Through leaves, through alleyways, through the air, the wind flowed. 

After the wind, came the dread. 

Not something a man could explain; nonetheless, a feeling of dread pervaded each man’s soul. Every time the leaves sang their dry song of autumn, someone shivered. Howling, the dread swept through the alleys and awoke those sleeping within, their faces painted with trepidation. It swirled and meandered through, rousing those who slept soundly and horrifying the few who were awake.

After the dread, came the cold.

Bitter cold, colder than any Thircian had felt before. Icy daggers stabbed the skin, sucking any trace of heat from the body. A man’s breath would freeze on his lips. The light clothes used for autumn stayed it not at all. It was as if some wintry demon had blown its breath upon the unfortunate citizens of Thirce, making the lakes freeze over in minutes. Any person caught outside of a warm fire’s embrace would start to shiver, then their fingers turn numb.

After the cold came the realization.

Four long months the cold had been gone. Four months, and everything within Thirce thrived and pulsed with life. Those four months had now passed and the cold had come for its revenge, a revenge that would change the land for generations. Each man, woman, and child began to understand this winter would be the worst one since their father’s, father’s time. A black sky swallowed up the moon and the first flake of the freeze fell. Then came another, and another, until a blizzard had engulfed all; draining the hope from all those alive, and even some who were dead.

After the realization came the rider.

With much haste he rode down the snow covered dirt path, turning from the Bruden Road’s cobble. Each dull thud made the rider’s back ache and legs burn. His cloak flew back behind in a flurry of blue and gold, the colors of Lord Grimond. A thin sheen of sweat covered the horse. Both the rider and animal’s breath came in a white fog, quickly dissipating into the night. Lord Grimond’s rider galloped until he came into the presence of a great, sprawling manor. Only then did he finally slow and eventually stop. 

Weary, the rider slid off his mount, and in the process, took note of all the aches that he would feel for days. Seeing no post, he tied his horse to a light pole. Its candle extinguished long ago. Slowly, he walked to the door of the manor, his form small compared to the large, meticulously designed pillars, windows, and the door itself. It was almost two men high, painted a dark burgundy, and looked more solid than a battlement’s gate. For the fortieth time, he checked his inside pocket for the letter written and sealed by Grimmond.

Right as he knocked on the door—or more accurately, right before he knocked—the door opened, revealing a plain man with a plain suit and plain white gloves. A small smile, almost a grin, stretched across his face.

“Hello, I am Lord Leonine’s butler,” said the smiling man. “What brings you to our estate?” The butler looked the other over with eyes that did not judge. He saw the gold and blue colors of the other’s dress, the dirt that covered a considerable part of it, his labored breathing, and finally the unmasked surprise on the rider’s face.

Stumbling to recover, the messenger responded, “Many greetings and apologies.” Although the man had introduced himself as the butler, the rider had no way of knowing how to address the servant. Within a few silent seconds, the rider resigned to an educated guess, greeting Lord Leonine’s man as one below his station. “I have a horse that needs tending soon.” He gestured toward his haphazardly tied animal.

“And what is the nature of this intrusion for which you must apologize?” A pause. The butler raised an eyebrow. 

The messenger could not help but fold into himself in the cursed wind. His beast could wait a minute or two. “The nature is of my own business, as well as both of our lords.” The rider looked pointedly. “It is most unwise to deter such dealings.”

“Of course, sire.” He bowed and gestured for the man to enter. The messenger passed the threshold, nodding. Heavy oak clicked shut too silently behind.

“May I ask the name of our honored guest?” The butler put on his almost-grin once again. His eyes only spoke of reverence and servitude. As it should be.

“Rigeos,” said the rider. Then added, “I’m here on important business from-”

“Lord Grimond.” The butler’s grin faded. “I can see.” Beneath his polite tone, lay something darker. “The colors.” 

Before Rigeos could take offense, the polite man stood before him again, agreeable and smiling. He blinks. “Of course.” Losing patience for the formal talk of two servants, he brought out the letter from his jacket pocket. “Bring this to Lord Leonine.” The butler nodded. “And wake the stable boy. My horse still needs tending.” He nodded his head once again before he was off.

Into the distance the click of the butler’s shoes on the wood floor faded. Relaxing, Rigeos lay back into a plush chair. He ran his hand over the cloth covering his seat. It was as soft as silk. He felt the smooth, polished surface of the giant table used for coffee and chocolate. As he relaxed further, he felt his feet sink into the thick carpet covering the dark, shining wood. He could not help but compare this resplendence to his own lord’s lacking manor.

A door opened and he quickly sat upright, composing himself. The butler appeared, grinning as he spoke. “It is very late. My lord wished not to be disturbed.” He motioned into the hallway. “I was told to lead you to your room.” Standing, Rigeos glared at the butler. Lord Leonine was not known for his impoliteness. No matter the hour, a message from Grimmond was to be read immediately. Reeling from such an insult to his lord, the rider followed code and trailed the butler through the hallways.

Inside was even more richly decorated, as to be expected. Every few paces hung portraits; expertly painted lost kings and queens, landscapes that could not exist on mortal planes, and scenes of knights destroying great foes. Red carpet cushioned the footfalls of the two men slowly making their way to the room. Leonine’s man departed outside the entrance of the guest bed, telling their guest not to hesitate to ask for anything. The butler shook the stable boy from a troubled sleep, and then directed himself to the house’s lord.

He opened the door to his master’s study. Inside was Lord Leonine. Even sitting down in his chair he came up to the chest of his servant. His broad shoulders and tall frame made the seat seem like it was built for a dwarf. With the colors of his dukedom, red and gold, sitting upon his massive shoulders, he adjusted the patch resting over his right eye. Under a shaggy mane of dark hair, the other eye looked far past the plaster walls.

Once the door was closed, Leonine still did not look up from what he was holding. It was a small, black leather-bound book, dwarfed by his rough fingers. Gently, almost delicately, he turned it over in his hands, feeling every ridge and crack in the binding of the familiar hide . He flipped through the pages like he had done a thousand times before. Between his fingers flew each page as water flows across smooth stone. A small twitch threatened to bring his lips into a smile. The servant cleared his throat. 

Leonine’s eye looked up. His voice was slow. “These nights . . . these nights remind me of long ago. Do they have the same effect for you?” He closed the book.

“A man has come. A messenger from Lord Grimond.” Aldrich sat in one of the plush chairs, ignoring the question. “He obviously wants to discuss business. The steel mill comes to mind.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Leonine tucked the book into his overcoat, eyes still searching for something behind the walls. “You didn’t bring him to me at once?”

Aldrich’s grin returned. “I know, for a fact, that you would have hated to have been disturbed. Whenever you happen to detach yourself from the rest of us into this study, anyone other than I brings your disposition . . .”

Leonine stopped him with a wave of his hand. “You know me the best of all, of course.” He breathed deeply, searching the window for answers. “Lord Grimond’s messenger should not be kept waiting. I’m known to be a most gracious host. I hope your overstep in bounds does not cost me.”

Aldrich lightly cuffed his lord on the shoulder. Instead of a horrified look for the violation in procedure, Leonine only exhaled one breath of air that might have been the ghost of a laugh. The servant smiled even wider. “Stop jesting. I shall bring your temperament back to its jovial normalcy.”

“I am in no mood for talking in riddles tonight.” Leonine pressed his breast where the book was placed. “We must rest. You were right in postponing my meeting with Lord Grimond. Messenger or not.” He gritted his teeth. “That pretentious butcher has always been vying for my assets.”

Aldrich stared, carefully choosing his words. “My lord, he has quite considerable resources of his own. Making a friend . . .” Leonine’s grey eye is drawn from the window to the butler. Aldrich swallowed but started again. “Associating with such a man, not altogether wholesome, is beneficial to everyone involved. Do not let your exaggerated honor get in the way of securing your future. What of Abraham or Daven? Your wife?”

Instead of hurling anger, as a younger, less learned man might have done, he accepted what his wise second said. “Lhiasa will overcome what has confined her to her bed. She is much stronger than you think, Aldrich. And of my ego?” He chuckles. “Your meaning does not fall on deaf ears, dear friend. It is what I have lived by for all these years. Through my honor, I wish to live on. Abraham will become the best of men. He is already reliable as any man twice his senior. They would understand if I chose right over convenient.”

“My lord, if I may inquire as to why you must choose the right thing? While we were discussing Theofylaktos just a fortnight ago, we discovered–.”

“I already said, I am in no mood for such puzzles tonight.” He tastes something sour. “My temper is short. I must ask you to retire from my study.”

In the few moments that followed, Aldrich was able to quietly bow, apologize, and exit out the study door in virtual silence. There was a reason the lord had taken his employment. He was a wise man but would not test one’s patience to the edge of its limit. Leonine watched the door, wondering if maybe he was too harsh on him.

Casting his doubts aside, Leonine left his study. Walking and thinking is what he would do. It was a habit he had taken to. It gave him time to enjoy the paintings. A nagging required him to enjoy them. He spent a fortune commissioning them. He could, however, never bring himself to love them. From around the globe he sought the most skilled of masters, hoping to lay their craft upon canvas. It never pleased him. What purpose did colored oil have on the sheet of white? 

 In his dark stroll he stopped in the main hall. Sandarac frames leaned, the dark visages of the Leonine family staring blankly. Disapproving eyes leered from more than a hundred years ago. Somehow, through the plague, his family was able to spirit these heirlooms away, but the man had a cool indifference to these meticulous works of art. On the best of days. 

Raoul Pélissier, a contemporary maestro from the Thriam school, was able to discern the exact condemnation between dark wrinkles the previous matriarch always gave her children. Her downturned, pale lips. Her crows feet tearing all the way to her ears. Raoul was even able to paint her jowls in the most flattering of ways. How Leonine hated her. He contemplated burning it many times just to rid himself of those grey eyes. Raoul had outdone himself. The patriarch never hired him again.

A gentle cough startled Leonine. He jerked his head to the darkness where his butler bowed. He sighed. “I wish to be alone, Aldrich. I thought I had made it abundantly clear the last we were together.”

“I am sorry for the disturbance, milord.” Aldrich bowed in apology. “Your wife has called for you. I saw it as wise to relay the message promptly.” Without another word, Leonine hurried past. He mumbled an incomprehensible gratitude. The butler bowed again. 

Before a polished, oak door, he stopped. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, long and slow. Without a mirror he futilely straightened his suit and pushed open the door to reveal a soft yellow room. The carpet gave way to hardwood. Upon the floor rested a large bed embracing a small form. 

He made his way to the bed and kneeled beside the deeply breathing woman, running his hand through her disarrayed hair, feeling the thin blonde strands against his rough skin. Her normally perfect face was flushed and hot. If she was sleeping again, Leonine had no intention of trying to wake her. He even breathed as quietly as he could. 

As always, he tried to comprehend her beauty and, as always, failed to do so. The old stirrings of his heart felt almost alien after all this time. He often told her he was proud to have her. Not because he owned her, but because this woman had decided to own him. She liked to remind him of it many times a day when she was well. He felt her flushed cheek with the back of his hand, caressing her supple skin. He breathed a prayer and kissed her as if her skin was a soap bubble, trying not to break its fragile shell.

Her eyes fluttered open. Those emerald green eyes pierced him. He froze in place. The white of her teeth showed when she smiled. Leonine’s breath left his body in a sharp exhale. She pulled him forward. This close he smelled her sweat and her sickness. Nurses bathed her, but her bedridden body wafted a distinct putrescence which squeezed the man’s heart. He held back his tears and gritted his teeth. She would be well. He knew it. He had to know it.

Her voice is rough, not having been used in days. “I have missed you.”

Leonine was able to choke out, “The same. The same for me.” He rubbed her earlobe then traced the folds of skin within. 

She flinched and smiled. “Stop. It always tickles.” She looked at the candle by her bedside.  “What day is it?” Then back to her husband. “Where is little Abraham?” 

Little Abraham. Suddenly, Leonine felt very old. His knees creaked on the carpeting. His left eye could no longer in the distance without squinting, giving him severe headaches. His back hurt even now as he leaned over her. Every morning he looks in the mirror to find more grey along his temple and in his whiskers. A child puts things in perspective. 

“Abraham is not so little these days. He is away. I gave him the duty of convincing Lord Lark of the benefits of being reticent about Daven’s exploits in June. Once Lark and his retinue have been dealt with, we can welcome Daven into the family once again.”

Lhiasa only nodded with a sound of half acknowledgement, closing her eyes. He smiled solemnly and rose from her side to exit. However, before he was able to open the door he noticed a chill. Glancing around, he saw one of the windows cracked open. She must have told Aldrich to do it, and not being able to say no, the doting man must have figured Leonine would close it. The window smoothly slid back. Looking around for the last time, Leonine walked towards the door only to be interrupted by Lhiasa’s smooth voice.

“Why are you leaving so soon? Stay with me awhile.” Under her spell, he walked back to her side. “Sit down next to me, my love.” He did. She smiled into his eyes and said, “I love you.” Her lips could never let a lie pass over them

Pinpricks moved across his skin. A grin, larger than any he had in months, painted his face with joy. “And I you, but you must sleep now.” He kissed her in truth this time, all his love behind it. “Let it embrace you in its healing hands.”

Nodding, she said, “First, you must do me a favor.”

“And what may this favor entail?”

“You must read me a story.”

“It may be that my fears are worse than I originally thought. To demand something from your lord husband shows certain mental instability.”

Lhiasa laughed her bell-like laugh, ringing through his heart. When she was finally able to catch her breath she said, “Still, a story. I must demand it for otherwise you would never give such a thing to me.” Almost as if she was never ill, she was demanding childish things.

“Never? I would rip down the gates of Hell to give you what you desire.” He felt the leather book he had stored within his jacket. It came free of his pocket, the pages turned his joyful face somber. “Ah, here it is.”

“Pray tell, what is it?”

He pauses but forges ahead. “Would it please you if I was to read a story that was not quite . . . untroubled?”

She only thought for a moment. “A sad story? It would, indeed, exhaust me. It would then please me, my lord.” She added the last with minute mockery.

He sniffed. “Promise me one thing. You must try and sleep once the story is concluded.”

“An easy promise to keep.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And will you promise it?”

“I will. I promise it.”

Nodding, Leonine felt the page with his outstretched finger. He started to read.