Peaceful days surely had fallen across the region. Spring warmed Kar, letting it bloom into its full glory. Farmers began preparing the rich land, artisans took to selling their wares in the streets, and with the Temple being formally requested to leave by the Emperor people no longer felt nervous of their neighbors. If the emperor had demanded it then surely there was no truth behind the accusations.

One evening, in the middle of his attempts to relax, Warren handed Gilbert a clipped stack of papers. His translations of the Grimoire. Warren had said that he wasn’t going to demand he read them, but since they were already in hot water together, he might as well. He’d said it in his normal joking manner but as he walked out of Gilbert’s room he’d added, almost wistfully, that there was something he wanted to share with Gil so bad it hurt some nights, but he couldn’t do that unless he read.

It was a…strange thing to hear. He’d hidden the papers in the back of his wardrobe, but every so often, throughout the day, his eyes would settle on the otherwise mundane piece of furniture. Every day he got a little closer to wanting to read them.

Warren had called Gilbert to accompany him into the city. There’d been complaints from some of the city’s businesses about an increase in taxes he wasn’t aware of so Lord Salphus had decided to go investigate the Tax collector.

These types of trips were always rather troublesome. Warren wasn’t particularly fond of having to put his foot down about things, but he supposed he had no choice anymore. His father would be retiring from the position of Governor in the next few years and he would be taking over. It was important that he establish his authority as much as he could for a smooth transition.

“My Lord, If you walk around with that look on your face, people are going to assume you’re a half-wit.”

Warren smiled to himself. Even with such chastising words he still managed to sound caring when he said them. Warren had gotten lost in thought as they strolled the street, taking his mind off their destination. “Haha, maybe I can use that to my advantage. If people make the mistake of thinking so lightly of me then I’ll be able to take advantage of them,” He grinned to Gilbert. The young man had all the amusement of a Dreger.

“That’s not the way the future Lord of House Salphus should speak.”

Warren let out a small chuckle of amusement. “Such a dry answer Gil,” He teased.

“My Lord, your poor etiquette aside. . .”

Oh, how Warren hoped Gil never found a new job. No one else would dare speak to him like that.

“The weather seems to have turned foul, we should find a place to wait it out,” Gilbert recommended.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Foul? It was absolutely gorgeous half an hour ago. Storms normally didn’t come into the capital that quickly. Warren’s eyes turned to the sky. Angry grey clouds rolled in from the south, blanketing their city in dreary darkness. He breathed deeply, frowning. The air smelt of pepper and tea tree. There was a soft churning of the wind. If he stood still, he could feel it, moving in slow, deliberate circles across his skin. The air pressure pulsed, slowly and faintly. A heartbeat that no person with their eyes shut would be able to feel. By his side, he turned his palm outward. Slowly he tried to curl his fingers inward, but he was met with sharp resistance like he was holding a stone in his hand. There was nothing natural about this storm.

As if Cors had heard him the sky opened up and spilled tears to the earth, the wind wailed and screamed. Thunder cracked across the horizon. Gil grabbed Warren's hand, pulling him into a small shop to their back, ducking into cover. The hair on the back of Warren's neck was standing up. The storm felt temperamental, lashing out at those below it. He didn’t like this at all.

“Tsk, you never listen to me,” Gilbert complained, squeezing out his hair. Water dripped and pulled from his own clothes, gather in a little puddle at his feet. How had they gotten so wet so quickly? How long had they stood in the rain?

The pounding of the rain against the roof drowned out most of the chatter in the little store. It seemed to be a shop to buy tickets down the river on a ferry. Warren looked around the office. A ticket counter and a few benches where people waited with their luggage, but otherwise mostly empty. He turned his attention back out the window. Not far from them he could see the docks and the ships that sat upon the wide and winding SinJin river. When….had they walked all the way out here? This was nowhere near the tax collector's office.

“You must have something on your mind, you’re not normally quite THIS distracted,” Gilbert said, offering him a small towel that he’d gotten from the woman at the ticket counter. “Yes, it seems that way…” mumbling, he took the towel beginning to pat himself dry. His eyes were glued on the ships outside the window as the rain assaulted the docks and churned the river into a frothy mess.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the river get like that. We’re going to be stuck here for a while,” Gil said, sighing a bit and rubbing the back of his head. Still, when Warren didn’t acknowledge his comment he followed the young lords eyeline out to the docks. He stepped up beside him, squinting a bit.

“That small ship, with the yellow flag, is that the Temple’s?” Gil asked. Warren’s eyes ran up from the water, up the side of the ship, flowing the lines to the tip of the mast. At the top, a white and yellow flag whipped around in the furious wind, yanked side to side in a flurry. The wind seemed like it wanted to rip the flag in half. “They must be leaving today. The river will take them down back to the Temple,” Warren muttered. The wind sounded like it was beginning to come in rhythmic waves, a waltz’s tempo being beaten out against the sides of the building. He pressed his hand to the window to feel the throb of the wind. As the storm grew even more fierce and the ships began to bob at their docks a sense of curious calm came over him.

There was a soft pulling at the back of his mind like he could just barely make out words being said in the distance behind him. He turned to look, but no one seemed to be talking. He felt drawn outside despite the weather. A yearning that felt almost primal in nature, as natural as desire. The itch became too strong to ignore. He opened the door to step back out into the rain, walking towards the dock, a few slow steps at a time.