Threshold

“Miss Scarlett. It is time for your lesson.”

I sat up, blinking away sleep. I was immediately aware of an ache in my neck and the weight of a stern stair from my tutor. Amel Varion stood over me, immaculate in her skirt and blouse. A lady’s cap perched on her graying hair. Her skin was wrinkled and worn, but her eyes were piercing. While her body might be growing frail, her intellect was not.

“What time is it?” I grumbled, rubbing my face.

“A quarter of the way through the afternoon. While a lady may nap, during afternoon lesson is not an appropriate time.”

“My Apologies, Lady Varion. It was not my intent to slumber.”

“Well we aren’t making up for lost time. Come along then.” The sixty-year-old woman turned on her heel and marched from the room.

I could vaguely remember taking a seat in the study after lunch. Some bit about possibly reading some poetry. Evidently I’d never made it to the first page; the untouched volume was still waiting on the end table. But it didn’t surprise me. I’d spent most of the week since returning from my grandmother’s wandering about in a haze. Lack of sleep could do that. My nights had been spent tossing and turning, and the bit of sleep I’d gotten always ended in a sweaty death grip on my sheets, desperately trying to escape the crushing darkness. The only times I really seemed to rest was when I wasn’t supposed to.

I pushed myself up from the velvet sofa and padded after my tutor, careful to extinguish the light rocks on my way. No doubt it was well past afternoon tea, but the halls of my house were quiet. Along with my father and me, only a handful of staff stayed in the house, and they primarily spent their time doing laundry, cooking, maintaining the estate, and caring for the horses.

Soon enough the tapestried hall emptied into the library and I was met with the harsh clack of a pencil on wood. Miss Varion had situated herself in the grand oak desk, which dominated the center of the room and crowned the elaborate carpet. Bookshelves alternated with stained glass, stretching from floor to ceiling around the room. Sunlight filtered in from the west side, painting the wooden chairs and plush rugs.

The house itself was a sprawling manor, nestled between two hills on the north side of Caerwyn. From the library I could see the Houndstooth Mountain range, but the great mountain Citadel was hidden by clouds and fog. Towards the south lay Caerwyn. A triplet of towers rose from the center of the city, marking the Emperor’s palace. Between my front door and the towers stood a smattering of buildings. Most of nobility occupied the north side of Caerwyn, both with seats of business and mansions. South of the palace and the Great River sprawled the majority of Caerwyn, with the wealth deteriorating into slums the farther south one traveled. Only the shipyards and docks along the east maintained any sense of dignity.

“Miss Scarlett.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.” I mumbled, taking a seat across from my tutor.

“I assume you completed your readings? Of course, with your recent habits, I must ask.”

“Yes, Lady Varion. I completed the readings.”

“Very good.” With that, we launched into poetry and history and any bit of information a lady might benefit from knowing. Amel Varion was patient in her own way, always willing to answer questions, even if she could be stern and a bit cold. She had been my mother’s tutor, one heirloom that hadn’t disappeared after my mother’s death. I’d grown up in her presence, and she’d proven in many moments that she knew me better than about anyone else.

Soon enough a servant came to let us know that dinner ready. As always, I was seated in the dining room, at the end of a table for forty, alone. A place was always set for my father, but he never appeared. Is he was truly needed, he could be found in the west cellar, working away, or in the city at his factory.

After the meal disappeared and I gave the appropriate pleasantries to Miss Varion, I sank back onto the velvet sofa in the study. I figured I had to actually do the reading at some point, and since sleep wasn’t going to happen, the present was a great time. At some point I did manage to nod off, but a slamming door startled me back to reality.

The study itself was dark, and moonlights filtered in from the skylight. I set the book aside and crept out into the hall. The echo of boots met me, the evidence of at least three men in the foyer. I snuck towards the grand entryway, blinking as I was met with blazing glow stones. I stood on the second floor, overlooking twin curved staircases circling a stone-floored oval. My father stood in the center of the room, murmuring to a foreign man wrapped in pelts. I crouched at the balcony, unable to catch more than the cadence of voices.

In some capacity I recognized that eavesdropping was neither ladylike nor appropriate, but curiosity overwhelmed it. Business often kept my father away, but it never kept him home. Each one and a while a dinner party for an investor might allow for some visitors, but that was it. And the dinners usually took place at dinner time, with food, not in the foyer.

So I kept watching.

One man I did recognize stood to the side. A smug grin was plastered across his face, one that spoke of malice, not humor. Tristan had worked for my father for three years, and had quickly become the favored man. Physically he was a bear, all broad shoulders and thick chest, but that’s not why he was prized. He was good at his job. He was good at taking care of whatever needed done and intelligent enough to make it all work for him. He was cocky and arrogant and someone I had grown to distrust. His presence was less than comforting.

In a flurry of motion the foreign man stalked towards the tall front doors and threw one open. Two more men stalked in with a figure stumbling between them. The figure was bound at the wrists, with a hood drawn tight over his head, blinding him. The two men tossed him to the ground and he fell with a merciless thud.

The figure began to push himself off the ground. I could see that he wasn’t tall, but definitely not a child. His face was hidden behind the hood, which also hid Tristan from his view. The figure crumpled as Tristan’s food collided with his stomach. Before he could get up, Tristan planted a foot between his shoulder blades and grabbed at the back of his neck.

“We’ve got him,” Tristan called snidely.

My father nodded and pulled a small pouch from his jacket. The pouch bulged, and from the heft it took to toss it to the foreign man, it could have contained quite a bit of coin.

“It’s always a pleasure,” the lead man hissed, before turning on his heel and stalking back into the darkness, trailed closely by his two associates.

The term bounty hunter came to mind as they disappeared. My brain raced, but I couldn’t find a reason that my father would need anyone found, much less brought to our house.
Tristan dragged the figure to his feet. My father strode to them and in a deft move tore the hood from the figure’s head.

Even from the distance, the sight was enough to make all of the blood drain from my face. The cool eyes, jet black hair, and caramel skin had been haunting my thoughts for days. The boy from my unexpected swim stood in my foyer, anger radiating off him in waves.

“I suppose he shall do,” my father said dryly. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and held it over the boy’s nose and mouth. A few seconds later the boy fell limp.

I knew I should’ve moved, or said something, or acknowledged the atrocity taking place in my own house, but I couldn’t move. I just sat, in shock, and watched Tristan drag my rescuer from the room.