The tack room was at the fore of the stable, and in addition to housing the saddles and bridles and other provisions of an equestrian nature, Tomy’s private subterranean quarters were entered through its narrow confines.
The door to the steps that descended into the earth was closed. Was the keeper of horses ill or injured?
Knocking upon the panels, Kane then wrenched them open. “Tomy?”
From the darkness below, there came no reply. There was no scent of occupation, either.
Forcing himself to remain calm, Kane strode away, passing by the saddles upon their posts, and the tendrils of leathers with their bits, and the wooden buckets. All was familiar, and yet he was abruptly lost.
At the head of the stables, he looked out to the manor house and took solace in how undisturbed it all appeared. Further, he reminded himself that there were countless reasons why a busy stable hand would be away from his position. A fence repair. A hay bale delivery. A coyote upon the fringes of the paddocks, requiring dispatch.
Whye’er would one be concerned?
Alas, he knew the answer to that. He had had so much good fortune e’er since he arrived in Caldwell. Too much. Surely the scale must be righted.
When the rest of the household was abed and asleep, that worry kept him awake—and now this. No Tomy. Which was unheard of.
Bracing his body, Kane forced himself not to run unto the manor, but rather course up the walking path as if his mind had not gone immediately, and perhaps with paranoia, to matters of calamity and death. On his approach, his eyes penetrated each window of his grand home and traversed its exterior expanse from footing to roofline, from cornerstone to opposite terminal. The formal structure was a sprawl of rooms, two wings flanking a generous central feature of three stories, and as the silk drapes had all been parted to let in the beauty of the moonlit night, he searched the interior for signs of proper disruption.
When there were no figures moving about at all, he reached to the small of his back. For personal protection, he carried always an ornate, bejeweled dagger, although as an aristocrat, he was not well trained with it.
Yet Cordelhia was within.
He needed to protect her.
Walking around to the front door, he found that the sturdy panels were open, and he knew that some of the doors were also wide on the rear of the house as there was the draw of a breeze coming at his back and no scents greeting his nose.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, they had been robbed.
Tightening his grip on the dagger’s hilt, his hand trembled, and he hated his fine breeding and all his years of education and social leisure. He should have found a training camp and hardened himself—
He placed his free palm upon the honed wood of the door, and pushed the weight further forth.
“Cordelhia?” he called out. “Balen?”
The butler’s lack of response was more alarming than hisshellannot replying. Balen was always upon any entrance.
“Balen!”
As Kane’s voice echoed, he looked into the dining hall, and regarded the perfectly set table for two. But that had been laid out hours ago, as Last Meal always was.
Underfoot, a Persian carpet he was particularly fond of cushioned his progress to the base of the stairs, and whilst he placed his free hand upon the balustrade, he feared what he would find. As that breeze coming through the house whistled past his back, the hairs on his nape stood up—
“Surprise!”
“Best of birth days, master!”
“Birth day wishes unto you!”
As Kane shouted and jumped back, figures well-known and well-loved presented themselves in a stream that emerged from the library in the rear of the house.
It was the full staff of the manor and the estate, all of whom he valued and appreciated for their individual merits… and at the back of the rush,hisleelan, his Cordelhia, her blush-colored gown bringing out the spun gold in her hair and the strawberries upon her cheeks and the sapphire of her eyes.
As always, her gaze was downcast, her modesty a cardinal virtue among theglymera, and yet he knew she was delighted at the surprise she no doubt had engineered.
She knew him so well. He was not one for grand parties as was the aristocracy’s way, so this was the perfect fashion in which to celebrate the anniversary of his birthing. And though her station was august, not just within this household but in theglymeraas a whole, she waited until all the staff had paid their respects unto their master before she came forward.
“Blessings upon this night of your birth, dear Kanemille.”