“Prefect timing,” his mother said, adjusting her chair, “I was just telling your son that you would explain why you were late to breakfast.”

His father forced a smile. “Probably best to tell that story over breakfast.”

As if waiting for this cue the side door opened. The cook and one of the cooking staff came in with trays. They walked around the table placing plates and glasses as they went.

As a plate filled with his favorites was placed in front of him, the old cook whispered, “Congratulations Master Orn, we are all so proud of you. “

Orn smiled and quietly thanked the cook, who winked at him before heading back toward the kitchen.

Once everyone had their breakfast his father started his story. “Early this morning a messenger came from the village about a haggard man staggering down the road. The messenger said some reports said he was wearing fine clothes; others said the was wearing battered and dirty clothes.”

His father paused to stare into the glass he held. “Apparently the messenger decided it was best to avoid the road on the way here, so he was not able to confirm either story. I feel we all know the identity of this particular figure though.”

Orn’s mother wiped at her mouth with a napkin, though Orn suspected it was only to hide the smile he knew was behind it. Her expression was level when she returned it to the table, “Have you asked the hunters to investigate and chase out the man causing everyone such fright?”

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“Funny,” his father replied flatly, then turning to Orn, “It appears Olrich has been walking all night. Since priests are always carried in carriages, people do not know what to make of it.”

Orn’s mother stifled a laugh behind her napkin.

Shaking his head, Orn’s father continued, “Apparently he has only made it a handful of miles. At the rate he is going it will be spring before he reaches the capitol. If he makes it all.” He looked at Orn, as if waiting for his input.

“Unfortunate.,” Orn’s mother said, casually applying jam to a piece of bread. Returning the knife to the jar with more force than necessary, “Olrich has been dispensing the goddesses’ justice for years. He was overdue to receive some himself.”

Orn stared at his mother. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of Olivia standing by the wall and nodding along with his mother’s words. She was usually so kind. He knew from the family meals while Olrich was present, his mother was not a fan of the priest. Now she apparently felt she no longer needed to hide her animosity.

Orn’s father quickly took a conciliatory tone, “I know, but I also do not want him to die in my territory. It would look bad. So,” he turned to Orn his eyes pleading, “I want to send money ahead to the village so someone will take him to the next town. I do not want him to die on the road.”

His mother scoffed. She seemed completely unfazed by Olrich’s plight.

Orn’s father continued to look at him, his eyes begging Orn to say something. Sighing internally, he put down his fork. “I am sure the Goddess does not want him dead. If it is just out of the territory, it is fine. After that though he is on his own.”

“Done,” his father said, clearly relieved, and clapped his hands.

At this signal the old butler who followed his father in, nodded and slowly walked out of the room. It might have been Orn’s imagination, but the butler looked to be moving rather stiffly. Is he dragging his feet? Olrich what did you do?