Rowan's footsteps were slow as he walked back from the main wing. When he reached Master Harnes' quarters, the door was slightly open. He pushed it gently.
The old man stood near the bed, his head lowered. Rowan stepped in. "Master Harnes?"
The man didn't look up. Rowan felt it in his chest before he heard the words.
"She's gone," Harnes said quietly. "Her injuries were… too severe."
Rowan didn't speak.
"She held on longer than I expected," Harnes continued. "But the blow to her ribs… crushed something inside. Internal bleeding. Whoever pushed her didn't want to kill her quickly. They wanted her to suffer."
Rowan stared at the bed. Reene's body lay still. Her face was pale, lips slightly parted, eyes closed.
He took a step closer. Memories flooded in—her scolding him for skipping meals, braiding his hair when it got too messy, tucking him in when his mother was too sick to move. She was there when no one else had been. And now she was gone.
His fists clenched. His nails dug into his palms again, deeper this time. "You said… they wanted her to suffer?"
Harnes nodded, voice strained. "A knight doesn't shove an old woman that hard unless they mean to end her. Just not right away."
Rowan didn't respond. His throat was tight. Reene wasn't just a maid. She was close to family. The only person, besides his mother, who had ever truly cared for him.
After a moment, he swallowed and asked, "Master Harnes… do you know the reason behind all of this?"
Harnes sighed and shook his head. "No. And I don't think you'll get answers from here. Only the upper echelon of the dukedom can tell you why they did this."
Rowan looked at Reene's still face again. He didn't want her to be left like this. "Please… arrange a proper burial," he said quietly. "She deserves at least that."
"I will," Harnes promised.
Rowan reached into his satchel and pulled out a handful of silver coins. "Take this. For the expenses."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," Rowan interrupted. His voice was low but steady.
Harnes nodded and took the coins. Rowan let out a shaky breath. "Thank you. For helping her."
He turned, slowly, and walked toward the door. His steps felt heavier than ever.
Rowan walked back to his quarters in silence. The halls felt colder now. Emptier. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, eyes shut.
Reene was gone. And his mother—taken. But they hadn't killed her. Not yet. If they wanted her dead, they would've done it when they came. So she was still alive.
That thought was the only thing keeping him steady. But he couldn't do anything. Not now. He was just a boy, even if he had reached the Disciple stage. If he pushed too hard, asked the wrong questions, or showed too much anger… they might get rid of him too.
He had to be smart. He had to wait. Maybe they would send someone. Maybe they'd call him in and tell him something.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. A part of him burned to act—to demand answers, to shout, to fight. But that would be reckless. It would only make things worse. So he waited.
One day. Then two. Then three. It's been more than a week now. Still, no word. Only silence.
It had been over a week. Rowan couldn't take it anymore. He stood from his bed, threw on his cloak, and stepped outside. If he waited any longer, he might lose his mind. Even if it meant risking everything—even if they got rid of him—he had to do something.
But who could he even go to? There was only one person in the estate he had ever approached before, back when he begged for help with his mother's illness. The butler.
Rowan made his way through the halls until he found him near the garden entrance, inspecting a row of potted plants with two maids nearby. The man noticed him and frowned. "What, boy?"
Rowan stepped closer, his voice low but sharp. "You know why I'm here. My mother… she's been taken. By House Vexlaar."
The butler's face changed instantly. His eyes narrowed. He glanced around before stepping closer, lowering his voice to a whisper laced with steel. "Control your anger, kid," he said. "If anyone hears you say that out loud, you'll be beheaded before the hour ends."
Rowan froze. His stomach turned cold. He had spoken without thinking. "I…" He swallowed. "Do you know anything? Anything at all?"
The butler straightened. "I'm just a butler. I don't hold any power. And if I did know something, I wouldn't be stupid enough to talk about it out here."
Rowan clenched his jaw. "Thank you."
He turned and walked away. His chest felt heavy.
Rowan wandered without thinking. His feet led him to the knight training grounds. The clang of swords, the thud of boots, and sharp shouts filled the air. He scanned the yard.
There they were—Gaven, Jorren, and Malik. A year older, stronger, and always looking for someone to push around. They used to bully him when he used to come here to train in the initial days. And even now, nothing had changed.
Gaven noticed him first. A grin spread across his face. "Well, well," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Look who came crawling back. The kid who ran off after a few bruises."
His friends laughed. Jorren leaned on his spear. "I heard your mommy got dragged off by the house. Real sad."
More laughter.
Rowan didn't react. He stepped forward. "I need help."
That quieted them.
Gaven raised an eyebrow. "Help? From us? Why would we help you?"
Rowan reached into his pouch and pulled out three gold coins. Sunlight glinted off them. "I'll give you these now," he said, voice steady. "And three more later. If you help me find out why my mother was taken."
Gaven let out a low whistle. "Six gold, huh? You're more desperate than I thought." He stared at the coins for a moment, then at Rowan. His grin returned—but colder this time.
"More than the money," he said, "I'm helping you because I want to see you suffer. I want to watch you chase answers you might regret finding."
Rowan said nothing.
Gaven leaned in a little, his voice dropping. "I know about your Nirathali mother. But I can't tell you anything. I don't have the right. But… I can take you to someone who can."
Rowan stepped closer. "Then take me."
Gaven looked at his friends. They exchanged a look. Then Gaven gave a small shrug. "Follow us."
They left the yard, heading toward the main wing. This time, the guards at the gates didn't stop them. Gaven's presence was enough.
Rowan said nothing. His heart beat louder with every step. The main wing was huge—polished marble floors, towering pillars, and walls lined with gold-trimmed banners. He felt small, like a stranger walking into a world he didn't belong to.
They reached a pair of tall doors guarded by two knights.
"State your business," one of them said.
"We're here to see Lord Jeffery," Gaven replied. "It's a family matter."
The guard eyed them for a moment, then nodded. "Wait here." He stepped inside.
Rowan tried not to fidget. His hands clenched behind his back. Minutes passed. Then the door opened again.
"You're allowed in," the guard said. "These two will take you."
Two more knights stepped forward and began leading them through the grand halls. The deeper they went, the colder it felt. The walls here were lined with paintings of past lords and ladies—faces proud, distant, and cold.
Finally, they arrived at a large open chamber bathed in golden afternoon light. Windows stretched from floor to ceiling. The floors were smooth stone, the kind that echoed footsteps.
A boy—maybe eleven years old—stood in the center, swinging a wooden training sword. Four guards watched him closely.
He turned at the sound of their steps. His dark hair clung to his forehead with sweat, but he didn't look tired. His stance was strong. His eyes sharper than most adults.
"Gaven," the boy said, lowering his sword. "What brings you here?"
Gaven stepped forward and whispered something into his ear. Rowan couldn't hear it.
The boy—Jeffery Vexlaar—tilted his head slightly. Then he smiled. "Is that so?"
He looked directly at Rowan. That smile grew. Not kind. Not cruel. Just… knowing.
Rowan felt something shift inside him. That boy wasn't looking at him like a fellow child. He was looking at him like a piece on a board. A piece he might move… or remove.