His Captive Sorceress

Chapter 37: Treason

It's early morning, and I'm waiting outside Trevus's office.

"Enter," he calls.

I step inside. He's writing at the desk.

"Morning." I take my spot beside him. Trevus quickly folds the letter over as I approach, hiding its contents from my gaze.

"'Tis salient that all who labor and reside in this palace are loyal to Versillia," he says. "Would you not agree, Raylia of Corinth?"

"'Tis salient," I agree without hesitation. What kind of a question is that? Is he suspicious of someone else, or is he hinting to be careful?

He pours hot green wax over the folded letter, stamps his family crest with his ring and inspects it. "This order is solely for Lord Kerollanus's hand." He gives it to me. "'Tis of great importance, for it details where I suspect the Seventh harbors."

I nod with a plain expression, but my fist curls painfully tight around the hem of my shirt. How could he share information that would put my life in danger?

He straightens the sword on his belt and opens the door. "I shall travel on a private venture until evening. You may have the day."

He heads down the hallway, leaving me on my own.

I run my finger over the letter, across the intricate, embossed ridges of the wax seal. It looks no different to the dozens of letters I've already delivered, but the contents have my full attention. What secrets on this page could help them find me? Trevus knows it's my dream to have my own tailoring shop. Would he really use the aspirations I shared with him in private to trap me? Does he really want my life to end?

I wander through the halls, my eyes not leaving the sealed letter. Maybe he claimed to know nothing of substance. Would that mean that he still has feelings?

I hold the letter up to the light. The script inside is folded over itself, scrambling away any meaning. I tug at the corners, but it's fastened in a manner that makes it impossible to glance inside.

If I could just read it, I'd know how he felt. I'd know if he still cares for me the way I do for him.

I turn back towards my private room. I have to know.

Once inside, I block the door with my heavy chest. The goal is to warm the wax without singeing the paper. My first thought is to hold it over a candle flame, but that'll deposit black soot on the page. Turning the candle upside-down won't work either, as it will drip white wax over the seal.

I light a fire and place the letter on a skillet. The metal barrier ensures that it warms evenly. With a twisted knife tensioning the fold, the wax soon gives way, preserving the two halves of the seal on either page. I open it.

Dear Kerollanus, Lord of Notam Keep,

Othasianus shall dock in Port Ulisanna on the fourth. She carries barley fit for a thousand men over two fortnights.

I don't care about their ships. I scan through the rest of the letter – logistics, governing instructions, large battle tactics, but nothing about me. Why would Trevus say the letter was about the Seventh?

My eyes find the broken seal, and my heart jumps. A test?

I place the letter back on the skillet and heat the wax again. With some gentle prodding, the break reconnects. Looking closely at the seal after it's cooled shows a thin seam where it was split, but it's only obvious under careful inspection. I doubt Lord Kerollanus pays close attention to every letter he receives.

I douse the fire, move the chest and head downstairs to deliver the letter. My knocks on his door echo through the empty passage.

Lord Kerollanus, a thin man with brown hair, reveals himself. He couldn't be any older than Trevus – perhaps they met on campaign.