While they did not plan for it, Elliot and Cleo spent the night at an inn in the end, not wanting to head back to the estate when it was already dark out. Bright and early the next morning, they decided to take up Chaia’s advice on how to find her. “Do you happen to know where Chaia the Firestarter is?” They asked.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said the first tavern owner. “Not a clue,” said the second. It was only when they got to the third did they get a clearer answer.

The man at the bar heard their question and began to laugh hysterically. “Oh boy, now this is a treat!” He barely managed to speak.

Cleo rolled her eyes, asking, “Do you mind clarifying your exorbitant reaction?”

He calmed himself a tad, wearing a bright, amused grin. “I’m sorry to tell ya, but that’s that girl’s way of tellin’ people to get lost.”

Elliot seemed ready to snap completely, but Cleo put her hand on his shoulder to keep him from blowing up. “Well, we thank you for your time regardless, sir,” she replied calmly.

The barkeep eyed them. “Now you’ve got me curious. What’d she do to warrant a couple’a strangers bein’ thrown off ‘er trail?”

Cleo with her collected expression said, “She nearly blew up a courtyard, and we wanted to discuss some things with her as I found her to be quite… intriguing.”

He perked up with a look of surprise. “Oh? She almost did it again? I’m shocked.”

“Again?” Elliot chimed in, unenthused.

“Yeah, she’s done it before, blowin’ up a powder keg,” the man explained, picking up a mug on the countertop to clean. “They say she’s got an immunity to fire. Some even think she’s a phoenix in human form no matt’a how ridiculous it is. No one reall’a knows how she survived, but some who seen it say ‘er eyes glowed with the light of flames—unnaturally so, mind you—before the explosion.” He set down the cup once he was finished as he chuckled. “But those are just rumors, there’s no real evidence of anything. She’s just a real lucky kid, if ya ask me.”

That sounds… awfully familiar, Cleo thought. “How peculiar. I’ll keep that in mind. Although, it is quite a shame I will not have the opportunity to meet her again.”

The barkeeper shrugged and said, “Hey, ya never know. She’s got a bad habit of showing up when you least expect—and when it’s the most inconvenient.”

The duchess and her knight sent each other wary glances and gave their thanks and goodbyes. They quickly found the coach company they had rented the first carriage, the one they used to get to the town in the first place, and purchased another for the trip back. The establishment also had the horse that Elliot rode on. He found it again and felt a tug at his heart.

As Cleo prepared to enter the carriage, she noticed her escort frozen in place, staring at the steed with a forlorn look. She had a hunch as to the source of the emotion on his face and took a risk.

After several minutes, Cleo walked up behind Elliot. “Elliot, we are about to depart.”

He turned and replied, “Ah, I see. We best hurry then.” His steps trailed solemnly away, but Cleo held out her hand to stop him. He looked to the side at her, puzzled.

“You wouldn’t want to leave your horse, would you?” The corners of Cleo’s lips turned up slightly.

It took a few moments for Elliot to process her words, but he gave her a gasp of surprise and glee. “I get to keep it?”

She gave a nod, and he almost immediately ran back to retrieve his newly purchased horse. With that, they left on the trail back up the mountainside to the manor of Calidursa where they would find a few surprises waiting for them.

The doors swung open, and the house was empty. The tall panes of subdivided glass on either side of the front entrance cast faint swords of daylight in a sharp diagonal across the stone-laiden floors as the morning sun rose in the eastern sky and managed to slip through the northern windows. Otherwise, the castle was as unfortunately dark as it always was, walls and floors and ceilings of gray, gray, and more gray only dimly lit by torches in their fixtures.

There was not a soul to be found, though this was not unusual. What was shocking, however, was how quickly Mysthea rushed—albeit in her eternally graceful and seemingly unhurried way that was always about her—to greet Cleo and Elliot when they entered the foyer. She somehow knew they had arrived the moment they stepped through the doors.

“I apologize for my tardiness, Your Grace, Commander,” were the first words out of the head maid’s mouth from her bowed face.

“That’s quite alright, Mysthea, we had not sent prior notice to when we would return,” Cleo said.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Mysthea replied. As she lifted her head, she continued. “There is a matter to be taken care of, however. The posters seem to have been fairly effective; we already have a few townsfolk seeking employment at the manor. They are in the drawing room as of right now. What shall I do?”

Cleo had started removing her cloak, remembering to put her insignia ring on before she did, and ordered, “Show the commander to the stables. I will get ready and take care of the guests. Please prepare some refreshments and take them to the drawing room once you return.” She stepped briskly by as Mysthea nodded and bowed once again.

“This way, Commander.” She motioned for Elliot to follow her back out the front door. When she saw the horse they brought back from the town, she appeared quite surprised. “I was curious as to why Her Grace asked me to show you to the stable. I suppose having more than one horse will come in quite handy.”

Elliot silently agreed, smiling at it. Mysthea commented, “You seem to like it quite a bit,” in a dry tone, devoid of approval or judgment.

“Yes, I think so. It reminds me of a horse I once had,” he answered.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” She grabbed onto the reins and began to lead it and the commander around the left side of the building on a slightly overgrown path. Crawling weeds and the grass that peeked out between them made their steps uneven.

“I was thinking of naming it after that old horse, actually. I think Honeyweed suits her quite well.” Elliot patted the horse’s neck affectionately.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“How… quaint.” Her voice had a quiet edge, but Elliot could not quite place it and wrote it off as his imagination. Mysthea did not speak again until they arrived at the stables. “I presume you know how to take care of a horse, so I shall be taking my leave to assist Her Grace.”

“Sure,” was all Elliot could reply with as he saw the tall woman whisk away down the trail that still held their footprints in the greenery.

Honeyweed let out a snort, successfully gaining her new owner’s attention. He carefully led her into the building—perhaps ‘building’ was a stretch, it was more of four wooden posts in the corners holding up a shoddy wooden roof. There was enough space for four horses at best; one already occupied a stall and was eating silently. The newcomer was placed into the area next to it, and she seemed set on becoming acquainted with her new neighbor.

For the first time in quite a while, Elliot felt content. Gathering supplies, caring for the horses, and quietly relaxing in the stables occupied the rest of his afternoon. Everything was peaceful; leaves rustled in the slight breeze that picked up occasionally and delivered the songs of mountain birds. He did not see anyone after that, and it reminded him that he was alone. But, that was okay. It had always been that way. He had his horses, he had his acquaintances, he had himself. That was all he needed.

It was then, while he was lounging against a post and sitting in the dirt, that his heart started to throb. Commander Elliot’s memories snuck their way to the forefront of his mind, reminding him of his life. Scenes played in his head of cheerful laughter and endless friendly sparring sessions. His breath stopped in his throat in a moment’s pause. The corners of his eyes grew damp as the joyful events continued to play. They were something between happy and painful tears, the water that dripped down into his palms where he held his sight. Calidursa was beginning to feel like a hopeful dream, but he knew it was not real—it could never be real. This place, these people, these memories, these feelings—none of them were real. They were all but an elaborate scheme by some higher power for some sick entertainment, he supposed.

The thought of clinging to the world was tempting—oh, was it tempting. The knowledge that he may be immortal, however, eliminated that possibility. No matter how many times he might fulfill his goals and life’s works, there would never be a time for it to end and to finally rest. There was no way to live peacefully in that work of mere fiction knowing that he would not live to see the conclusion of it, and that the world would not go on without him there.

His mind weaved through possibilities until it arrived at one sole solution: the only way to truly be free to live was to escape. If there was a way to make contact with them in the system, much like what the Scriptist did, then there must be a way out. He imagined the Scriptist must go somewhere while the stories are progressing—it would be rather boring to watch every waking moment. There must be a ‘real world’ out there somewhere, Elliot reasoned.

His resolve was set. He refused to be complacent in his new circumstances. However, a problem quickly arose: the only person who could truly assist him was an unyielding uninterested woman with eyes to match her empty, hollow view of their situation. Whenever he had attempted to ask about what was happening, she had always given an apathetic, halfhearted explanation that never truly answered the question; it almost made Elliot angry with how listless she seemed on the subject.

Regardless, he had to try. And there would be nothing and no one who could stop him from trying.

Leaves from an untrimmed tree scraped against the window, fueled by the wind. Three individuals sat silently on sofa cushions, awaiting their fates. After the quiet became too unbearable, one opened their mouth to speak. Not a half of a second later did the door open and close, taking their jaw with it.

“I apologize for leaving you all here for so long,” a woman with amber hair and an elegant, commanding poise said. “I had just returned to the manor from some important business. It’s a pleasure to meet you all; my name is Cleo Calidursa, Duchess of Calidursa.”

The three guests became flustered when she curtsied to them, and they scrambled to their feet to bow in kind.

One—a young man with a scrappy goatee on his chin—spoke up to say, “There’s no need to be so formal with us, Your Grace. We are but your humble servants.”

The duchess did not reply, but she did nod in recognition of his statement and sat down across from them. “I will have refreshments out for you all momentarily, so what brings you all to my residence?”

A woman presumably in her late thirties replied, “I believe we are all here for the job interviews at your estate, Your Grace,” and the other two nodded in concordance.

“Well, then I suppose we should not dally. I will have you each in this drawing room for your interviews individually; the others can stay on the bench just down the hall, if you would not mind.” She stood to her feet, smoothed out her dress, and gestured for the two women to follow her out into the hallway. Pointing to a bench about forty feet away and telling them to wait there, she walked back in and sat down.

Duchess Calidursa cleared her throat before proceeding. “Now, might I ask your name?”

“My name is Locke Verdan,” the young man answered, his face holding a blank seriousness to it.

“Alright, Mr. Verdan, what are your qualifications?” She decided to forgo asking for a resume, assuming that it would be difficult for commoners to be able to compile one in such a short time, and time was of the essence.

To her surprise, however, he summoned a folded sheet of paper from his vest and spread it flat against the coffee table between them. Cleo picked it up and scanned through as Locke explained, “I worked as a secretary for a merchant company that has since moved on to other territories. I was employed there when it was first established and was in charge of their schedules, contacts, and finances for quite some time before I left. They had asked me to train another set of secretaries as the company expanded and I intended to retire. Now, I am looking for a less strenuous line of management work—not that I am implying management of your estate would not be a taxing or busy job. Simply put, I believe I may be of great assistance considering very few individuals are currently employed at your estate, Your Grace.”

Cleo was certainly not unimpressed by Locke’s credentials. And he was right—he would be of great assistance to the estate. She had asked him a few more questions—about his life, his family, his use of his spare time, what he did after he left the company—but they were more formality than necessity.

The other two interviews went by more quickly, and before long they were over. Daisy Houseton worked odd jobs, namely housekeeping, and was looking for a more permanent position to support her children. She had been widowed shortly after her second child was born and took care of her family alone. The other lady was considerably younger—Cleo gauged her to be in her early twenties, maybe younger—and thought working as a maid or cook in the Calidursa manor would give her valuable work experience and open up opportunities for future employment prospects. Her name was Riyew Irene, but she preferred just Yew.

Cleo understood the position she was in; she could not count on other interviewees to come along later on. The House of Calidursa did not have a good reputation among their own people because of poor management of the economy in generations past. The late duke and duchess did what they could to repair the situation, however significant the damage to the dukedom’s finances was. Mysthea had succeeded in salvaging at least a stable economic status within the territory, but she was in no position to expand commerce to restock Calidursa’s treasuries. Cleo, taking this into account, was nearly astonished that three people had arrived to work within the first day at all.

Leaving them in the drawing room to wait a while longer, Cleo went to consult Mysthea, who had arrived during the middle of the first interview to drop off some water and fresh tea.

“I believe any help is better than none at the moment, Your Grace,” was her reply.

“And what say you to there qualifications? Do you believe you will be able to aptly train them?” The duchess inquired; she shifted the papers around thoughtlessly on the desk in her study. “I was thinking about keeping you in charge of territorial affairs for now, assign Mr. Verdan to estate affairs, and have Miss Houseton and Miss Irene as maids around the manor so that you may focus on more imperative matters. How does that sound?”

“That sounds splendid, Your Grace,” Mysthea agreed.

Just like that, the matter was settled and the news was given to the new employees. The decision was certainly swift. The manor now had three new faces eager to begin their work. With everything that began to transpire, the halls of the once barren house began to grow a little less lonely.