The evening sun poured a heavy stream of orange into the room. We were gathered around the table; Mother quietly sliced bread, Grandfather sipped his wine out of old habit, and Father stared at his plate in silence. Roderic climbed onto his chair, leaned toward me, and whispered as if sharing a great secret:
"Hey, Henwy, when I gwow up, I'm gonna buiwd dams jus' wike you!"
I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing. Grandfather looked at his younger grandson, then turned his gaze to me. "People of all ages talk about your deeds, Henry. But I wonder, how do you know these things? How can you see what others cannot?"
His voice carried both pride and suspicion. Father frowned but said nothing, and I felt Mother's eyes on me from the side. I only shrugged. "I just look and think about it." No one could claim otherwise, and for now, that was the only explanation that existed.
"Showing yourself off as a genius? What a joke! At least make it believable, but don't get too carried away with your little role. We both know who the real star of this story is." Mnex was, as usual, in fine form.
Just then, the door opened and a servant entered, walking straight to my father. She bent close and whispered in his ear, a letter sealed in wax in her hand. Father took it without a word, broke the seal, and began to read. After the first line, he pressed his fingers against his temple, as though the words weighed down his head.
When he fell silent, Grandfather rose. "Let me see." He took the letter, his eyes darting quickly over the lines. His lips pressed into a thin line, and then he too held his head the same way. The silence grew heavier.
I couldn't hold back. "What is it? Who's the letter from?"
Grandfather answered without lifting his head. "Count Beaumont."
Father drew in a long breath. "He accuses us of holding people against their will. Claims we've taken villagers from his vassal, Baron Kayer."
Mother dropped the knife in her hand. "That's absurd!" she exclaimed.
Grandfather spoke in a different tone. "Absurd, perhaps. But the count's seal is on it. A charge like this isn't made without purpose."
Father ground his teeth. "We forced no one to stay. They remained of their own choice. Henry saved them from bandits."
"Even so," Grandfather replied, his voice sharp with frost, "to outsiders it may appear he is in the right. The count could use this as a pretext to move against us."
Father's response was just as hard. "He doesn't frighten me. I don't need his permission to rule these lands."
Grandfather narrowed his eyes. "If your stubbornness drags war to our doorstep, the blood at this table will be on your hands. Do not forget, you are a lord."
His words fell like a shadow across the room. Mother lowered her gaze. Roderic's eyes darted between his father and grandfather in fear. I felt my own chest tighten.
At last, Father muttered through clenched lips, "There's no point discussing this further. I'll make my decision in the morning."
Grandfather set the letter down with a sharp slap of parchment against wood. "A decision made in anger is no decision at all. Remember that."
No one else spoke. Only the flicker of candlelight remained, swaying against the heavy silence.
I was the one to break the silence.
"I'm the one who saved them," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "Didn't we take in the villagers fleeing from Kayer? We gave them shelter, work, bread. If that's a crime, then the choice was mine. Shouldn't the right to answer be mine as well?"
Father lifted his head, his eyes a mixture of weariness and anger. "Henry…" he said slowly. "The final word still belongs to me."
"Should it?" I leaned forward. "I was the one who risked myself for them. Not you."
The room froze. Then Father slammed his fist onto the table. "Enough! Last I checked, I am the count. And I don't recall handing that title to you. You may be clever, but don't meddle in matters beyond you. Decisions here are measured not only by knowledge, but by responsibility. That weight is not yours to bear."
His words cut like a blade. My lips trembled, but no reply came. Father shoved back his chair, the scrape of wood harsh in the air. Without meeting anyone's eyes, he strode to the door. His voice was flat as he left:
"This matter is not open for debate."
I clenched my fists as I watched him go. The fire in my chest boiled into something heavier, helplessness.
Grandfather set his cup down softly. "Don't be angry, Henry," he said calmly. "Your father cares for these people as much as you do."
I turned to him, my eyes burning. "Then why silence me? I only spoke the truth."
Grandfather smiled faintly, though bitterness lingered in it. "Because truth alone isn't enough. Your father carries the weight of these lands, the army, and this family. You carry ideas. They are not the same. Didn't you see? He was just as enraged as you."
His words left me mute. I rose abruptly, my chair toppling behind me. "I'm going to my room," I muttered.
The corridor flickered with torchlight, shadows stretching long across the stone walls. When I closed my door and sat on my bed, the heat in my chest still hadn't cooled. That was when Mnex's voice slithered into my thoughts, sharp and smug.
"A true lord's greatest problem: people."
I frowned. "So saving people is a crime now?"
"Not a crime… a danger. In this age, a lord's greatest wealth is tax. People equal taxes. If one lord's people settle on another's land, punishment follows. Because those taxes vanish."
I shook my head. "But the fault lies with the lord himself. Kayer abandoned his people. They only wanted to survive."
"You seek justice," Mnex whispered like rustling leaves. "But feudal order does not run on justice. Power means authority. Lose authority, and you lose power. And a lord without power… is no lord at all."
His words echoed in my skull, reverberating like a chill against the stone walls. I lay back, staring at the ceiling. My heart still raced, but exhaustion pressed heavier.
"Even so…" I whispered, "I'll stand with them."
Mnex gave no reply. Only silence. Soon, my eyes drifted shut, and into my dreams crept the murmur of the city and the shadow of a storm drawing near.
Morning light struck against the mansion's stone walls as my steps carried me straight to the administrative wing. I had wrestled with the same questions all night, sleep never easing my mind. The letter. The grim look on Father's and Grandfather's faces. What decision had been made? Would Beaumont be answered, or would the villagers be cast out?
At the door, raised voices reached me. Father's tone was sharp, Grandfather's heavy with anger and fatigue. I lifted my hand to knock, but hurried footsteps came up the corridor. A young soldier, helmet askew, burst into view, panting. Our eyes met, clearly we were headed to the same place. Shoulder to shoulder, we pushed the door open.
The room fell silent at once. Father and Grandfather, caught mid-argument, turned toward us.
I spread my hands and shrugged. "Not me," I said, nodding at the soldier.
Father's voice was cold. "Speak."
The soldier straightened his helm, wiping sweat from his brow. "My lord… word has come. The Janisarions… they are on their way. They will reach the city by midday."
The words rang through the chamber, bouncing off stone walls as though the air itself refused to swallow them. A chill crawled down my spine. Grandfather slumped into his chair without a sound. Father's face turned to stone.
I could only stammer, "J… Janisarions?"
Father's gaze locked on the soldier. "Leave. Do not spread panic. Report only to Captain Theo."
The soldier saluted quickly and left. The door shut, and the air grew heavier still.
"Father," I said at last, breaking the silence. "Does a Janisarion march without cause? This… this can't be good, right?"
Father pressed his fingers to his temples. "I don't know. Perhaps at Beaumont's complaint. Perhaps for Kayer's emptied villages. Perhaps something worse."
"Then what will we do?" My voice rose against my will, fear and anger mingling inside me. "The villagers want to stay. Are we going to drive them out?"
Father looked at me, his weary eyes steeled with resolve. "If they wish to remain, I will not cast them out."
Relief surged through me, but so did the weight of new worry. "But that means…"
Grandfather cut in, his tone grave. "That means we must prepare. Heavily. The Janisarions do not arrive merely to deliver orders. They arrive to display power. And when they do, they will demand to see whose authority stands firm here."
Father nodded slowly. "Then we review the walls, the guards, the stores. And perhaps… prepare a countermove for Beaumont's game."
I stayed quiet, my thoughts a storm of fear, questions, and anger. But more than anything else, I felt curiosity gnawing at me. By midday, who would be standing at our gates?