Robin stepped into the room, helping herself to the empty chair opposite his desk. She lifted the beeswax and wool, intending to place them on the desk, but realized too late there was no place to put them. The desk was covered in parchment, scrolls, bound books, and ink pots.
“Here, here,” Elias said, reaching out to take the items. He set the beeswax on a stack of bound books. It only wobbled slightly. The wool, however, he kept and lifted to his nose. “That reminds me of home,” he said after taking a deep inhale.
Robin smiled, glad he enjoyed the musty, sweet smell of the fiber. She did not. “I have three more bags of it,” she said. “Carded and ready for spinning. And five blocks of wax. I wanted to offer it here first should you need it, else I can take it to a merchant.”
“We will gladly take it,” Elias said. He stood, moving with the careful deliberation of someone who has spent too many hours hunched over a manuscript. His light linen robes hung loosely from his thin shoulders.
Turning to the also-cluttered tabletop behind him, he dug through several scrolls until he found a wooden box full of coins.He counted out several of them as he asked over his shoulder, “How are things at Lockwood?”
“The same,” Robin said. “Busy. The tonic you recommended last time was quite helpful for the girl with the fever. It keeps recurring, however, and I need more.”
“The apothecary is a fair man, but his prices are still steep, as are everyone’s these days.” Elias turned, holding out the coins to her. “This should help, and then some.”
Robin accepted the coins, more than the goods she had brought were worth. She picked up the extra in her other hand and offered them back.
Elias shook his head. “You will put it to better use than we could.”
“Thank you,” Robin said. Part of taking care of others meant accepting help on their behalf. She placed the coins in her pocket.
The old monk leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “What else brings you on a three-day ride from Lockwood?” he asked.
Robin leaned forward, glad he understood that she was here for far more than trade. “What can you tell me about your old monastery in Iseldis?”
Chapter 16
“Ilida,” Ian said, stepping into the Lockwood larder. “Nele said I might find you here.”
The steward stood in the center of the small room, a stack of parchment atop the ledger resting against her arm. In her other hand, she held a charcoal pencil she was using to point at wheels of cheese on a mostly empty shelf.
She held up the charcoal as if to signal for silence.
Ian waited, watching her count the cheese wheels and then mark something on the top parchment.
“Ian,” she said, turning to him with a quick smile.
Knowing that her time was valuable, Ian immediately stated his business. “I did not come to Lockwood empty-handed,” he said, pulling a small bag from the pocket of his trousers. It clanked as he lifted it.
Ilida’s eyes lit up, then went from the bag to his face. “We only take half,” she said, the words erasing her smile.
“This is not some skirmish on the roads,” Ian replied, glad he had come to Ilida and not directly to Robin—who had barely accepted the few coins he offered that day when he first arrived. “I am offering this freely. And truly, do not be too excited, it isnot much. Just what I brought to travel with.” He held it out, shaking it again to intentionally clank the coins within. “You will put it to much better use than I ever could.”
Ilida reached for the bag, but at the last second she dropped her hand. “Come with me,” she said.
Closing the larder door behind them, she led Ian deeper into the manor beyond the great hall to a small room he had not yet seen.
Inside the room, an older man with a beautifully groomed white beard sat behind a large, mostly empty desk. A single parchment lay in front of him, with an inkwell to its side.
“Uncle,” Ilida said, not bothering to knock. “Have you met the prince?”
The old man lifted his eyes from his work, seemingly accustomed to Ilida’s interruptions. “I have not.”
“Ian,” Ilida continued, before the man had even finished speaking, “this is my Uncle Bernard. He is the treasurer of Lockwood and the man who actually raised Robin when the king decided he wanted nothing to do with her.”
Bernard raised one eye at Ilida, not appearing fully shocked at her statement but also making Ian aware he had noticed it.
“Ian has brought a contribution,” Ilida said, gesturing Ian forward.
Ian handed over the small bag of coins to the older man.
