He is not what he seemed, she concluded, a rare frown almost touching her brow as she tried to reconcile the disparate pieces of information. My initial assessment was flawed, incomplete. He operates outside the expected parameters for someone of his reputed standing and abilities. She felt a subtle shift in her own internal landscape, not of emotion, but of intellectual recalibration. He exhibits hidden depths, capabilities he has kept concealed, and his motivations are far more complex than I first surmised. The logical course of action, then, was clear. Further, closer observation is necessary to form an accurate understanding of Lloyd Ferrum.
Without another word, Rosa turned away from the now-empty clearing by the pond and began her own slow walk back towards the main estate, her mind already working, trying to fit these disparate, contradictory pieces into a coherent, logical whole. The equation of her husband was proving far more complex, and far more interesting, than she had ever anticipated.
Later that evening, the memory of the strange scene by the pond resurfaced as Jasmin, her face still slightly smudged despite attempts to clean up, nervously navigated the twilight pathways towards the main gardens, Lloyd striding ahead with energetic purpose.
"Rosemary, Jasmin! That's what we need!" Lloyd's voice, carrying back slightly on the cool air, was full of that bizarre, infectious enthusiasm. "Snip the freshest sprigs! Enough for a decent distillation! Chop chop!"
Jasmin hurried to catch up, clutching the empty bucket, her mind still reeling from the revelations about liquid soap and different kinds of 'hidden fire' in ash. It was madness. Glorious, baffling madness. But it was their madness now.
She glanced at the Young Lord ahead of her – no longer just the awkward heir, but a figure of surprising knowledge, hidden power, and unpredictable brilliance. A genius alchemist from the stories, indeed. Whatever path he led, she would follow. The promise for her mother, the sheer fascination of his strange knowledge… it was more compelling than any fear or doubt.
"Yes, my lord!" she called back, her voice stronger now, filled with purpose. "Rosemary! Right away!" The soap empire, however unconventional, had its first, utterly devoted, employee.
—---
Dawn painted the sky in hues of rose and pale gold, but the opulent suite Lloyd Ferrum technically shared with Rosa Siddik remained steeped in pre-dawn gloom and the familiar chill of unspoken tension. Lloyd, already awake on the eternally lumpy sofa, bypassed the usual ritual of existential sighing. Today held the promise of progress, of tangible creation. The memory of the previous evening's success – transforming raw ash into potent lye, the first crucial step towards his soap empire – fueled an energy that mere hours of uncomfortable sleep couldn't dampen.
He dressed quickly, foregoing the stiff formalities of noble attire for practical, older clothing suitable for messy work. His mind was already buzzing with calculations: lye concentration adjustments, optimal oil blends for liquidity, the tricky process of scent infusion. Today was Phase Two: Liquid Gold. Or, more accurately, Liquid Soap That Might Eventually Lead to Gold.
As he slipped out of the suite, leaving the silent fortress of the four-poster bed and its inscrutable occupant undisturbed, he found Ken Park waiting patiently in the dimly lit corridor, a steadfast pillar of silent competence. The bodyguard inclined his head fractionally as Lloyd emerged.
"Young Lord," Ken greeted, his voice the usual flat baritone. "Master Elmsworth's tutelage is scheduled to commence in two hours. Shall I make preparations for your attendance?"
Lloyd paused, glancing down the long, echoing hallway towards the exit gate. Master Elm. Grain storage logistics, or perhaps guild arbitration today? The thought felt crushingly dull compared to the alchemical excitement brewing in his own plans. He'd attended diligently the past few days, laying groundwork, subtly shifting perceptions. But today… today was for creation.
"No, Ken," Lloyd replied decisively, turning away from the direction of the outside. "Inform Master Elmsworth I offer my apologies, but pressing personal matters require my attention today. I will not be attending."
He saw it again – that minute flicker in Ken's usually unreadable eyes, the barest tightening around his mouth. Surprise. Ken had noted the previous days' consistent attendance, the unexpected engagement with Elmsworth's dry topics. He'd likely reported it to Roy, perhaps even hypothesized that the young heir was finally embracing his responsibilities, however reluctantly. This sudden reversion to skipping lessons seemed… contradictory. A regression.
Lloyd could almost hear the silent calculation behind Ken's impassive mask: Deviation from recent pattern. Previous diligence potentially superficial? Motivation unclear. Reassess.