His tone was casual, but Kraghtol didn’t like it, nevertheless. Butwhathe said was much more interesting. His mother? Suddenly, it all fell together. Roderic Hawke. His last name was the same as Mrs. Hawke’s, his teacher for basic alchemy! He had not drawn that connection yet! He would have to be more careful about what he said in class.
The clerk finally nodded and filed away the writ.
“Everything seems to be in order. You are free to go.”
Kraghtol felt as if a massive weight was lifted from his heart, for two reasons: first, that he was no longer in danger of being pressed into forced labor, and second, that he could leave the presence of this particular ‘bloodjacket’.
But when he exhaled and turned to leave, Roderic called him back.
“Mr. Kragh. You forgot your receipt.”
Giving the man a quick nod, he took the piece of paper and tried to ignore the faint predatory smile of superiority on the orderkeeper’s face that he couldn’t quite place.
Kraghtol slept most of the day, which came as no surprise given how tired he had felt the night before. Only when washing up to prepare for the meeting in the evening, did he remember a remark Valir had made earlier. Studying himself carefully in the mirror, he made a sobering discovery: behind his left ear, there was a small spot of green that wouldn’t come off, no matter how hard he rubbed. In a way, Kraghtol had expected a stronger reaction from himself, but it was as if his ability to feel despair was dull and depleted after the events of the previous days. And if he was being honest with himself, he had not needed the outward sign, but had felt it deep within himself as well: the effects of the potion were ending.
Of course, he didn’t know how much time he had left. The small patch of skin was easily concealable with hair, which he promptly did. But after taking care of the event ahead, he would really have to startdoingsomething about this.
Getting into the Silver Spires was considerably easier with an invitation, and, apparently, Valir had made sure the private guards knew he was expected. Even though the sun had already set, the Silver Spires were astonishing. Clean, wide cobblestone streets were illuminated by carefully maintained brass lanterns and bordered on wide, lavish gardens. One of the spacious plots was big enough to fit at least threebuildings from the rest of the city, or five from Oldport. Luxury was all around him, and Kraghtol hoped he could come here in the spring, during the daytime. He could vividly imagine the smell of a hundred different flowers in pots and flower beds surrounding the white-walled mansions.
The house he was escorted to was not the biggest palace in the Spires, but beautifully located nevertheless. Bordering a small plaza with a fountain, the tall building overlooked wide parts of the city below, especially the Park District, and Kraghtol couldn’t help but wonder how many people lived in the mansion.
“Oh, just me, currently.”
A servant had brought him inside into a salon furnished with elegant furniture made of fine wood, silk and precious metals. It was warm in the room despite the freezing temperatures outside, courtesy of an ornate fireplace with glimmering coals. Valir, who was lounging around with his legs over the armrest of an armchair probably worth more than everything Kraghtol owned combined, was wearing a shimmering silky wide garb and seemed amused about the question.
“Just… you? Nobody else? What about…”
“The servants? I didn’t count them, but yes, I suppose the staff also lives here. A good half dozen of them, I think. Why do you ask?”
Kraghtol did not feel entirely comfortable, but in a way, it was better than in the bathhouse. At least Valir was wearing something now.
The confusing part was that he didn’t know how to feel about the noble. Until this morning, it had been easy. Valir had been arrogant, condescending and generally unbearable. And in a way that had notchanged. But he hadalsosaved Kraghtol’s ass for no apparent reason. Or at least no reason that was believable. It was surprisingly hard to banish the image of Valir in the bathhouse from Kraghtol’s mind, too.
“It’s a large house for one person.”
Valir shrugged.
“From time to time, other members of my family live here, too, when they have business here in Winterstone. But it’s not as big as you make it sound, at least compared to our estate in Greylune.”
Kraghtol rolled his eyes. Of course, the noble couldn’t go three sentences without boasting. Not wanting to dwell on the topic, or have Valir compare this mansion to his chamber, he changed the topic and nodded towards a large oil painting above the fireplace showing a stern-looking man with gray-blond hair that bore a striking resemblance to the other man.
“Is that your father?”
Valir looked up, and his face darkened somewhat, before he took his legs off the armrest, sat upright and was back to his usual self.
“Yes. That is my father, Duke Selanthor el Greylune. He is the head of our house, and a man of significant influence and power.”
Kraghtol shook his head apologetically.
“Sorry, I know little about the nobility. Is ‘duke’ a high title?”
The young noble stared at him for a moment before smiling with amusement.
“Krasen, you really are a peasant. Yes, ‘duke’ is a very prestigious title. In the times before the unification, my family ruled over the city of Greylune and the surrounding Starlit Plains. But we are not here to talk about my family.”
Kraghtol vaguely remembered lecturer Merress teaching that back then, over 370 years ago now, the territory that was now called Wardenreach was split up between various lords and kingdoms. Only the rise of modern alchemy, and with it, the guild structure, had united the warring territories and forged them into the powerful, peaceful country.
“Right. I don’t think I properly thanked you in the bathhouse. This loan was very generous of you…”
