Chapter 4

Cel Verrus

Cel

They stayed watching until the last of the caravan disappeared into the forest. Eliot’s family, the saints they are, assured Cel that he’d always have a place with them before leaving. After he was sure they were out of ear-shot, he dropped his face into his hands and groaned.

“Later? Really? What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growled, balling his fists. “You aren’t going to see him for gods’ know how long and that’s what you say? You can’t even be normal and hug him, you useless fucking orphan!”

He ran his hands through his hair and dropped to the ground, panting from his shouts. He hunched forward, dropping his head between his legs. Elbows propped on his knees, he pressed his palms against his forehead, and stayed like that until everything died down.

For as long as he could remember, he’d never been good with emotions. Especially when they related to family. It would have been better if he’d said goodbye back at the orphanage. Then, he wouldn’t have intruded like he did. He had no place next to Eliot’s family, or any family. He was just an unwanted waste of space with no one that loved him.

Of course, there was Maybel, but she practically treated him like a stranger. It was normal for her to say five words to him in as many weeks. And in the rare cases where she did show emotion, it would usually be annoyance over something stupid.

Once he finally calmed down, he was left with nothing but a looming feeling of drear. The question of “now what?” pervaded his mind, like a specter whispering in his ear. Eliot and Cel hit it off as best friends within the same month Cel and Maybell first arrived in the town. Now that Eliot was gone, what was he supposed to do with himself? Read law books next to Maybell like he did the first few weeks? Maybe that would get Maybell to hate him a little less; it felt like they were closer back then. But how long until he ran out of law to read? And what did it accomplish besides learning more ways the world was against him? At one point, he was naive enough to think by learning law he could move up in the world, but it was the Town of Flora’s own Mayor Caldwell that demonstrated it was impossible to get anywhere in law by following it.

By the time he trudged back to the orphanage, he accepted that it didn’t matter what he did. No matter what it was, it would be awfully boring until he got used to being numb again. He hardly remembered it now, but he knew there was a point in time where he was almost as apathetic as Maybell. From the beginning, he was well aware that his time with Eliot was limited. Eliot was a genius and a mage. He wasn’t going to waste his time in a place like the Town of Flora, with a person like him. It was inevitable, and he knew that. But, somehow, he managed to forget it.

As he flopped on the space of the floor where all his things were scattered near each other, Maybell droned, “Welcome back.”

Cel looked up at her, slouched against the wall reading her book, and wondered if she knew more about his internal struggle than he thought. He didn’t know how he felt about that. Eventually, he sighed and decided it didn’t matter. Nothing did, really.

He stirred the next morning to wailing. He covered his ears and did his best to ignore it. Someone else could deal with it. Unfortunately, as the wailing grew louder, he realized it was coming from multiple people. For Carl, the youngest at six years old, crying wasn’t a rare occurrence. Carl, Orial, Gerald, and Larry all crying together, was. Sitting up, he saw Travis doing his best to comfort them, while everyone else were languidly cleaning their areas.

He turned to his left and asked, “What’s going on?”

Silica, the third oldest after Cel and Travis, dispassionately murmured, “Verline is selling the building. The new owner doesn’t want us here.”

“They can’t do that, it’s against the law,” Cel argued.

“Tell that to the guards outside.”

Cel burst outside to see three forlorn guards, Captain Keizer among them.

“Why am I being told that Verline is selling the building and getting rid of the orphanage?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” was all he had to say.

“They aren’t allowed to do that. The Lord of the land insists that every settlement in his territory has a sanctuary for any uncared-for children,” Cel recited part of a line he’d read from a treatise of governance written by Klause Crucible, the noble whose jurisdiction their town fell under.

Captain Keizer looked down and said,“I tried. There isn’t anything I can do.”

“You’re the ones with armor and weapons,” Cel growled, “Just say no.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“Then, how does it work!” he shouted, balling his fists and sharpening his eyes into daggers.

“We’re all truly sorry,” Captain Keizer shook his head solemnly.

Cel turned on his heel and vowed, “When I’m done there won’t be anything to be sorry about.”

Captain Keizer grabbed his shoulder and warned, “Don’t do anything rash, now.”

Cel met his eyes and promised, “I know what I’m doing.”

After a long moment, Captain Keizer loosened his grip and nodded. Cel strode back inside, making a bee-line for the stairs leading into Verline’s office.

“Everybody stop packing! I’m fixing this,” he announced to the room, on his way.

“Are you going to kill him?” asked an almost hopeful voice.

Cel stopped in his tracks and wheeled around to see an animated Maybell. “What?” he asked, flabbergasted that she would say something like that.

Seeing everyone stare at her in shock, her demeanor dropped back into a monotone with an, “Oh, nevermind.” She stopped wrapping her books in clothing and dropped against the wall, going back to reading like everything was normal.

Cel threw whatever that was to the back of his mind, for now, and barged into Verline’s office. The difference between the orphan’s floor and Verline’s floor was like the difference between Paradise and the Abyss. The floors were varnished wood with ostentatious baseboards, that met walls covered in paintings and framed documents. The snake himself leaned back in his cushioned chair, swirling a ceramic cup full of wine; his emerald eyes glinted as he smirked at a piece of paper. The desk in front of him, adorned with all sorts of opulent accents, plundered nearly an entire half of the room, sporting more drawers and surface area than anyone would ever need. The crown jewel of the room’s design, however, were the candles with dyed flames, made to be nearly indistinguishable from the color of daylight. In consequence, the room shone as if perfectly ablaze under midday sun.

Faced with Cel’s violent entrance, Verline simply lowered the document and snidely remarked, “Cel, my boy. Don’t be so barbarous with my furniture. If you were to damage any such thing, it would reflect poorly on the property’s value. We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Despite the man’s insufferable sneer, Cel’s fury died in its infancy. Just seconds ago, he felt ready to murder the man, but laying eyes on him echoed Maybell’s words. The mere thought of killing even a snake like Verline pulled his stomach and stopped him in his tracks. He’d felt this feeling before, though, and knew it would pass quickly. He took a deep breath and reminded himself what he set out to do. He was a coward, but he could do this.

Instead of answering, Cel calmly admired the deed of ownership in Verline’s name. It hung the highest of any other frame; the few times Cel had been in the office before, the placement engendered a crushing feeling of inferiority. He lifted the frame from its hook and sat across from Verline, tossing the frame at his side of the desk.

“I’ve been told,” he began slowly, “That you’re planning on selling the property. Is this true?”

“Yes, though it pains my heart, I can’t be certain what the new owner has in mind for this place,” Verline expressed his condolences with a gold plated smile.

“Great. I’ll be having it, then.”

Verline laughed heartily. “Now, forgive me, boy, but I doubt you have the coin for a purchase such as this.”

“No worries, I do,” Cel assured him. He fished around in his coin purse and placed a copper on the desk, then slid it to Verline.

“This is all very amusing, boy, but I’m to meet with an interested party soon. I do hope you’ll be out by then, otherwise you’d be forcing the guard to take action.”

“Like I said before, there’s no reason to worry. Since I’ll be the new owner, if the guards have to take action, it would be to evict you. And I’m sure you wouldn’t put the guards through all that trouble,” Cel informed him in the same tone.

Verline finally frowned and tuted, “I tire of this joke, boy. I understand you’re grateful for the shelter and care I’ve given you, but I couldn’t possibly accept whatever . . . this is.” The man looked upon the copper piece in disgust.

Cel shook his head and sighed, “Do I really have to spell it out for you. I’d hoped that someone of your talents would understand sooner. If you don’t sell me this property for exactly one copper, I’ll be forced to tell Mayor Caldwell that the child he’s been raising isn’t his.”

Verline stiffened in shock, though only for a moment. As if it were an achievement, he adopted a vauntful grin.“I can’t possibly imagine how you even drumpt such a thing. Although ladies certainly find me irresistible, Caldwell is a business partner of mine. The mere accusation of such a thing is an insult to my pedigree. And, even if such a preposterous thing were true, there would exist no way to prove it,” he boasted, secure in his castle of jade.

“Oh, that’s right,” Cel exclaimed in mock realization, “You haven’t seen the baby yet, have you? She has the most beautiful green eyes. No doubt, she’ll be a heartbreaker. That does make one think, though. The mayor and his wife both have black eyes. I’m sure the mayor already suspects such a preposterous thing, but he’s far too civilized than to stoop to baseless accusations. Now, what do you think would happen if I pointed him in your direction, equipped with my testimony?”

The narcissism was finally wiped clean off his face. “Caldwell and I have been good partners for some time now. Why in the world would he believe your word over mine?” Verline argued anxiously.

Cel sighed dramatically. “So, I really have to spell it all out for your simple mind to understand? I’m sure you know that I’m close to the Reileus family. It so happens that they are very close with Sir and Lady Seren. If the town’s physicians were to speak on my behalf, I’m sure there would be no doubt in the mayor’s mind.”

“What do you want?” Verline snarled.

“I already told you.” Cel flashed a vauntful grin right back at him. “You will be selling this land and everything on it to me, for one copper piece.”

Verline glowered at Cel, picked up the paper he was reading, and headed for the door to his bedroom. Cel lifted a finger—stopping him in his tracks—and asked, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“If I’m to leave, I must collect my things. I’ll sign whatever you want, in the meantime,” Verline ground through clenched teeth.

“Didn’t you hear what I said? You’ll be giving me this land and everything on it. Nothing here is yours anymore, it’s mine.”

Verline stepped forward with balled fists, murder in his eyes. Before he could do anything, Cel whispered, “Think very carefully about your next actions, Verline. Captain Keizer is standing-by just outside, afterall.”

After signing away the property, Verline turned in the doorway leading downstairs and vowed, “You have no idea what you’ve done. You will come to regret this, Cel Verrus.”

Cel met his glare unwaveringly. “In due time, maybe. But for now, get the fuck off my property.”

When he finally left, Cel collapsed into Verline’s chair, exhausted. Nothing left to do but wait for the situation to sink in, he read the document Verline was so proud of. Suddenly, he understood why Verline considered murder, despite the circumstances. The paper was a professional assessment of the property’s value. Considering the large amount of land, size of the building, structural material, and everything else, it was estimated to be worth over twenty platinum. If it was located a little closer to the capitol, it would be worth upwards of fifty. The real price, however, could only be estimated after taking into consideration its original blueprints. According to them, the building was made with a host of structural and defensive engravings and rituals, fit to protect a lord of as much esteem as Klause Crucible. Apparently, the building would stay standing in the face of a dragon attack. Then, as it turned out, the hill and a large area underneath it were nearly completely hollow. If they had finished it, the vast majority of the manor would have been underground, which the defensive and structural magic already put in place would encompass. Meaning, if the owner so pleased, they could finish the design without having to involve any mages whatsoever. All in all, the property’s value couldn’t be accurately estimated. Technically, it was priceless.

Contrary to the fact that he now owned the property and building, his hard-won relief evaporated into anxiety. If all of that was true, Verline’s revenge was sure to match the severity of the situation. While Verline wasn’t anywhere near a noble, he had a large amount of wealth to pull from.

He covered his face with the paper and groaned, “What did I just do?”

Fact of the matter was: Verline was right. Cel had no idea what he was getting himself into. He’d prepared himself for all types of petty slights, slander, and some annoyance from Mayor Caldwell when Verline put pressure on all the traders trading with the Town of Flora. Afterall, to Verline, an incomplete manor in a backwater town shouldn’t have been worth much. Now, everything was on the table; Verline was going to be out for blood.

“What can I do?” Cel asked the room. “What do I have in my favor?”

No matter how many times he rethought it, he came to the same conclusion: time. The Town of Flora was a far ways away from the rest of civilization. Even then, as a wealthy merchant family, there’s no doubt their power would be centered in the Metropolis. Since the closest portal transport was in Relice, it wasn’t until Verline’s actions spread that far that he could utilize the full power of his backing. It’ll take time for Verline to travel to a place where he could send word, it’ll take time for his word to spread, and it’ll take time for his plans to come to fruition. If he could puzzle out what Verline was likely to throw at him, he had plenty of time to thwart it before it hit him.

As he was lost in thought, the door creaked open and the older orphans tentatively walked in—which was to say Silica, Yuri, Travis, and Maybell.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, pulling himself out of his stupor.

“What in the Abyss did you do?” Silica whispered, as if they would be in trouble for talking too loud. “Verline looked like he was going to kill someone, and then he just left!”

Seeing their neurotic demeanors, Cel couldn’t help himself. “You don’t have to worry anymore. I bought the orphanage from Verline, and I promise it’s not going anywhere.”

“How did you buy the orphanage?” Travis questioned, doubtful.

“With information,” Cel told a half truth.

“What could you have possibly said for him to give you the orphanage, and why was he so mad?” Travis argued, unconvinced.

“Does it matter?” Maybell groused as she casually flung the door open to Verline’s personal bedroom. To the day, none of them had seen what was in it.

Cel sighed, “What she’d trying to say is: Verline is gone, now. If I can manage it, he’ll stay that way.”

Though he doubted his words could alleviate all of their worries, Maybell’s venture into the unknown had pretty much stolen everyone’s attention from the conversation. After a second of hesitation, everyone in the room moved to follow. Cel had always thought Verline’s office was the pinnacle of extravagance and luxury. His bedroom eclipsed it in every way whatsoever.

The orphanage was the size of a small manor. The first floor was left unfinished, so it had foundation for a floor, exposed wood, insufficient lighting, leaky pipes, and no fixtures of any kind. It was a very large, very empty room, enough to produce an echo of even quiet sounds. Verline’s bedroom, on the other hand, was filled with nearly every luxury imaginable, yet spacious enough to hold a duel. An ornate canopy bed with silks so expensive they could buy a small plot of land, and large enough to fit four people side to side, took up all the space of a quaint corner. Next to it was a shadewood nightstand with inlaid gemstones, holding an ivory and platinum statuette of a half naked elven woman. The magically controlled and generated lighting was bright enough to read, yet dim enough to sleep, and caught on every precious metal resplendently. The marble flooring was basically hidden under layers of plush, variegated furs and rugs. Along the walls hung expansive landscapes with mind blowing detail, and opulent dueling weapons of all kinds. From golden scimitars with ruby and topaz set into the hilts, to a massive purple waraxe with a diamond encrusted handle longer than Cell was tall. Standing awestruck in the middle of the room, every flick of Cel’s eyes caught a new, ostentatious item or decoration that was valuable enough to buy the entire Town of Flora in one fell swoop. More than anything, it made him sick to his stomach. The Sheer amount of wealth in the room alone was disgusting.

The three of them remained frozen, completely overwhelmed, until Maybell flopped onto the bed hard enough to scatter half the many pillows at their feet. Cel stumbled over to Verline’s personal desk and put his hand on the back of its padded chair for support. He nearly lost his balance when the chair swiveled around to meet him. He crouched down for closer inspection, and found that it didn’t have a stand at all—it floated. Cel collapsed into the chair, his arms naturally relaxing on the rest and the chair tilting with his weight. He raised his hands to shade his eyes, then broke down into mirthless laughter.

He was utterly, unequivocally screwed. He’d grossly underestimated the amount of wealth Verline had at his disposal. Verline had many homes scattered throughout the empire. If they were even near the amount of extravagance showcased before them, there was absolutely nothing Cel could do to stop Verline from doing anything he wanted.

Suddenly, Maybell snapped, “You’re overreacting. Half of this is faux and the other he extorted from people who didn’t know any better. The bed isn’t even that soft.”

Cel flinched out of his mania at her words—never before had she spoke to him in an aggravated tone. After a few seconds, he frowned in thought. Taking just a cursory glance, he realized she was right. Verline was a narcissistic, braggadocious man. He wouldn’t shut up about even his smallest exploits, to the point that Cel recognized multiple items he’d overheard Verline admit were practically stolen from their vendors. There was no greater feat a merchant could aspire towards than legal robbery.

That notwithstanding, the room still held a fortune. It begged the question of why Verline would care enough to leave it, even temporarily. Originally, Cel had thought the manor wouldn’t be worth much. To avoid the deep-seated and life-long ire of Mayor Caldwell, Verline would let go of an unfinished building in a backwater town. How in Life’s Loving Paradise did Mayor Caldwell pose a significant enough threat to the man that he let go of so much? Especially considering that Verline was in the process of selling his only property in the Town of Flora. What did Caldwell’s ire matter if he was never going to step foot in the town again? The amount of money trade with the Town of Flora earned him couldn’t possibly be worth it. The more Cel thought about it, the more he was convinced there was some important information he wasn’t privy to. Something that Mayor Caldwell knew or was capable of had to hold massive consequences. Whatever it was, if he wanted to stand a chance against Verline, he would need to figure it out as soon as possible.

“So . . . what now?” Travis spoke up diffidently.

Cel chucked helplessly; he was plagued with the same question. In a matter of mere minutes, without fully considering the consequences, he permanently altered the trajectories of their lives. In truth, he was just as clueless as the rest of them. He wanted nothing more than to throw his hands in the air and go hide in a hole until verline forgot he existed. As he looked up at the people looking to him for answers, though, he realized the time for giving up had long passed. The fact of the matter was: he’d made a drastic choice involving everyone who lived in the orphanage without consulting them. He had to take responsibility for his actions.

Cel took a deep breath to steel his nerves, and glided his seat towards an embellished ivory bench, pushed up against the wall. Sitting proudly on the bench was a large, rectangular box gilded in precious metals. Lifting the top, the inside was divided into five sections labeled and decorated after the different denominations of coins: copper, silver, gold, platinum, and mythril.

Looking inside, Cel couldn’t help a snort of derision. Every section, even the mythral, had at least one coin in it—every section except copper, which was left completely empty. Despite Verline’s track record and the proof before his eyes, he struggled to accept that someone so stupidly vain and amoral existed in reality. Furthermore, the fact that someone that moronic had all the power and influence he did made his blood boil.

“Now,” Cel announced, mustering a confident voice, “We make this place better.”

“How do you mean?” Silica asked, the three of them staring wide eyed at the tangible fortune of coins.

“Renovations. The first floor needs new floors, new walls, new pipes, a basin and shower, chandeliers or at least sconces, furniture . . .” he listed off the top of his head. “Then, we need new clothes, shoes, and food.”

“W-w-we’re getting all that,” Yuri stammered in shock.

Cel nodded with his best attempt at a warm smile. “Of course. We should have had that since the beginning, but Verline took it from us. Now that he’s gone, I won’t let everyone live like this anymore.”

After a minute of overwhelming emotion, Travis admitted, “We don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll help. It’s a lot for one person to do alone, afterall.”

“We’ll do it, whatever you need,” Travis swore, clearly speaking for the three of them.

Cel leaned down to grab an embroidered silver coin purse from a small collection in a woven basket, next to the bench. He filled it with a few handfuls of silver pieces and a few golds, then tossed it to Travis. “Go talk to Sir and Lady Reileus, get their opinion on all the floors and walls and dividing the space. Also, ask about the pipes and shower, since Sir Reileus knows some about plumbing. Take the little ones with you, too, I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

Travis jumped to catch the coin purse, then considered it in awe, feeling its weight for the first time, fingering the silk. “Yeah, ok. I can do that,” he stumbled over his words.

Filling a second one and tossing it to Silica, Cel explained, “You talk to Sir Gurand, then Lady Felldew. Do your best to explain that you want plain chandeliers, but if he can’t do that for some reason, sconces are fine, too. Just ask Lady Felldew for whatever candles she has that lost the longest, and get as many of those as you can. If she doesn’t have more than twenty, try and see if you can order more for the future.”

“Yes, Sir Verrus!” Silica exclaimed with a feverish nod.

Cel took a second to frown at that. As odd and out of place as it sounded, now that he owned property and land, it would be the way everyone addressed him going forward. He never liked his family name, afterall he inherited it from parents he never met, and that cared so little they abandoned him with a younger sister. He never knew his birth name, either. Cel was just something Maybell called him when she was younger, so he took it as his first name. It was the one thing in life that he had control over. Now, even that was taken away.

“What about me?” Yuri asked just above a whisper, snapping Cel back to focus.

“You’ll go talk to Lady Nyer for clothes for everyone.”

Before he could continue explaining, however, Maybell suddenly insisted, “You and I have to buy clothes. I want a new cloak.”

Though he felt it was best if Yuri took care of the clothes, once Maybell had her sights set on something, there was no dissuading her. “The only thing that’s left is furniture. Can you handle that?” he asked her.

Yuri hesitated as she looked at the ground, clearly torn. While Travis and Silica were already fourteen, Yuri was only twelve—just two years older than Maybell. From a practical lense, Cel knew it would be best not to give her a task at all, but he didn’t want to make her timid personality worse by not including her, either. Out of all the tasks, Clothes was by far the easiest since all she needed to do was ask for clothes, and Lady Nyer, who knew the sizes of everyone in town, would handle the rest.

“She can trade with me,” Silica spoke up. She turned and handed the coin purse to her. “You remember everything he said, right? You can handle it.”

Faced with Silica’s enthusiasm—whom she had the closest relationship with—Yuri accepted the purse. “I can do that much,” she confirmed.

“Getting furniture will probably take the longest and be the most complicated. You’ll have to talk to just about everyone, and I doubt anyone will have enough stocked for our needs. You’ll need to bargain a bunch of orders,” Cel explained the difficulties.

“I’m good at arguing, just ask this idiot,” Silica assured before elbowing Travis. He glared at her, but reluctantly nodded his agreement. “What should I get?” she asked.

“Top priority is beds, you’ll have to get the frame and mattress separately. Then, chests, a table large enough for all of us, and chairs. Otherwise, just get what you or anyone else would like,” Cel gave her a cursory rundown. As much as he wanted to trust Silica to get the job done, he knew it wasn’t realistic to expect all that much. Since none of them had ever handled money before, his best hope was that the people of the town took pity on them and didn’t overcharge. At least it would be a good learning experience.

“We’ll, uh, we’ll get to it, then,” Travis announced as he led them downstairs.

After they left, Cel leaned back with a sigh. “I wish Eliot was here. He’d know what to do in a heartbeat,” he whispered.

“Don’t we all,” Maybell drawled.

Cel jerked forward and exclaimed, “That’s the other thing! Why are you so talkative today?”

After a long moment of silence, Maybell shut her book and rolled off the bed with a sigh. As she trudged to the balcony door, she said, “Don’t ask me that question. You don’t like where it leads.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cel asked in exasperation.

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“Never mind, forget it,” she mumbled before throwing open the door and walking outside.

Cel mulled her words over in his head, but as usual, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Either way, there was nothing he could do now, except humor her. He filled up his own coin purse, and followed her outside.

The balcony was less a balcony, and more an open-air extension of the second floor. Verline’s office and room together only accounted for two-thirds of the first floor’s area, leaving plenty of room for bright decoration. The balustrade was made of a polished marble that seemed to deflect the sun everywhere but the eyes. Aside from a padding rocking chair, a luxurious wooden table with a large umbrella overhead took up most of the space, leaving the area tastefully open. Meanwhile, the outside wall of Verline’s room was similarly covered in vain pherphinelia and objects of status, all arranged to heighten the grandeur of the centerpiece: a massive portrait of Verline sitting with his hands folded.

“I was wondering where this would be,” Cel muttered as he examined the artistry. In the portrait, Verline wore a deep, thoughtful expression hiding an unknowable wisdom behind his eyes. In other words, anathema to everything Verline was in reality. The artist really outdid themself.

He hefted it from the wall, just able to reach the sides with his full arm span, and walked it to the edge.

Before he could drop it, though, Maybell snapped, “Don’t get rid of it all! The frame is made of real precious metals. Just take the painting out.”

“Coin is made of the same stuff, and we have plenty of that now,” Cel argued.

“That’s utterly incorrect. Every coin is just a copper coin wrapped in an alloy hardly pure enough to retain the original metal’s color. That’s why no one weighs coins anymore.”

Cel grouched, “Does it really matter as long as everyone thinks they’re worth something?”

“Yes. It does,” Maybell asseverated.

“Fine.” With no time to properly deal with it, he set the painting facedown on the floor. He looked towards the rounded stairs leading to the ground, each step large enough to give the illusion of walking down a gentle slant rather than jarring tiers. “We should get going before it’s late.”

The next week he would remember for the rest of his life. Travis, Silica, and Yuri completed their tasks without getting completely ripped off. In a few days, everyone had beds, fresh clothes, and consistent food in their stomachs. Maybell got a new favorite cloak. As usual, she picked out the most impractical and astonishing one: a silk cloak of pure white, hemed in golden. It wasn’t even meant for sale, Lady Nyer only made it as a showpiece of her abilities. And to top it all off, it was too big for her. Thankfully, it wasn’t made full length to cut down on costs, but it still dragged at her feet. He warned her multiple times that it would get irreversibly stained in just a few days. She didn’t care.

Although he was against it at first, when he saw how much she liked it, his chest swelled with emotion. She smiled and danced and laughed, as a kid should. And for the first time in their lives, he provided for her, as an older brother should.

When he realized just how severe the consequences of his actions would be, Cel wondered if he’d made the right choice starting trouble with Verline. But after he saw the reactions of everyone else, he knew he had. The orphanage used to be a dreadful hellscape. Now, it was filled with laughter and joy. It was bright and clean. It held high spirits and shiny smiles. More than anything, the orphans finally had hope. Hope that things would get better.

It wasn’t over, though. In fact, most of the furniture wasn’t made yet, and it took a long time to figure out the specifics of the changes to the first floor. In no time at all, the Reileus family, the lumberjacks, and a few guards helped to heft materials up the hill, in the early morning. The men were engaged in a loud, animated conversation, not dissimilar to one they would have drunk during a celebration. Seeing Sir Reileus in a social situation, it was clear where Eliot got all his charm from. After setting everything down, they stayed and talked for close to ten minutes.

Cel and everyone else were already outside, along with most of their new furniture. Maybell was the only one still inside, reading in his room. He’d taken the time to throw as much of the disgusting wealth as he could in the cellar—where he found a large stock of aging wines and alcohol. Lady Reileus and Elizebeth walked up to him leaning against the wall.

He kicked off and asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Lady Reileus shook her head with a kind smile. “You’ve already done so much. Rest, you deserve it.”

He definitely didn’t agree with that, but he nodded anyway.

“So, how does it feel to be a hero?” Elizebeth asked him after her mother went inside to prep the room.

“What are you talking about?” Cel asked, puzzled.

“Didn’t you know? Everyone’s talking about you. You valiantly fought off that villainous snake Verline, afterall,” she told him with a cheeky grin.

Cel knew talk would get around, but he had no idea they’d paint him in such a favorable light.

“How did you manage to get rid of him?”

He frowned, knowing she’d ask sooner or later. “Swear you won’t tell anyone else?” he asked.

“My lips are sealed,” she promised solemnly.

“I blackmailed him. He had an affair with Lady Caldwell; the kid’s his,” Cel confessed.

Elizebeth covered her mouth in shock. “No mames!” she whispered conspiratorially.

“That’s what happened,” Cel shrugged.

“I would expect something like that from Eliot, but not you. That’s kind of badass, Cel,” she complimented enthusiastically.

Cel scoffed, “It definitely didn’t feel like that, but . . . thanks.”

After a moment, she joined him in leaning on the wall and asked, “How’ve you been since Eliot left?”

“I’ve been really busy, so I haven’t taken too much time to think about it,” he lied.

“Can’t blame you. Suddenly having all this money and property must be jarring. You get Verline’s old room, right? Is it as good as you would expect?”

“Yeah,” Cel chuckled, “It’s too good, honestly. The bed is huge, I don’t even take up a quarter of it.”

Elizebeth hesitated for a moment before saying, “That’s good to hear. It’ll be nice to have a big bed in the future, considering we’re probably going to get married.”

Her words were so ludicrous, it took a few seconds for Cel to process them. “I had no idea you thought of me like that,” he accused, whirling to look at her.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t,” she clarified quickly, waving her hands in front of her. “I still see you as my brother’s friend. But it doesn’t take a genius to look at everyone in the town and see we’re the obvious pair.”

“What are you talking about?” Cel asked, still completely shocked.

“When it comes to marriage, even though you are my brother’s friend, you’re clearly the best option. Who else am I supposed to marry, Matthew? And I don’t want to sound narcissistic, but I’m clearly your best option, too,” she explained.

“Maybe I’m missing something here, but people usually get married to people they’re attracted to.”

“Well, you’re . . . not bad,” Elizebeth said reluctantly.

“It’s physically painful for you to comment on my appearance,” Cel immediately shot back.

“I’d get used to it,” she insisted, “Also, you’re a nice guy, and you’re pretty rich now. Like I said, you’re the best option. Am I that bad?”

“Call me naive, but I don’t want to marry someone if we don’t have romantic feelings for each other. And no, being romantic isn’t something you can get used to,” he argued.

“I supposed,” she sighed. “I mostly just brought it up to get your reaction.”

“Besides, I’m not your only option,” Cel argued further. “You can always move to another settlement.”

“With what money?” Elizebeth scoffed.

“I have no doubt that when Eliot comes back, he’ll be incredibly rich, especially by the Town of Flora’s standard. I also have no doubt that he wouldn’t hesitate to give you some.”

“And I wouldn’t hesitate to refuse it. That’s Eliot’s money, not mine,” she asserted.

“Fair enough,” Cel conceded, “But even then, the Town of Flora is likely to become a City sometime next year. When that happens, there’ll be a lot of new people coming to live here.”

“A lot of new people, not a lot of new options. No one’s going to change settlements unless they’re already established and old. I don’t want to marry some fifty-year-old, thanks,” Elizebeth said irreverently.

“You never know, it could happen,” Cel tried.

Elizebeth accented her words with a point of her finger, “When you start saying stuff like that, you know you’ve lost an argument.”

“You’re just like Eliot,” Cel grumbled, crossing his arms. “Does cynicism run in the family?”

“I’m not being cynical, I’m being realistic,” Elizebeth sighed, “And I think you should be too. You’re getting older, you have money, a manor to call your own. The only thing missing is a wife.” When Cel didn’t answer for a long moment, she said, “I should probably go help. Just think about it, okay?”

Cel promised, “I’ll think about it, but . . .” He shook his head, not sure how to finish his words. Marriage and romance were the farthest thing from his mind with Verline’s wrath just on the horizon. Even if he wasn’t preoccupied with that, Elizebeth was only considering it because she saw how he was on the outside. If she knew how pathetic he really was, she’d stay far, far away.

Cel tried his best to relax after Elizebeth left. Watching the rest of the orphans play some mix between tag and skewer the jackalope helped, but not for long. Inevitably, his thoughts fixated on his next moves—rather, lack thereof. He’d thought at first that he could circumvent Verline’s plans if he knew them in advance. The more he thought about the specifics, though, he realized there wasn’t much for Verline to do at all. Either Verline would try to find some way to frame him, in which case Cel was confident he knew enough about law to fight on equal grounds, or he would send an assassin of some kind. Most likely, he’d do both. Bribes and trickery first, then murder when that failed. If an assassin were to come for him, he was screwed no matter what. It wasn’t like he could have the guard personally protect him and his property alone, and if the assassin was skilled enough no amount of security he could muster would be enough. No matter how he looked at it, he was living on borrowed time.

Realistically, his only hope was to hold out long enough for Eliot to return. If Eliot ever returned. The Town of Flora just wasn’t enough for someone like him, and it wasn’t a secret to Cel that he hated the place. It would be within his best interests to stay in Everveil. But, maybe he’d visit. Cel could tell him about Verline, Eliot would send him flying into the horizon while on fire. All of his problems would be gone. He’d have stolen a fortune with zero consequences or much effort. All he had to do was sit back and let Eliot solve everything for him. Like he always did.

That wasn’t an option. He wouldn’t exploit him like that. Not anymore, not ever again. Come rise or ruin, he would finish what he started without Eliot’s help.

At least, that’s what he told himself. But it wasn’t just his life on the line. It was Carl’s, Orial’s, Gerald’s, Larry’s, Nile’s, Delroy’s, Roland’s. It was Maybell he was condemning along with him. If it came down to it, he would beg. Because that was all he was capable of. That was all he would ever be, deep down inside. No amount of wealth and luxury would change that. No amount of false bravado or pathetic coercion would make up for that.

Suddenly, a familiar voice called his name, “A message for Sir Verrus!”

His head snapped up to see Gregory, the town’s messenger, making his way up the hill. “From whom?”

“Mayor Caldwell,” Gregory sighed, taking slow, deep breaths. “It’s urgent, he really wants to talk to you.”

“Why?” Cel queried, immediately on edge.

Gregory shrugged. “Didn’t say, just that it's important.”

“All right, thanks,” Cel told him, tipping an entire silver.

“Anytime!” Gregory celebrated, taking his large pay and leaving.

Cel looked to the other orphans, making eye contact with Travis. They nodded in understanding: Travis would take care of things while he was gone. With that done, Cel jogged towards the heart of the town.

He arrived at the mayor’s house in a little over ten minutes. Aside from the farms east of the town, the orphanage was the most estranged part of the town. Similarly, aside from the orphanage, the mayoral residence was the largest building in the town. Relatively speaking, at least. It was nearly twice as large as any other building, however it didn’t have a second story and was made with the same material, whereas the orphanage was primarily stone-brick with only a small amount of wood.

A minute after knocking on the door, Mayor Caldwell answered, cradling a baby in his arms. Mayor Damien Caldwell was a tall, plump man with neat, brown hair. He wore the ceremonial mellow orange and deep blue coat of a mayor, almost identical in design to the attire of a noble: folded collar and lapel, embroidered buttons, multiple pockets, and cuffs.

“Mayor Caldwell, It’s a pleasure,” Cel greeted with a small bow. As much as he screamed at himself not to, his eyes locked on the baby in his arms.

“Sir Verrus, I hadn’t expected you for a few minutes more. I do apologize for this informal thing,” he said, waving a finger in her face. He grinned as she tried her best to grab his finger, babbling all sorts of gibberish. “My wife’s come down with fever. Lady Siren said it would be best if Esmerelda accompanied me for some time.”

“Of course, it’s no worry,” Cel nodded diffidently. “What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Please, let’s speak inside,” Mayor Caldwell invited, clearing the way.

Cel took a deep breath and followed into his office. Mayor Caldwells’ office was similar to Verline’s, only much more tuned down. Near the far wall, he had a large desk with a padded chair, covered in documents of all kinds, and lit with a lantern hung from the roof. On the floor, pushed against the far wall, were stacks and boxes of even more papers and clerical paraphernalia. Against the right wall, there was a decorated long table with two candelabras that seemed to frame a large painting of the mayor, his wife, and their child. The left wall was mostly bare, save for a door leading further in and an older painting of just the mayor and his wife.

As Cel studied the place, Mayor Caldwell gently lowered Esmerelda into a wooden crib placed next to his desk. He walked behind his desk and organized some of the mess, but didn’t sit.

Cel frowned at the man as his head was down, desperately trying to figure out a strategy. At first, he’d thought that the mayor figured out what he used against Verline, but if that were true the mayor wouldn’t be so cheerful. Most likely, the mayor had called him to ask just that. If that was true, he’d need a damn good lie.

Mayor Caldwell had always been a contentious topic: half of the town supported him, the other half hated him. It was due to the fact that, unlike the previous mayors, Mayor Caldwell took strides towards mass change, flagrantly ignoring cultural norms in the process. He went as far as to start trimming the Sacred Floral Fields. It was no secret that they were growing, in just a decade they’d overrun the town. Although it was an unpopular opinion to let it grow completely opposed, Mayor Caldwell’s “trimming” continued well past the point of maintenance. He utilized its need of maintenance as an excuse to start harvesting and profiting off of the magical vegetation. If it weren’t for Head Farmer Fabre speaking in his favor, the farmers would have rioted. What he did to get her on his side, no one knew, rumor was Caldwell promised her a cut of the money. From personal experience, Cel knew whoever came up with those rumors either had some grudge with Lady Fabre, or they never actually met her.

Pretty much every major decision Mayor Caldwell made was just as outrageous, the most recent of which being the decision to shift to stone so they could qualify for cityship. Since forever the townspeople and previous mayors had been trying to fight for special criterion, so the town wouldn’t lose its cultural roots and become just another urban Abyss. But in the end, Mayor Caldwell had convinced most of the town that they needed the benefits of cityship with their rapidly growing population and all the subsequent consequences. That was the scariest part that had always made Eliot, and therefore Cel, distrustful of the man. No matter how ludicrous and sacrilegious his ideas are, he always manages to convince just enough people, in the end. That being said, though his methods were dubious, Eliot approved of the mayor’s goals for change. Cel wasn’t so sure he agreed. He’d traveled across nearly half of the empire-side with Maybell looking for somewhere to call home, but no place was as welcoming or magical as the Town of Flora.

It should also be said that Eliot may very well be biased, considering Mayor Caldwell was friends with Sir and Lady Reileus. As much as Eliot claimed he was utterly rational in all things, Cel knew better than anyone how untrue that was. And although Eliot hated his parents for “smothering” his magical talents, it was pretty obvious how much he valued and emulated them.

As far as Cel had heard, the Reileus family actually arrived in the Town of Flora only a few years before Caldwell’s mayorship. He was one of the first people to make them feel welcome and ingratiate himself. In fact, as soon as he became mayor, Caldwell named them as the town’s Elders. If anything untoward were to happen to him, they would act as the town’s leadership until a new mayor could be elected. As much as the town loved the Reileus family, initially it had made everyone have issue with Caldwell as soon as his mayorship started. Afterall, Sir Yule and Lady Germiso’s family had been with the town since its founding, and it was considered a formality for every mayor to name them the Elders. It also didn’t help that, when they first emigrated, the townspeople quickly suspected the Reileus family to be exiled nobles from the Procudean Kingdom. Though the rumors never really went away, Sir and Lady Reileus swiftly won over the townspeople and directly apologized to the affected parties. Ever since then, they were pretty much treated like generational natives.

Analyzing Mayor Caldwell’s actions, it seemed to Cel that the man had recognized the intelligence and competences that was so blatant in anyone from their family, and acted to tie them to the town. If anything, the mayor’s actions up to a certain point were commendable. In fact, Cel had at one point looked up to the man. At least until he started associating with Verline, and went as far as to help him in embezzling orphanage funds and his quest of sleeping with every woman in the town, married or not. When Cel first saw Caldwell’s wife with Verline, his immediate response was schadenfreude. How suited that the mayor would be subject to the same miserable fate that he played a part in enacting on others. Now, though, seeing how loving he was with his baby, a painful guilt engendered in his chest and refused to leave.

More than anything, there was no telling how Mayor Caldwell would react if he were to find out the child he loved so dearly wasn’t his. If he could play Verline’s game and was capable of every morally bankrupt thing he’d helped Verline commit, things most certainly wouldn’t end well.

Finally, Caldwell lifted his head and said, “I’m sure you want to know why I’ve summoned you. You seem uncomfortable, so I’ll be blunt: I want you to act as my vice. In other words, vice-mayor of the Town of Flora.”

Cel reeled in shock, caught completely off guard. “But only fortresses and incredibly large cities have vice-mayors. Even if you disregard the law and appoint me to the position, the crown won’t recognize it, I won’t have any power to help in any meaningful way,” he spouted immediately.

“I’m well aware. It’s why I’ve taken the time to entreat Klause Crucible. After some explaining, he agrees that under the Town of Flora’s unique circumstances, it would be reasonable to recognize the position,” Caldwell explained, passing Cel a document with over-the-top calligraphy.

With a single glance, Cel knew it was real. At the bottom of the page was Klause Crucible’s unforgettable signature, signed in an unnatural, pulsing red that couldn’t be replicated with any known ink, magical or otherwise. At a loss for words, he asked, “Why? And why me?”

“Our plight is partly truthful. There is much to do and not enough time to do it. More importantly, you’ve impressed me. Never had I expected anyone would have the gall or even competence to blackmail Verline.”

Cel practically flinched at his words. “Then, if you know I blackmailed Verline, why haven't you asked how?”

“Why would I need to ask how if I’m already aware?” Mayor Caldwell said with a cheeky grin. “Afterall, I was the one who sent my wife to sleep with the man. I’m glad Verline remains oblivious as of yet.”

Cel’s brow furrowed in confusion and his mouth opened but he couldn’t produce any words. Eventually, he asked the best he could manage, “Why?”

Mayor Caldwell sighed and looked down at Esmerelda. “Do you ever resent your parents for birthing you?” When Cel didn’t answer right away, he continued, “Birth is possibly the greatest tragedy of life. If the fates smile upon you, you’re born to nobles and spoiled without end, never wanting for anything. But those like you and I are doomed to a life of suffering. You’ve been abused more than most, but us in the Town of Flora haven’t got it much better.

“Esmerelda will be different. She will lay claim to the Verline fortune. She will plunder that ignorant oaf’s birthright and use it to far greater effect than his family has in seven generations. In a similar vein as you have, Sir Verrus.” He looked up at Cel and smirked, an infectious glint in his eyes.

Cel gaped in astonishment at the man. He realized then that he’d vastly underestimated how conniving Caldwell could be. “Did you plan all this from the start? You were manipulating Verline the whole time?”

“Indeed I was. Were you aware that the Verline family is so terribly inbred, by now they’ve resorted to magic to live longer lives. It’s why his face is so horrifying to behold. Even then, they haven’t been expected to live past fifty. Only with this latest generation and migration from the Kirlandhil empire to ours have they included diversity. Nevertheless, they only managed three heirs in this newest generation. The oldest was executed for unforgivable transgression against the Machiavell family. The second was head of the Verline family for twenty years before he died of a heart attack just three months ago. Now, Reginald Verline is to return to the Metropolis and assume the mantle,” Caldwell elucidated, laying out every glorious detail.

“She is still a . . . an unrecognized heir, isn’t she?” Cel tripped over his words, not wanting to use the official term.

“It’s no surprise you’re unaware of Kirlandhill practices. Any major family of its empire, even merchants, are maintained via dark magic. Although they’ve mostly broken away, if Verline were to perish and no blood relative were to come forward, the family’s fortunes, belongings, and agreements would belong to the Emperor of the Kirlandhill Empire. It comes as a shock to many when they catch word of the fact that the Kirlandhill empire is far more advanced in some areas of magic than we are, magical contracts included. Seeing as how the Verline family has many magically enforced contracts with the crown, our nobles, and many other merchants, even if Verline caught wind and refused to recognize Esmerelda as his heir, the crown would supersede his decision. Otherwise the Emperor of the Kirlandhill Empire would personally have as much sway in our Crucible Empire as the Verline family does now.”

“But that doesn’t rule out the fact that a man like Reginald Verline is sure to have tens of illegitimate children throughout the empire. It also doesn’t stop him from just having another, legitimate heir,” Cel pointed out with a frown.

Mayor Caldwell shook his head. “Verline has always been aware of the danger that bastard children pose to his family: he drinks contraceptive elixir before any of his affairs. The day he bedded Lucile, she added two elixirs to his drinks. One to counteract his generic contraceptive, the other to ensure conception. Afterwards, I poisoned him with a large amount of a unique contraceptive elixir that will be permanent without its specific antidote. An antidote that will be impossible for him to ever attain.”

Cel didn’t know much about elixirs and potions and the like, but he did know a little bit from Eliot’s ramblings. He’d told him that poisoning potions are so dangerous because they require a very specific antidote, just like natural poison. Except, oftentimes, antidotes to natural poisons can be more easily found or just superseded with potions. Without knowing exactly what went into a poisoning potion and exactly how it affected the body, it was pretty much impossible to make an antidote. That being said, potions were incredibly expensive and hard to make.

“Where did you manage to get such potent elixirs like that?” he questioned.

“I think I’ve explained enough for the day,” Mayor Caldwell chuckled. “Afterall, if I were to reveal all of my hand, how would I keep you in line?”

Cel frowned at that, quickly switching gears back from Verline to his own situation. “Then this position of vice-mayor is under you? I’d be acting as your squire so to speak?”

“In the beginning, yes. I see potential in you, but I can’t fully trust you. Should you prove yourself in terms of competence and loyalty I do hope we can have more of a partnership. Your duties will begin this next week, you’ll be paid ten gold twice per month,” Mayor Caldwell told him, tossing a large pouch of coin on the desk. “Of course, most of it will be split into coppers and silvers for convenience.”

“What if I refuse?” Cel challenged.

“Then Verline will see to it that you and everyone you hold dear will die miserably deaths. You need me,” the mayor admonished severely.

Instead of being cowed, Cel latched onto his words and hoped there was a hidden meaning underneath. Cel needed him, no doubt. But maybe, just maybe, he needed Cel for some reason, too. Otherwise, why share all of this with him? Why give him so high pay that he made more than every farmer in the town combined?

Cel looked the man in his eyes and said, “I want more.”

Mayor Caldwell furrowed his brows. “More pay?”

“I want twenty gold twice monthly,” he insisted.

“May I ask why?” Caldwell queried.

“No.”

“Very well,” Caldwell chuckled, “Twenty gold twice monthly.” He grabbed another pouch, filled it with the same amount, and tossed it next to the first.

After a lengthy moment of silence, Cel grabbed the money and said, “Then I accept. Is there anything I should know before next week?”

“I’ll have Lady Nyer make you a uniform. It would be best if you could visit her for a measurement sometime soon.”

Cel suppressed a sigh. Everything else and now a fancy uniform. It wouldn’t fit him in anyway other than physically. But that was the least of his problems right now. Instead, he mustered a smile and extended his hand. “It will be a pleasure working with you.”

“Likewise,” Caldwell exchanged, shaking his hand with a nod.

Cel took the pouches and left, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. Now, Verline’s actions suddenly made sense. The true threat behind Esmerelda being his biological child was the dark magic maintaining his bloodline. He knew that Mayor Caldwell knew at least a little about his situation. If Caldwell caught wind that Esmerelda was Verline’s biological heir, suddenly he had an avenue to destroy Verline and his family, a motivation as well. Except, no one, especially not Verline, would ever suspect that a proud family man like Mayor Caldwell would ever intentionally have his wife sleep with anyone, especially not Verline. The thought was so ludicrous that it was more likely in Verline’s mind that the contraceptive he used had somehow failed thanks to a one in a million coincidence. Being the arrogant man that he was, Verline would never suspect that Mayor Caldwell had befriended him in the first place with the express intention to ruin him, either.

But that didn’t mean Verline was powerless to stop them, far from it. He wouldn’t just be coming at them with the relatively minimal resources and power of a third child. It would buy them more time until he struck, but when he did he would strike with all the concentrated power and wealth of one of the best generational merchant families on the Two Continents. With all that reach, Verline could go directly to the nobles and overarching powers in the Crucible Empire. Klause Crucible was lauded far and wide for his benevolence, but he was still a noble, a wrathful one at that. If Verline won him over, they would be stuck between a rock and a hard place.

None of that would happen for at least half a year, though. Right now, Cel’s biggest worry was Mayor Caldwell. The man was too conniving to trust. But, at the same time, the more he thought about their conversation, the more he felt the mayor was being genuine. Otherwise, there would be no reason for him to spill every detail of his plot against Verline. Unless, of course, the reason was to gain his trust. Except, if he was being genuine, he would also want to gain his trust. Was he being genuine because he was genuine, or was he being genuine because he wanted to take advantage of him and needed to show some genuinous to get his trust?

The more Cel thought about, the more his logic circled. He was smart enough for most complicated things, but when it came to people, he could just never figure them out. For all he knew, Mayor Caldwell could be after the orphanage for its monetary value. Or, he could just want Cel as an ally against Verline because he truthfully believed Cel would be useful. Or it could be both! There was just no way to know.

On his walk back, when no one was looking, Cel slapped his face with both hands to steady himself. Fact of the matter was, he wasn’t ever going to figure out Caldwell’s character. Thinking in those terms would get him nowhere. He needed concrete threads to pull, like his pay. Before anything else, Mayor Caldwell was willing to offer him ten golds twice per month, in other words five gold per week, or a little more than seventy-one silvers per day. When put that way, it sounded astronomical. And it sounded astronomical because it was astronomical for the Town of Flora. Then, without any argument, he doubled it.

All of that money was coming from the town’s treasury. Although forty gold per month probably wasn’t too much in the grand scheme of things, it still told him something important. As mayor, it was part of Caldwell’s responsibilities to be mindful of profit and business. If he was willing to pay Cel forty gold per month, that meant, in Caldwell’s eyes, Cel was equal to or greater in value than forty gold per month. Whether that was because with Cel’s help the town’s economy could be expanded and result in a net positive, or it was worth it for Cel’s help in his battles against Verline and clerical work, or both, it showed that Mayor Caldwell valued him a great deal. On paper, he was probably being paid more than Caldwell himself.

For now, he would trust the man. The potential of securing the Verline fortune was good enough a reason not to stab Cel in the back. While Reginald Verline still loomed over them, Cel was confident the mayor wouldn’t try anything—no matter how he looked at it, it just wasn’t worth it.

By the time he got back to the orphanage, he was exhausted. He avoided making eye contact with anyone, especially Elizebeth, and went straight to his room. After shutting the door behind him, he took a deep breath in, then froze halfway. With all the fanfare, he forgot Maybell was still reading on his bed. He finished his breath—quietly—and instead of collapsing on the soft rugs like he wanted to, he stood over Maybell with a frown. As usual, she didn’t bother to acknowledge his existence, even after a minute of silence.

“I need a break,” he told her. When she didn’t respond, he clarified, “I’m . . . camping out in the woods for a few days.”

Slowly, she shifted to look at him with a judgmental glare. “Are you asking permission?”

Cel took half a step back and quickly said, “Not permission, exactly, just . . . I want to know you’ll be ok. I won’t be around to do anything for you. Travis will be in charge. Can you . . . talk to him, if you need to?”

“Hmn,” she hummed noncommittally, going back to reading.

“Well, you’ll have to,” Cel insisted.

This time, she directly rolled her eyes.

Knowing anything more would be useless, he got to packing. A few minutes later, he hoisted a bulging backpack, feeling satisfied with his preparation. It used to be that they had to get everything exclusively from the environment. Now that he had so much, he was going to use it. Even though he wasn’t likely to use everything in it, and he purposefully packed extra, he could finally play by the rule: better safe than sorry.

As he was about to leave, though, Maybell suddenly said, “Take the daggers, at least.”

It took him a few seconds to realize she meant the dueling daggers displayed on the wall. In his experience, anything a knife could do a sharp rock and brute force could match. But since they were there and weren’t being used, he took them off the hooks for examination. The actual blades seemed to be made of some black metal, meanwhile the rest of it was excessively gilded. That being said, the balance was close to perfect, so the added weight wouldn’t matter much. The edge, too, was expertly honed. Although he had no idea what the metal was, he imagined any smith worth their salt wouldn’t waste time sharpening such a good edge on a material that wouldn’t retain it. The only downside was the fact that they didn’t have sheathes, so he would have to wrap them in something. As far as downsides went, no sheathe was probably the best one to have.

So, after repurposing some of Verline’s clothes into wrapping, he tied the daggers to his belt and stood tall, ready to face the wild. The extra weight felt good, like it belonged. A strange feeling began to collect in his chest, making his heart beat faster.

“Thanks for the idea. I’ll be back in a few days, then,” he told Maybell.

“Goodbye.”

With the beginnings of a grin forming on his lips, he opened the door to outside and strode through.