Unhallowed: The Common Man's Trade

Dalyn's P.O.V. "Waiting"

Three years later and I can still feel those bindings around my wrists. On cold nights when I lie awake in my covers I can still hear them clattering as I struggle against them. Sitting alone in my study, my mind slips back into that dark web and let every thread incase me in it's strangely comforting embrace. I feel cold though the fire burns beside me; the dancing shadows against the wood floors illustrate my fleeting focus. Sleep threatens me with its grip, but threats don't scare me much anymore. I am Dalyn Everman, head of the house, and Everman's do not succumb to threats. I suppose that would be more credible coming from someone who's feet can touch the ground when sitting in this chair, but I cannot allow that to be the reason I am not taken seriously. I will not be underestimated.

"You will not be underestimated," his voice flows into my thoughts as if they are my own. His voice sounds different inside my head; smoke clouds inside of a glass box. It is eerily warm, yet I know that it is not meant to be comforting. "You are Lord Dalyn Everman, son of Lord Ethan Everman. No one in their right mind would dare question your capabilities."

My eyes lift from the pages strewn out on the desk to glare at him, but find no one in my study with me. I could have sworn he was in front of me. His voice is so clear, so if he is not in the room he must be nearby. "Must you do that, Claec? You do understand how maddening I find it."

"I apologize, my lord." There is no remorse in his voice. "You've left your thoughts unguarded from me."

My face hardens as I acknowledge my blunder, "I didn't expect you to be listening. I've given you a task to complete. I assumed you would be occupied with that."

My study seems much larger when I sit alone. The desk alone is nearly twice my size, made of red mahogany wood proudly displaying the Everman family crest. It makes me feel small in more ways than simply my age. The whole room does. Novels, newspapers, account records and otherwise line the walls in wooden bookshelves generously dispersed around the room. An empty pair of armchairs sit on either end of a chess board that leaves me a sense of longing for my friend. She should be back by now; Arlenson is only a weeks worth of traveling to and from. It has been a week and a half with no word from her. I know she has never been much of a writer, but must she torment me with this feeling of ignorance? I must know where she is.

"I have not seen any sign of her tonight," Claec's voice flooded back into my head. "Perhaps you should retire for the evening."

"Do not patronize me," I order to the empty room. "Where even are you? Your voice is too clear for you to be far."

A soft laugh echoes in my mind and a sharp knock comes from behind me. Behind me a fasten window lets in a ghostly blue glow from the night sky. I have been sitting there for so long that I have seen the shadow of my chair shift across the rug, and never once did I think that Claec may have been above me scouting out the land for my friend. No wonder his voice is so clear. I rise from my chair, feeling every muscle ache from sitting stagnant for too long. I take the three steps to the window and pull the pin on the window lock and push it open. I am greeted with stale air and silence. The trees scattered about my estate are still without the slightest sway to their limbs. The crystal ponds did not ripple. No birds chirp. No clouds drift idly in the black sky. Stars shined in the sky but did not twinkle. Nothing was moving; strange, I have never known England to be quiet like this. My eyes slip from the landscape and my gaze shifts above me. "What are you doing up there?"