The Iron Hound

4.6

As much as she disliked being a slave to the material, Ahn had to release a groan into the pillow as her muscles relaxed, the pleasant smoothness of the cotton sheets brushing her skin. The day had been a long one, tiring on not only the body, but the mind as well. She rolled over, tugging the covers up to her chin. Hair, free from restrictive ties, cushioned her head and she stared up at the blank canvas of the ceiling.

She had planned on ambushing the tutelar before retiring for the night, but the procession of dour-faced tutors persuaded her otherwise. She'd heard Idris depart into the night not long after, finally putting the quandary to rest. She couldn't put off the conversation forever, though. The reasons for the man's obstinacy chewed at her curiosity. He was stubborn, certainly, but disregarding a sacred tradition because he didn't feel like it seemed out of character for a man who had forged a name for himself through hard graft.

Sinking back into the pillow, floating within the warmth of the bed, her eyes fluttered shut.

Sleep must have overcome Ahn, for she was awoken by a knock at the door. She groaned, straining to see through squinting eyes. A fruitless endeavour, as she'd pulled over the partition between the bedroom and the living area. Another groan passed her lips and she sunk her face into the pillow.

"Why?" she moaned, endeavouring to gather the energy needed to haul herself out of the bed.

Another knock, firm, urgent.

Struggling to find the edge of the covers, she froze as she heard the click of the latch on the door.

"Sleeping?"

She recognised the tutelar's voice and exhaled slowly.

"Not any more," she grumbled, fingers eventually finding the elusive corner of the sheet and folding it back.

The room had cooled through the evening and into the night, the hearth growing dark and still, and she contemplated fetching another layer to slide over the simple slip. She heard the outer door close and Idris' footsteps on the rug.

Opting to assuage the man's impatience, she abandoned thoughts of hunting for suitable clothing and padded towards the partition, pulling the curtain aside.

"Oh." The word had passed her lips before she realised it, as the figure of Idris Menhyr loomed far closer than expected. He leaned against the jamb of the arch, rigid posture demonstrating his impatience majestically.

The scent of damp grass drifted about him, and Ahn noticed the hem of the man's cloak soaked black with moisture.

Dark eyebrows arched. "How did you punish him?"

Ahn folded her arms across her chest.

"I didn't. That's not for me to do." She moved further into the room, taking the window seat, leaving the chair free for the tutelar. His weighing gaze followed her and he stepped away from the archway, but opted to remain standing.

"It is if I instruct you to."

"My role here is as chronicler, tutelar."

He looked away as silence edged between them. Resting a gloved hand on the pommel of his longsword, his lips turned upwards for the briefest of moments.

"Then I'm sure you'll enjoy what I'm about to say."

Ahn's heart beat a merry discordant rhythm in her chest as her mind leapt to multiple conclusions.

"I've dismissed all but one of the tutors," Idris went on.

The chronicler's mouth dropped open. "Why?" she managed, eloquence forgotten.

"Because I chose to," he replied, eyebrows drawing together. "Moss will assign a suitable replacement from my own men for the boy's martial studies. Quin Emis remains to teach strategy and economy." He paused, eyes scanning her face. "And I want you to take over the lessons on history and politics."

"Me?" she breathed. "Tutelar, I can't."

"You can and you will." He locked her in a cool stare.

Ahn's mind reeled. How could he ask this of her? She already had taken on much more than she should.

"With all due respect, tutelar, primarily I am not qualified to teach, and I feel I must remind you that I cannot neglect my rightful duties for the sake of your varlet."

He waved his free hand dismissively, his stern expression softening. "You barely have need to hold a quill these winter months. By thaw I'll have a replacement. Your duty is to me, and what is more important than the legacy that remains after my bones are burned?"

Ahn studied the man's face. He seemed serious, dark eyes intent on her.

"Are you really concerned about your legacy?"

He paused for a moment, fingers curling around the pommel they rested upon. "Concerned may be overstating it, but it is something I must always keep in mind."

"And what about his? Do you realise what your actions, or lack thereof, are doing to him?"

Something that possibly passed as confusion contorted his features. She shook her head. Of course he wasn't aware.

"Had you heard his words earlier—" She paused, composing her thoughts. After the events of the day, perhaps being careful might not be remiss. "I fear his mind may not be as strong as you desire."

"You speak like he is a mewling babe. He's a grown man, Ahn. If he can't overcome pangs of loneliness, or whatever the fuck you're alluding to, then he will make a damned poor tutelar." The muscles in his jaw and neck grew taut as he spat the words at her.

"Then this is a lesson?"

"A lesson?" He sighed, then, bringing a hand to his forehead and rubbing at his eyes. "No. This is how it has to be." The hand dropped back to his side and he peered at Ahn intently. "And that will be the last I hear of it. This isn't a negotiation. What I say happens, will happen."

Ahn swallowed the words on her tongue, recognising the glint in his eyes.

"As you wish, Lord Tutelar," she said through her teeth. She was sure he picked up the bitter tinge to the words. She made no attempt to hide it.