I knew only one song on the piano, but it had been almost a decade since I'd last played it - or even really thought about it.
I hoped muscle memory was a real phenomenon and not just something musicians claimed existed.
I began to play.
The keys were cold. A thin layer of dust coated them.
I guess Woodborn or Ella didn't play it often.
The first note bounced off the walls with a faint echo. My fingers trembled slightly.
As I kept going, little flashes resurfaced - practicing the song on a cheap keyboard I bought online, the late nights spent wearing headphones, trying to memorize something so inane instead of sleeping.
I'd first heard this melody a lifetime ago. Now it was an 'original piece by Edward Shadowboon,' making its debut performance for his sister.
The notes came hesitantly, then smoothed out as my fingers remembered on their own.
When the rhythm finally clicked, something in my chest loosened, like I'd briefly stepped backward in time.
It was a piano rendition of the opening theme of Wizardry III for the NES - something I'd learned from a Youtube video years ago.
Soft, moody, a little haunting, in two parts.
The melody filled the quiet room, thin but steady. Mira's suspicion faded for the first time; she stood still, listening, brows slowly lifting.
When the final note faded, she stared at me.
"…Oh," she said quietly.
I exhaled through my nose, slow and measured, like this had all been entirely under control.
"What do you think?" I asked her.
She didn't answer; she just nodded, satisfied - for now - then padded back toward the hallway without another word.
When she disappeared around the corner, I let my shoulders drop, staring at my treacherous hands.
I breathed in deeply.
Then I finally went to bed.
Morning came far too quick, but that wasn't anything new.
By the time I stepped downstairs, Ella was already in the kitchen, flipping something in a pan with enthusiasm.
The kitchen smelled like toasted butter and something sweet - berries maybe, or whatever Ella had decided counted as a breakfast fruit today. The pan hissed with every flip, sending a spray of oil crackling against the stove.
Even though the staff would gladly cook for her, she liked making breakfast for the family.
One of the hired cooks gave me a sympathetic look - the kind someone has when their employer hijacks their job and thinks could do it better.
"Good morning, Edward!" Ella chirped. "Breakfast or no breakfast? If you say 'no,' I'm going to assume you're sick."
"Breakfast is fine," I replied, sliding into a chair at the long table.
"Morning, son," Woodborn said. His breakfast was a cup of tea with three spoons of sugar. "Your sister's late. Again."
On cue, Mira stomped in, hair tangled, eyes half-closed. She saw me and frowned.
Ella placed a plate in front of each of us with dramatic flourish, as though performing for a nonexistent audience. I ate, made small talk - made even smaller when I tried to talk to my sister - but that was just how she was.
A bit of an emo - or a Wednesday, if I wanted to take the Addams Family metaphor further.
The rest of the morning followed a predictable rhythm.
Woodborn asked me to help him in the study, mostly listening to him draft speeches and letters, pretending to care about the position of noble gossip.
He dictated a line, then paused, tapping the end of his pen against his lip. "Does this sound too forceful?" he asked, gesturing at a paragraph about labor protections for non-human workers.
One thing I found admirable was that, since I started living with him, Woodborn had taken an interest in the social position and rights of the non-human citizens of Asolar.
He may have been someone who paid assassins to murder his own cousin, but he wasn't a bigot.
He sent letters to other higher noble families he knew - which was all of them - to ask their position on those matters.
He was kind of a passive rights activist for them. A strange ally to have.
He even sent King Deimos a letter outlining reforms for the status of freed ex–non-human slaves and their descendants - people Asolar had once enslaved and who still lived throughout the kingdom.
Even though this wasn't my realm of politics - mine lay far above mortal concerns - Woodborn still valued my opinion.
As he worked, he handed me a few documents to read, if I was willing to - articles about discrimination cases, statistics on freed ex-slaves trying to secure land, debates about mixed-species schooling. Mortal concerns, perhaps, but not insignificant.
Ella was trying out a new hobby, stitching embroidery, but it didn't look very good. Still, she kept on, stopping and starting to look at her work.
Mira shadowed me once when she thought I wasn't looking. She had a private tutor, but as quick-witted as she was, she finished all her studying and drills in less than an hour.
She was headstrong, and just strong in general. I guess enough time had passed that I no longer needed to point out when a woman or girl was strong - it seemed to be the baseline here.
She was a strange girl.
She rarely spoke first, but when she did, it was usually something sharp enough to prove she'd been listening the whole time.
Unlike Maren, who flared up with emotions many times, and Morgan, who kept quiet even when she wanted something, Mira only said something when she thought it was worth saying, or if she wanted something.
Ella said that I'd get a private tutor when I would be eight, so in a few months.
I wasn't looking forward to it because it would cut into my free time, but I wanted a cover identity and this would be the price I'd pay.
By midday, I was relaxed and had forgotten about most of my worries.
Then afternoon came, and with it, Gullyman.
I heard him before I saw him. It was unmistakable; when he was in his element, he had a confident stride with fast clicks of boots that said professional. Ella met him at the front door, her voice floating through the hall.
And it was confirmed beyond doubt when Ella's mighty voice greeted him.
"Oh, Gullyman! Didn't expect to see you today. Are you here for my husband?"
Gullyman gave Ella a polite nod, and his tone was perfectly neutral. "Yes, madam. Just a little business matter. Nothing urgent."
That line alone had earned him a permanent place on my payroll.
Ella hummed. "He's in the study. Go on ahead!"
He always carried himself like a man built from straight lines. He was very tall and very thin, and had gotten thinner over the last three years. I wondered if he ate right, or if the stress that came with organizing a smuggling ring put him through the wringer.
Maybe being a hired assassin had been less stressful.
He had dark hair, which he usually cut short - a bit unusual for a guy in this world, but if he preferred it that way, who was I to say anything?
By the time he reached the study door, I already knew whatever he brought wouldn't be minor.
"Enter," Woodborn called.
Gullyman stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. His posture changed instantly - shoulders sagged, stance loosened, voice less firm.
"Woodborn. Boss," he addressed us.
Gullyman clasped his hands behind his back. "We've been attacked."
It was very matter-of-fact.
Woodborn's brows pinched. "Define attacked."
"A new group muscled their way into the southern route. Attempted to negotiate through threats. When they were refused…" He hesitated - only for a second. "…they attacked our people."
I leaned back, outwardly calm. "Damage?"
Gullyman exhaled slowly. "Three dead. Two missing."
"Dead? They killed our men?" Woodborn asked, and the question hung in the the room.
I felt the moment the words reached me fully.
Three dead.
I'd expected territorial nonsense. Sabotage. Threats, and so on.
But already killing people?
It was a step too far. I would not allow anything like that any further.
Woodborn caught the shift in me. Of course he did.
Three years of living as father and son, and we'd learned somewhat how the other would react.
Gullyman continued carefully. "We secured the survivors. They're shaken. They say the attackers were organized. Coordinated. Not opportunists."
"They knew what they wanted," Woodborn muttered. "That's worse."
"What should we do?" Gullyman asked.
They were silent for a moment.
I could have build up an image of a scary boss. One who would kill Gullyman for even bringing me such news.
This really was bad news, and I could have lashed out.
But no, I was reasonable, in those pursuits, and a bit more extreme when it came to my the things that concerned my faith and battle against the gods.
Crap. I knew this wasn't going to be a smooth ride, but I didn't think there'd already be people killed at the first signs of trouble.
I needed to end this quickly - with no more deaths, or as few as possible.
Why couldn't criminals just work together to make lots of money instead of killing people or constant backstabbing?
"I'll handle this," I said coldly.
Gullyman nodded. "I assumed as much, boss. I'll have everything ready in an hour."
He bowed first to me, then to Woodborn, then slipped out as quietly as he came.