Four weeks had passed.
A month inside the palace, and Sham had learned how to move like he belonged there. His hands worked. His head stayed low. His mouth stayed shut. Labor was steady. Predictable. Safe - or at least it appeared so.
The palace fed him well. Better than he had ever eaten before. Warm meals. Clean clothes. A bed softer than any ground he had ever slept on.
It almost felt like kindness.
Almost.
Letter from Klewton arrived every seven days without fail.
How is life there? Are you safe?
The same questions. The same careful words.
Sham always smiled when he read them. Klewton was married now, settled, sending gifts when he could - sometimes coins, sometimes food wrapped in cloth. A piece of his old life still reaching for him. No one asked too much.
No one ever did.
Life felt... better. Too better.
Sometimes, at night, Sham would lie awake and think of his father. He had left no inheritance. No land. No gold.
Only words.
And words could not warm a cold night.
But today, the letter did not come. Sham waited. Nothing. Nine days. Klewton had never been late before. A quiet worry settled in his chest.
"I need to go to Farran," Sham told Laurent. "Something isn't right."
Laurent studied him for a moment longer than usual. Then he nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Go. I will be your shield."
The words felt heavier than they should have. They embraced, and Sham left without ceremony. He packed only a few clothes in a sack and slipped away. No one saw him leave. Not even the guards.
That should have comforted him. It didn't.
He walked. Through the valleys that swallowed sound. Mountains stood like silent witnesses. Rivers that moved too quietly.
The world felt... still. As if holding it's breath.
By the time he reached Farran, his legs trembled beneath him. His body ached. But the deeper exhaustion came from - somewhere else. Somewhere he could not name. And the air felt wrong.