The lake glistened with the hues of the setting sun, shimmering in full view of the dining room window. The chateau once again assumed its usual dining arrangement with the return of its owner. Servants waited, lined up against the mahogany paneled walls, forced to subdue their hunger. They kept their eyes focused on the scenery outside in hopes that they wouldn’t betray their longing.

The black-haired boy, the very same who was the first to heed Jessa’s orders of informality in her father’s absence, slouched and leaned back, earning a scornful glare from the graying, slight-statured Nelthrin woman who stood beside him. She nudged the small of his back with her hand, pushing him forward, and threw her shoulders back in an exaggerated demonstration.

“Mind your posture,” she mouthed through creased lips, growing impatient with her son’s rebellious streak as of late. She blamed none other than Jessa for giving him a taste of equal privilege.

Pierron sat alone at the head of the table. An assortment of cheeses accompanied figs and dates, with thick slices of soft, warm bread and – curiously – herb-roasted rabbit marinated in wine. This alerted him to something amiss. He surveyed the lot of his servants, scoffing as his eyes passed over the petulant boy, and confirmed the absence of the two Fenvari maids. Earlier, upon his arrival, he’d thought nothing of it when a different pair of servants greeted him. For as long as the two maids had been employed, however, rabbit was never served in any form. Still, he began eating, taking comfort in the view and the silence which the others found agonizing.

The boy fidgeted, twiddling his thumbs and rocking on his heels. He, too, had noticed the maids were gone. Clasping his hands together, he tried to maintain his composure, but anxiety wracked his body. He could not banish the suspicion roiling within him. Although he had no way to confirm his thoughts, they needled him, and he suspected he had no one to turn to in confidence.

Bells jingled as the door slammed shut in the foyer. Hurried steps clicked across the floor, and Aveline rushed in, stopping short in the archway.

“Lord Bisset!” she shouted, breathless and distraught as she held the frame to keep herself upright. Her sister soon appeared and stood next to her, visage as serene and emotionless as ever. In her hand was a sheet of vellum marked with erratic scrawl. Aveline snatched it from her and waved it in the air to show everyone.

“I’ve most unfortunate news,” she said, her eyebrows drawing close. A long exhale relieved her of her struggle to catch her breath. Mirelle simply closed her eyes, lowering her head as her sister spoke.

“I deeply apologize for disturbing your—” Aveline caught sight of the roast rabbit on the table and brought a hand to her mouth, trying not to retch as the smell of its cooked flesh permeated her nose. “Lovely dinner, but I am afraid that tragedy has struck all of us. Please, Lord Bisset, if I may speak…”

The servants maintained their neutral demeanor, though it appeared to be a struggle to do so as anticipation demanded their senses. Some softened in face and posture while others shifted on their feet, but none dared to stir up whispers, nor to react overtly. Pierron, unshaken by the dramatic spectacle, dabbed his face with a napkin and paused his meal. Clearing his throat, he set down the cloth and gave his attention to the wood elf.

“You may speak,” he permitted, turning his head to the other servants and pointing two fingers, palm facing up, toward the frantic maid – a signal that they may face her to listen. She curtsied in thanks and held the parchment out to read it. Before she began, she spoke an introduction.

“I have a letter,” she said, hesitating as her voice fell somber. “From the family of Gilles DeHorten, the butler who has served Chateau Bisset faithfully for decades. Although my sister and I have only known him for a short time, like the rest of you we’ve looked to him for wisdom and guidance.” Tears welled in her eyes as they rolled over the words of the letter. Fighting to keep her voice from shaking, she gave her best effort to read aloud.

“To the Beloved Family and Staff of Chateau Bisset,

It is with the deepest regret and sorrow of myself and the whole of my family that I am writing to inform you of an untimely death. My uncle, Gilles DeHorten, was attacked and killed by highwaymen on his way to visit us on holiday. His horse was nowhere to be found, and he was left on the road with only the clothes he wore. Fortunately, a kind individual reported the sighting of his body. His badge was well concealed from his assailants, and the Servantry Union was able to identify him and deliver us the news.

I am sorry that I must write to you under such tragic circumstances. I am beside myself with grief, as I know you, too, will be. Thank you, Lord Bisset and the rest, for giving my uncle a second place to call home, a second family to call his own, and a fair living which he earned through respect, devotion, and wisdom.

Yours truly,

Alie DeHorten.”

Aveline sniffled and bowed her head, saying no more. The parchment crinkled as she folded it in half. All onlookers descended into a state of disbelief. Mouths fell agape, heads swiveled, words fled. Glances bounced against each other in search of reassurance, passing between them a question of whether they’d truly heard the words which were said. They continued in this manner until the shock began to settle. None spoke, and none were yet inclined to weep, but hands sought hands and bodies sought the comforting embrace of others.

Pierron, still seated alone, leaned into the back of his chair, his face devoid of expression as he watched the sun disappear behind the mountains. For minutes, he did nothing else until murmurs and tears swelled around the room. The sounds of grief hollowed his stomach, creating a space for aggression to stew until it burst forth. A dull thud made way for the jarring clink of dishes and silverware as his fists connected with the table. He stood, addressing the others.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You all may eat,” he said, pushing in his chair. No one was inclined to his invitation – especially the wood elf maids.

“I believe I speak for everyone, Lord Bisset – We are not hungry in light of this news,” Aveline said. “As for my sister and I, Lenkirn does not permit us to eat rabbits. It is clear you are distraught as well, if I may be so bold as to assume. Is there anything we should do?”

“We should arrange a memorial event,” said Pierron. “You two may follow me to my study. We will organize the details there.”

“But Lord Bisset, you’ve only just returned home, and you’ve only just received this terrible news. Wouldn’t you prefer to rest before—”

“We will organize the details in my study,” Pierron insisted. “And you will hold your tongue when you feel desirous of speaking your suggestions. You are here to serve, not advise.”

Aveline lowered her eyes, stepping aside as he approached.

“Of course, Lord Bisset. Pardon me, I had forgotten my place.” She waited for him to lead her and her sister out, and they followed as he walked past them. They disappeared from view as they turned left into the hallway.

The boy, with his mouselike features drawn inward in a plentitude of emotions, nearly jumped out of his skin as his mother’s thin hand rested upon his shoulder. His worst fear had been confirmed – Gilles was no more. Possibilities swirled and spiraled in his mind, and not even the reassuring touch was enough to console him any longer. As the echoes of their footsteps faded, he wondered which of his other fears might come to fruition.

The three continued through the hallway, following a deep blue carpet runner and passing by a collection of opulent paintings until they arrived at Pierron’s study. He unlocked the door, revealing a space within which was uncharacteristically humble for all the grandiose and ornamented rooms surrounding it.

No more than a small library with a desk at the center, its most notable feature was a luxurious emerald green rug spread over most of the floor. No grand, towering bookcases were in sight, for he needed few books, at least in his own home. In his frequent travels, he learned well to keep the things he needed in the places he needed them. Some magical references, and records pertaining to his properties, constituted most of his personal collection.

“Let us discuss,” said Pierron, flicking a flame onto his finger to light the tiers of a candelabra. “Please close the door behind you.” Mirelle, having trailed behind them, fulfilled his request as she entered last. Anticipating his orders, the sisters stood in perfect likeness with their hands clasped in front of them.

While he paced around to gather his thoughts, his gaze flitted between the twins and the miniature scrying orb on his desk – a pearlescent sphere no larger than an apple. When he finally spoke, the maids’ pointed ears twitched with attention.

“We will hold a memorial ceremony in two weeks’ time,” he said, his words slowed and enunciated with difficulty. “I am sure his family is busy with their planning of the very same, but our staff deserves their own time to mourn as well. I cannot feasibly allow everyone to travel at the same time.”

Aveline and Mirelle nodded. As he appeared to be ruminating, they waited for him to add more.

“Undor, first day of The Flourish, when the sun is high. Please announce the event this evening once supper has concluded and the kitchen is cleaned.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Aveline. “Shall we seek out a priest for the occasion as well?”

“Please do. There is a temple of Elyn not far from here. Ask that they prepare a celebration of his life. And be ready to offer gold in compensation.”

“Very well. Consider it done,” said Aveline. “And what of your daughter? Would you prefer to inform her personally, or shall we take the burden from you?”

Pierron extended an arm toward the scrying orb, holding out his palm with curled fingers. As it spun to life, levitating a few inches from the wooden surface of the desk, it shook off its iridescent colors and became a dull, frosted silver. He kept his focus on it while addressing the Fenvar.

“I will write to her,” he said. “It is too delicate a situation for me to deliver the news indirectly. I know she will be devastated. The two of you must focus on making the necessary preparations.”

“As you wish, my lord,” said Aveline. “Is there anything else?”

“Nothing in regards to the ceremony. There is, however, the matter of your final examinations at the Servantry Union. I believe the two of you have played custodian well enough to the staff and house that you ought to earn your official badges.”

“Really?” Mirelle’s eyes lit up as her excitement erupted forth, but she wasted no time correcting her outburst. Smoothing her skirt, she tucked away her smile between tightly pressed lips and lowered her head.

“Yes. There is no question that you’ve earned it. Once the ceremony concludes, the both of you may take your leave. I will request for your temporary replacements, so please do not worry about doing so.”

“Thank you, Lord Bisset,” they said in unison, the bells in their braids tinkling as they bowed.

“Might we assist you with anything else?” asked Aveline. Pierron shook his head.

“That should be all,” he said. The orb had slowed its spinning to a complete stop. It now hovered in perfect suspension without bobbing. “It may be best for you both to take your leave. I would like some solitude for now. That is not to chastise you in any way – your diligence has been appreciated beyond measure.”

“It is an honor to serve you,” Aveline assured him. “If you are in need of anything, we would love for you to call upon us first. And, of course, we offer our condolences for your loss. We also are troubled by the news, but with your having known him for so long—”

“That is enough,” said Pierron, his voice low but thunderous. In his breach of concentration, the orb dropped to the desk with a startling thump, but he caught it quickly and stabilized it once more. “You are both dismissed.”

The two offered one last curtsy, Aveline’s being somewhat rushed and sloppy as she realized her blunder. Wanting to avoid being scolded a third time that day, she scuttered off, her sister dragging behind as always.

Pierron rounded the corner of his desk as they left, keeping his arm steady and outstretched toward the scrying orb. Even frosted, the view of which he’d caught a glimpse left him disquieted. As if thawing, the blurred surface of the sphere dissipated until it was crisp and clear. He sat himself in his chair, its green cushion matching the color of the rug.

Uncertain whether the scene before him was correct, he once again attuned the orb to the location of Jessa’s ring. Nothing changed. A hazy blue shroud obscured all that might identify a precise location, but the approximation proved familiar enough.

Behind the University of Oakenhaven, the Lake of Sages spanned the width of the campus, stretching into the forest beyond and descending to unimaginable depths. Jessa’s ring had been submerged long enough to sink to the very bottom.