Dismissed from the grandmaster’s office, Orphelia joined Cecile and Lanston in the hall. Both were absorbed with reading their respective letters, paying no mind to her. Not wanting to risk the chance of the enchantment on the exit smiting her if she tried to leave, Orphelia leaned against a wall and opened her own letter. Predictably, it was written by her father and he was not happy.

Dear daughter,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I was appalled to hear about your troubles. While I understand the Hall has its ways of teaching, to callously put those under their care in such danger is a travesty and shows an utter disregard for the crown. Saints bless the king, despite the crown’s loss, I can only be thankful that you survived.

Given recent events, it is clear the Grand Hall is not a suitable place for your education. It may seem like a loss of opportunity now but I guarantee this will not be a setback on your road to spell mastery. Your mother and I have high expectations for your talent, after all. Upon your return to the capital, the finest tutors available will be ready to continue your instruction, or perhaps even an apprenticeship can be discussed.

Sir Quintana has graciously offered to allow you to accompany him upon his return. Before your departure, I have a task for you. Sir Quintana brought along a package for an acquaintance. Please see it arrives safely.

I look forward to your return.

Be well, daughter.

Below the last line was her father’s personal crest. Rather than a boar lying in front of three stalks of wheat, the official crest of her family, it was a snake. The viper that hunted the pest who coveted the bountiful harvest of the kingdom. A venomous creature whose poison worked just as well on its masters if handled incorrectly.

Sir Quintana’s words proved correct. Her father was calling her home to face judgment. The letter was perfectly civil on the surface, undoubtedly written that way to disguise his intentions from any prying eyes. She was surprised there was no hidden message in the words. She supposed her father had enough faith in her intelligence, or perhaps in his long years of abuse, that she would be able to discern his intentions. Truly, if he did away with the fanfare, his message equated to two lines.

Despite your failure, the situation is still salvageable. Complete your final task and return to the capital.

The time of her judgment was upon her, though she expected a light sentence. If her father intended to punish her, he would have been more abrupt. Oh, the language would have remained flowery and cheerful but he had the flaw of being unable to truly keep his temperament from his writing. It would have shown in the writing itself, the strokes of his pen biting deeper into the paper as his anger manifested.

Though, it could all be a trap, a fake tell. He could be very aware of his ‘weakness’ and using her knowledge of it to drop her guard. Keep her content and loyal as she completed her latest assignment, delivering a mystery parcel. It wasn’t the first time she’d played the role of messenger but the timing was off. She didn’t doubt that her father had a contact in the Hall but she didn’t know what he could be asking of them in the midst of this turmoil. It didn’t bode well. Normally, she would simply put the greater considerations out of her mind but she had another agenda to consider.

As she contemplated her task, Robert and Sir Quintana exited the room. She mentally prepared herself for another attack, or perhaps just a glare now that the knight had had a moment to calm himself. His attention fell on her but there was no emotion behind his gaze. “I’ve got something for you. Follow me.”

She didn’t respond as he led the way down the hall, opening the door to the stairs without the enchantment activating. Better that he had tested it rather than her.

Their group drew attention as they exited the Center Hall but not nearly as much as they would walking on the streets of the capital. Part of it was the acolytes’ focus on their studies but she suspected that ignorance was the root cause. As famous as he was, she doubted even twenty percent of the people here knew the name Manuel Reis Quintana. Of them, only a fraction could recognize him. Still, the knight had a presence that drew curious eyes.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

At the front of the building, Sir Quintana spoke to Robert, Cecile, and Lanston, giving his adopted son a vigorous rub on the head that splayed his hair in all directions and thoroughly embarrassed him. They boarded the carriage borrowed from the Gold Dorm and took off, Robert waving from the window as they galloped away.

“How heartwarming.”

Sir Quintana turned to face her and his smile faded. He waved to her impatiently, moving quickly around the back of the building. There was a patch of grass where several carriages idled, some with their beasts of burden still harnessed while others had joined the personal mounts in a large stable.

One of the carriages immediately caught her attention. Its size was unimpressive but it was constructed from southern blackwood, a tree with dark gray streaks that ran through its bark. Its lumber was dark enough it could easily be called black and it was the strongest known wood in the world. Not even the exotic lumber the Guiness Company sourced from Green Mountain could compare. The wood could deflect swords wielded by trained knights and was even resistant to fire, though not completely immune. A single plank was horrendously expensive, as very little escaped the clutches of the royal family, who claimed most of it for the use of the royal knights and army.

Harnessed to the carriage were four monsters. They vaguely resembled horses in that they had four long legs, stout bodies, long necks, and elegant manes. However, only a fool could mistake them as such.

While a warhorse of the finest quality might be able to match them in size, no breed had their midnight black color with undertones of fire, ranging from crimson reds to yellow and orange. It was as if they each had raging infernos inside their chests that gave their dark bodies a nightmarish glow. The fire burst through their skulls, flowing down their long necks in wild manes and out of their eye sockets, like hearth fires. Smoke curled around their hooves, the ground singed wherever they stepped.

Fevids, mounts praised for both their speed and power. Born from one of the breeding programs of the Sanctuary, fevids wielded both the wind and fire affinities. When they charged, a maelstrom of fire surrounded them, incinerating everything in their path. They were as dangerous as any knight riding them but were not favored as mounts.

Their bodies were dangerously hot and they were known for ‘flare-ups’, suddenly coating their bodies in white-hot flame whenever they lost their short tempers. One had to have a mastery of the fire affinity or special, and expensive, equipment to ride one. They were known as the “mad mounts”. As in, someone had to be mad to waste sizable amounts of gold to risk their lives riding one when there were easier and cheaper options.

She watched as Sir Quintana fearlessly walked up to the closest creature and stroked its snout. The fire comprising its mane flared but he seemed unbothered by the heat. The animal huffed, snorting twin gouts of flame.

“Fascinating creatures,” she said as she slowly approached. One of them raised its head, spearing her with a glare she could feel despite there being nothing but fire within the two sockets. “I’ve always wonder how they can see.”

“They don’t, not the way we do,” the knight said as he circled around to the back of the carriage. Touching an inconspicuous piece of wood, it began to glow with the light of an enchantment and a small drawer slid out. “They see heat.” He opened the top of the drawer, withdrawing a small, ornate wooden box and another letter. He passed them over. From the quality of the work on the box, she knew a master must have done the carvings, all depictions of nature, mainly trees. She couldn’t imagine what was inside the palm-sized container that warranted such expensive wrapping.

She expected the letter to be a message from her father but was proved wrong by the wax seal. A crown in the middle of a tower shield with two crossed swords behind it. The royal seal.

Orphelia stared at it dumbly, mind rapidly turning as she tried to imagine what circumstances had led to her delivering a message for the king. A part of her itched to rip it open and see the contents, an urge that tripled in intensity when she saw who it was addressed to.

To Miss Kierra Atainna

“To be clear,” Sir Quintana said, snapping her from her daze, “I am the true messenger. You are being allowed to accompany me to ‘make introductions’ and smooth the way. Something that sounded like more of that snake’s maneuvering until I heard from my heir how close you are to Lady Tome.”

His tone made it clear that he had heard of her actions during the qualifiers and his expression said he didn’t think much of her for them. “Are you sure your conduct isn’t going to make things more difficult for me?”

“Not at all. Lou has an appreciation for women and her wife appreciates her. You, good knight, are an old, crass soldier. If you showed up alone, I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned you away at the door.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Well, it’s not my decision to make.” He moved around the carriage and opened the door, waving for her to get in. The inside was just as spartan as the outside. She was grateful that at least the seats were cushioned.

“Are we not waiting for your driver?”

He scoffed. “Do you think anyone can control fevids? I’m the driver. Now, get in before I decide to do this on my own.”

An empty threat. The king himself had ordered she assist him so he would be going nowhere without her. That didn’t mean he couldn’t make the trip uncomfortable. She decided to make both their lives easier and climbed into the carriage without a fuss.