. A quiet cottage next to a manor that sees little use would suit him far better than one bustling with Lords and retainers. There is no need to make inquiries directly. Simply pass along anything you happen to hear.

Father prefers that these matters remain discreet until he decides whether he truly wishes to pursue them. Your cousin, P. M. She read it again, then once more, slower this time. Her lips pressed thin. That was how Pallan always wrote, burying his message in a layer of banality. She read on, eyes scanning the lines, but her mind was already reading the intent behind them. Country cottages. Quiet provinces. Estates under strain. Seldom-visited houses. Peeling each line from its polite niceties. Help is required.

Seek information on lordless estates, belonging to the crown, estates where the lord is in debt, and finally, estates with lords that are always in the capital and never visit home. Discretion is paramount. She exhaled slowly through her nose. Of course it was. Her gaze drifted unfocused for a moment as she held the letter. The alcove flashed in her mind. The warm, silent spot she had made hers. For the first time since arriving at the castle, she had her own space. And now this.

Her grip tightened further on the letter. She had to leave it for a while, and just when things got interesting with the magic. Nothing was free in life. And her debt to Pallan Matrius needed to be paid. She owed him that much. Ignoring this was not an option. But neither was being careless. Her eyes moved over the courtyard again. Servants passed in the distance. A stable hand dragged a bale of hay across the ground. Another argued loudly over something she could not quite hear. Normal, ordinary castle life.

And yet she felt the risk pressing in from all sides. If she were to get caught… Her father's fate surfaced unbidden. She folded the letter slowly, deliberately. She could not afford mistakes. But she also could not refuse. That left only one path. Create a foolproof plan. Her mind was already turning, fitting pieces together. A slow breath left her. She tucked the letter into her sleeve. She would burn it later when she was alone. Then, she turned back toward the castle. Her pace was steady, controlled.

She had questions to ask and information to gather.