The western veranda overlooked most of the Thorne estate.
From here, one could see the training grounds, the gardens, the distant stables, and, unfortunately, Lady Charu Thorne attempting to balance on a stone wall she had absolutely no business standing on.
"Should we stop her?"
The question came from Advisor Rowan Blackwell, who had served House Thorne for nearly thirty years.
Beside him, Advisor Cedric Vale didn't even bother looking up from the reports in his hands.
"No."
"She'll fall."
"No, she won't."
"How can you be certain?"
Cedric finally glanced toward the wall.
At that exact moment, Charu hopped from one stone pillar to another with alarming confidence.
A servant gasped.
Charu landed perfectly.
Cedric returned to his paperwork.
"Because she's been doing that since she was eight."
Rowan sighed.
"One day she's going to give Lord Thorne gray hair."
"One day?"
Both men shared a look.
Then laughed.
The sound faded as they watched the estate below.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Rowan leaned against the railing.
"Do you ever think House Thorne produces strange children?"
Cedric snorted.
"House Thorne has always produced strange people."
A fair observation.
The Thornes were one of the oldest noble houses in the continent.
Not the wealthiest.
Not the strongest.
Not even the most politically powerful.
Yet for nearly nine hundred years, kings rose and fell with Thorne influence somewhere in the background.
They were called many things.
Strategists.
Advisors.
Puppet Masters.
But history remembered them by a different title.
Kingmakers.
When a kingdom needed rebuilding, a Thorne appeared.
When a dynasty collapsed, a Thorne somehow stood nearby.
When peace treaties were signed, trade routes established, or wars avoided entirely, House Thorne often had fingerprints hidden somewhere on the outcome.
Never rulers.
Always architects.
The family seemed to possess an almost unnatural talent for seeing possibilities others missed.
Cedric folded another report.
"Then again, perhaps strange is simply a requirement for the family."
Rowan chuckled.
"Perhaps."
His gaze drifted toward Charu.
The youngest daughter was now crouched atop the wall, apparently having a serious conversation with a bird.
The bird appeared invested in the discussion.
"That one is different though."
Cedric followed his gaze.
For once, he nodded.
"Yes."
A brief silence settled between them.
Not disagreement.
Consideration.
"I still remember the merchant incident," Rowan said.
Cedric groaned immediately.
"Don't remind me."
"She was twelve."
"Twelve."
"Do you know what she told me afterward?"
Cedric already looked tired.
"What?"
"'The numbers felt dishonest.'"
Rowan rubbed his forehead.
"That was her explanation."
The investigation that followed had uncovered one of the largest smuggling operations in the region.
Entire networks had collapsed.
Several arrests had been made.
All because a twelve-year-old girl disliked the way a ledger was organized.
Cedric shook his head.
"At least that situation helped the kingdom."
"Unlike the espionage incident."
Now both men winced.
At fourteen, Charu had spent three weeks secretly mapping social interactions during a noble gathering.
Not because she suspected anything.
Because she was bored.
The resulting pattern had exposed a hidden intelligence network operating between three noble houses.
The political aftermath had lasted almost a year.
"Lord Thorne nearly banned her from attending social events after that."
"He tried."
"Then she discovered the traitor."
Cedric sighed.
"The poor man."
"The traitor?"
"No. Lord Thorne."
Rowan laughed.
Because it was true.
Three years ago, Charu had quietly informed her father that one of his officers was leaking military information.
When asked for evidence, she'd simply handed over six pages of observations.
The officer had been arrested shortly afterward.
Everything she'd written proved correct.
"What worries me," Rowan admitted, "is that she never seems surprised when she's right."
Cedric was silent for a long moment.
Then he said quietly,
"That's because she isn't looking for secrets."
Rowan frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Cedric's gaze remained fixed on the distant figure sitting atop the wall.
"Most people search for answers."
Far below, Charu burst into laughter at whatever the bird had done.
"She searches for patterns."
The older advisor shook his head.
"And when something doesn't fit..."
Rowan finished the thought.
"...she pulls on the thread until the whole tapestry comes apart."
Neither man found that particularly comforting.