The winter cold seeped through the stone walls despite the fireplace crackling nearby. Luke spent the entire night reading Moses's investigation files. The desk was covered with papers, notes, and documents spread out in neat piles. He hadn't slept at all.
The servants had knocked twice, offering food and asking if he needed anything. Luke waved them away each time, staying focused on the work.
His brother had been thorough, documenting every detail about their father's case. But the evidence looked too perfect. Too clean. Like someone had planned every piece of it.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Luke looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway. Lady Lumea Vicorra entered quietly, carrying a tea tray. This was something she rarely did, as servants typically handled such tasks.
Moses had been easy to fool. Brothers didn't always notice the small details. But mothers? Mothers saw everything.
"You haven't eaten," she said, setting the tray down.
Luke accepted the cup she offered, noting how she watched his hands. "I wanted to finish reviewing Moses's work." His leather gloves, a necessity in this bitter cold, concealed the bandaged wound on his right palm perfectly. The winter chill provided the perfect excuse for keeping his hands covered.
"The letter came this morning." She placed an official correspondence beside his papers. "From General Herrera."
General Herrera requests immediate audience with remaining Vicorra family members. Proceedings accelerated due to political pressure.
Luke set down his cup harder than intended. "How long do we have?"
"Not long enough." Lady Lumea moved to the window, gazing out at the estate grounds. "Moses left this morning, but with the weather turning worse, he'll need at least four days to reach the capital. Maybe longer if the mountain passes become impassable." She paused, worry creeping into her voice. "He thinks he can buy us time, but..."
"But?"
"Politicians don't care about evidence when they need someone to blame." Her voice carried a bitterness Luke hadn't heard before. "Your father learned that lesson during the war."
Luke waited for some flicker of recognition, some buried memory from Vencian's past to surface. The Southern Highlands War—six months of brutal fighting in the mountain passes against the Sedron Empire. He knew the basic facts: territorial disputes over mining rights, religious shrines, supply lines stretched thin across treacherous peaks. But the personal details, the memories that would make Vencian's experience real, remained frustratingly absent.
"The war," he repeated, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Father never spoke much about it."
"He wouldn't. Too many compromises. Too many decisions that haunted him afterward." She turned back to him, her eyes searching his face with that maternal intensity he'd been dreading. Her gaze dropped briefly to where his right hand rested against his leg before returning to his eyes. "You were barely sixteen then. You probably don't remember much about the logistics."
He sipped the tea, fragments of memory stirring. Hazy impressions surfaced: uniformed men, the sound of horse hooves, his mother's worried face. "I remember being upset that I couldn't go with father to the highlands. I was old enough, but you and Moses treated me like I was still a child."
"You were determined to prove yourself," Lady Lumea said softly. "I remember the arguments we had about it."
"I kept insisting I was old enough to fight properly, not just handle supplies." Luke paused, another memory surfacing. "Moses finally agreed to write to father on my behalf, just to stop my complaining."
"Complaining." She smiled despite herself. "You threatened to sneak off and join the cavalry if we didn't let you go with an official position."
"Yeah" Luke said, he could almost hear Vencian's younger voice making such a declaration.
"Your father was furious when he got the letter, but he knew you well enough to know you'd follow through." Her expression grew serious.
"That's why he kept me with the supply units. Close enough to feel useful, far enough from the fighting to stay alive.", Luke added.
"The routes kept getting hit," he said, pulling up another hazy memory. "Wagons burned, drivers killed."
"You were paying attention after all," Lady Lumea said with a slight smile. "I wasn't sure if you'd noticed the supply problems, given how focused you were on your own duties."
"Hard to miss when we kept running short of everything." Luke found himself drawing on impressions that felt like distant dreams. "That's when father started looking for alternative storage, wasn't it?"
Those mountain passes were hell on supply lines, Luke thought, drawing on fragments of knowledge about the war's logistics. Treacherous terrain, enemy raids, and the altitude making everything twice as difficult.
"Complicated." Lady Lumea moved away from the window, settling into the chair across from him. "Your father's campaign stretched thin. The main force needed provisions, but the regular supply routes were compromised. Enemy raiders, mostly."
"That's when we had to improvise," she continued. "Use whatever storage we could find. Abandoned buildings, local structures. Even that old monastery."
The monastery. Moses's files had mentioned about them. About how they had to once used it as there operational base during the war. In the readings, he dismissed it along with other information. But the mention of it again made him think about it again.
Saint Aldric's. Northeast. A two days' ride... Luke took a piece from Vencian's memory to recall the detail.
"The monastery, Saint Aldric's one?" he said carefully. "I'd forgotten about that."
"Yeah, after all you joined that campaign regiment a bit later. You didn't spend much time there." Lady Lumea's voice grew distant. "Your father wasn't comfortable with the arrangement. Said it felt like sacrilege, storing weapons and supplies in a place of worship. But necessity makes strange bedfellows."
"Now that i think about it, why did the abbot agreed with the arrangement? What did we provide to them?"
"That's because House Ortega was with us in the war campaign too. The lord of house Ortega had good relation with Abbot Sebastian. Not to mention, the monastery had been struggling due to less patronage from the nobility. The war had nearly emptied their coffers." She paused, studying his face again. "Your father's gold helped keep them fed through that winter. In return, they offered us use of their outbuildings and guest quarters for storage."
Luke nodded, piecing together what he knew about the war's timeline. The Southern Highlands conflict had stretched resources thin for both sides—Airantis and Sedron fighting over copper mines and ancient shrines in those brutal mountain passes. No wonder his father had to make compromises, use whatever storage they could find.
Luke nodded slowly. Though this made sense, Luke made a mental note to ask more about it from the soldiers. Something about this seem too suspicious but maybe it can be just his paranoia.
"Didn't you stay at the monastery for a night on your way home from the academy? You never told me why."
Huh? Another gap?
It took a sheer will to maintain his composure when a information about Vencian's doing dropped upon him that he don't remember.
Vencian stayed at the monastery for a night before coming here? What else did this bastard did before leaving me alone in this mess without those memories?
I need to know more about it. A place I don't have any memory of visiting any time soon can definitely connect to the string of events that happened with Vencian and me.
"Nothing important. Just a place to rest."
I have to know more about that place but not from her. I have to end this conversation. Getting more information from her can be suspicious. I will have to look for someone else.
"I should get back to work. I have to do some questioning with the soldiers too," Luke said, gathering some of the papers and preparing to leave.
"What happened to your right hand?" she asked suddenly.
Luke's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"
"The bandaging. I can see the edge of it where your glove doesn't quite cover your wrist." Her tone carried that unmistakable maternal authority, those sharp eyes missing nothing despite his winter coverings. "Show me."
Reluctantly, he pulled off his leather glove and extended his right hand. The clean white bandages were wrapped professionally around his palm, though the edges had begun to loosen slightly from the moisture trapped inside the winter gear.
"Minor accident," he said quickly. "Grabbed a blade wrong while cleaning it yesterday. I cleaned it properly and bound it myself. You taught me well enough." The lies flowed from his lips as naturally as breathing.
Lady Lumea examined the bandagework with practiced eyes. "Your wrapping technique is still good. Though you should change these bandages soon. They're getting loose."
"I was planning to after I finished with the files."
She nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. At least being left-handed means it won't interfere with your writing or sword work. But be more careful."
Luke didn't like how she looked at him. It made him feel somewhat guilty for lying to her, instead of telling that the son she knows is no longer there.
---
Luke left the study to question the soldiers who were there during the war. The soldiers who might have stayed in the Saint Aldric's monastery during the war.
He quickly found a few of them.
"So you're saying the monastery gave us space to store our supplies there so the campaign could continue?"
"Aye, my lord. Gave us a real break, it did. Better than sleeping rough in those mountain passes. After those bastards hit our main communication post, we needed somewhere secure fast. The monastery was perfect for it."
"How many men did we leave behind then?"
"Just a handful. Lord Ortega insisted we leave the security of the communication base in his hands."
Hearing this, Luke raised an eyebrow.
"Really? Why?"
"Lord Ortega had a good relationship with Abbot Sebastian there. The Abbot said he'd only allow us to use the monastery if we left security to Lord Ortega. Made him more comfortable, I suppose."
Lord Ortega. Luke's mind turned over what he knew about the noble houses involved in the war. House Ortega had fought alongside the Vicorras in the Southern Highlands. If Ortega had maintained control of their communication base at the monastery, he would have had access to sensitive military intelligence throughout the campaign.
This is getting suspicious. I was only interested in investigating the monastery because I have no memories of visiting there recently, as Vencian's mother suggested. But the more I dig, the more suspicious it looks.
Our communication base was left almost entirely in someone else's hands. Ally or not, we have to question everyone now.
The war had ended in stalemate, both sides claiming victory while nursing their wounds. But maybe some wounds ran deeper than anyone realized. Maybe someone was still fighting their own version of the conflict, using his father as a target.
"Any news from the monastery recently? Anything important?"
"Not that I'm aware of, my lord."
"Very well."
Luke turned away after the questioning. There was no point sitting here asking questions. If he needed answers, he had to go to the monastery himself.
With that resolve, Luke called Dainor, the butler of the Vicorra family.
"Dainor. Inform mother that I'm riding south to Saint Aldric's monastery."
"Alone, my lord?"
"No. I'll take Larik and Talor with me. They should be enough."
"As you wish, my lord."