A Blaze in the Dark (A New Dawn #1)

Epilogue: Thomas

"No, Sebby. We're not going to absolve Robert's debt to the crown. Not in exchange for four dozen horses." Thomas chuckled. The Lord of Easterbridge may have fooled his dearest nephew, but he needed better excuses to convince him. He dipped his feather in ink, then crossed out most of Sebby's proposal. "Imagine all my Lords doing this. I'd have a full stable and an empty treasury."

It would take decades though, but still... The Lord's sob-story about failed crops and dying cattle didn't add up, especially not since he offered horses. At least Robert wasn't proposing another preposterous marriage. There were far more strategic partners for Lana than the son of a lower Lord.

Don't suggest anything. Invite him and Philippe to court. He scribbled in the margin. 

Then Sebby could see for himself that Robert was using every trick in the book to maintain his wealth. If the eldest son proved more sensible, then time had come to aid the Gods. Nobody would be surprised if the lazy Lord Robert was found in the streets of Sundale with an empty cup next to his cold, stiffening body.

He reached for the plate of biscuits, but only found crumbs. God of Gluttony, he had already eaten them all.

The pendulum clock read quarter to ten. Only fifteen minutes until Evelyn came anyway to replace the candles and supply him with a fresh batch of Scorian Brew. She would have to bring him some more.

Emptying his cup, he dumped Robert's letter along with Sebby's answer onto the pile of paper next to the architectural plan of the new arena. He'd rather check out how the construction was advancing, but tonight the tower of unanswered mail craved more attention.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to send George away to solve the crisis near the border while Jonathan was still entertaining the patrols in the royal forest. Oswald did what he could, but he wasn't General material. Nor was he Captain material; in fact, temporarily promoting Stephen or Patrick would have been the better option for the city. For the Greenlands, however, it was beneficial that Simon believed his Torture Master had some say in important matters. The fool.

He stretched his legs until his feet clacked the chair in front of him. With a sigh, he grabbed the next bundle from the pile. A lengthy five-page letter, written in the unsteady hand of Lady Margaret of Banshore.

"Let's see. What did you make of this one, Sebby?"

The short answer wasn't addressed to the Queen of old hags, but to himself. I don't know, Uncle Tom. I don't understand what she's asking.

Sebby had scratched out the next sentence. Bringing the paper closer to the candlelight, the slightly deeper engraving of curls and stripes slowly revealed what the mark of regretted insolence had tried to bury:  'Please answer this one yourself'.

"Cocky until you realise your mistake. You are Bran's boy, for sure..." 

His inner ear pinched. Repeatedly. He rubbed the obsidian until the pain dulled down to that damn itch that could never be scratched.

He was about to read Margaret's letter when a muffled stumbling near the door quickly escalated to the clattering of two lances.

He rose from his chair, his hand clutched at the dagger in his belt. George may call him a fool for being armed while he had guards at every beck and call, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

"We can't allow this, Your Majesty. His Majesty was very persistent–no visitors. He has a lot of work."

Only his wife. George was right. He was becoming a skittish muttonhead.

"Don't be daft, you two. I need a word with my husband. Alone."

Releasing his grip, he sighed back into his chair. In recent years, Crystal sending away the guards had never led to anything pleasant.