Archer

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Sixteen Years Later

He stared at the massive number of letters piled high onto his desk. A slight breeze came in through the open window, stirring a piece of parchment, seemingly to remind him of what needed to be done, like a child pestering underfoot until it got what it wanted. He looked at them for a moment longer before walking to the window.

It had a great view of the bay, littered with ships of all sorts. The grey rooftops outlined the winding streets, illuminated with the soft, rosy-yellow glow of sunrise. The people were just waking to the morning, going about their various businesses, oblivious to what was coming. He sighed as the questions he’d been avoiding forced their way to the front of his mind, giving a cold stone to the pit of his stomach.

How long? How long before those waters are filled with battleships, before the streets are washed with red? It’s only a matter of time…

Raking his fingers through his hair, he noticed, not for the first time, that it wasn’t as thick and full as it once was. He wasn’t unable to fight- he would fight to his dying breath- but it was still a grim reminder of the passing years, and of those he didn’t have very many. He sat down wearily at the desk, looking through the papers nonchalantly. He didn’t want to find what he knew would be there.

He leafed through the letters. A few he could pass on to his steward, a good number written by lords and a few ladies he would have to pay attention to himself, and three from Lady Megeline he would ignore.

He blinked a few times. It hadn’t come.

He shook his head; it had to be here. If there was one thing he knew about Jordan, it was that he wouldn’t let something like this slip by, at least not without putting up a hell of a fight. He looked through them again. Nothing. He checked a third time, a fourth.

Not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, he sat back in the chair. His friend had sent the letter every year for fifteen years, and now, suddenly, on the sixteenth, he stopped? Was this reproach for not answering those annual pieces of paper he’d come to expect? To, on this important anniversary, not send it? He rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the oncoming headache. He didn’t know why he was trying so hard. He’d sent the child away so it wouldn’t be swept up in all that was his life, so he should be glad Jordan had finally given up.

Then why did he feel so excluded?

A knock on the door drew his attention up. “Come,” he called after a few seconds of debating whether or not to send them away for the moment.

His steward, Josvan, entered the room almost tentatively. When he raised an eyebrow in question, he answered simply, “There’s a lady here to see you.”

“Not Lady Megeline?” he said, hoping against hope it wasn’t her. It would be just what his day needed.

A faint smile tugged at Josvan’s lips. “No, not Lady Megeline.” The smile faded. “She says you know her but don’t know her. She wanted to talk to you about something private. I told her I could refer her to one of your clerks to make a formal appointment, but she said, well…”

“You’ve already told most of it, might as well tell all,” he prompted.

He hesitated, then spilled the rest of the story fast as he could get it out of his mouth. “She snapped that she wouldn’t be waiting around for an appointment because it was already too much of a risk to be seen as it was, and that she would have to leave tomorrow anyways. I tried to tell her again, but she gives new meaning to the saying, ‘If looks could kill.’” He stood silently, waiting for a response. And at first, he wasn’t sure how to react. Then he let his head drop into his hands, resting his elbows on the desk.