Chapter 120: Refuge In The North.

Chapter 120

The heavy oak doors of the drawing room clicked shut behind Sigrid, leaving her alone with the swirling chaos of her thoughts. Standing near the window, she watched the shadow of Caspian’s carriage blend into the falling snow until it disappeared entirely down the mountain road. The silence of the fortress stretched long and cold around her, but the urgent rhythm of her duties pulled her away from the glass. Turning her back to the window, Sigrid made her way back through the wide, drafty corridors toward the guest wing. She pushed open the door to Rony’s chamber quietly, stepping across the threshold only to stop in her tracks. Rosie was standing beside the bed, a small basin of water on the nightstand, carefully dabbing a warm, damp towel across her brother’s brow. Sigrid’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at the sight. "You ought to be resting, Rosie," Sigrid said, her voice cutting gently through the quiet room.

Rosie startled at the sudden voice, almost dropping the cloth into the basin. She spun around, her shoulders hunching instinctively until her gaze met Sigrid’s, at which point a small, hesitant smile touched her lips. "I am quite fine, Your Grace," Rosie insisted softly, wringing the moisture from the cloth with hands that still bore the faint grimness of their recent ordeal.

Sigrid watched the girl closely, noting the exhaustion lingering around her eyes. "If you say so," Sigrid murmured, though she made no move to leave.

Rosie stood by the bed, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her faded apron. A storm of conflicted emotions passed across her young face—fear battling desperation—until she seemed to settle herself. She took a tentative step forward, bowing her head deeply before the Duchess. "Your Grace... I would like to make a request, if you would permit it."

Sigrid crossed her arms, her dark sleeves falling in heavy folds over her hands. "Speak, child."

Rosie swallowed hard, looking up with wide, shining eyes. "I would like to take over the care of my brother Rony myself," she began, her voice trembling slightly before gathering strength. "And... and I would like to work as a maid here at the fortress. I know you purged the former staff and intend to hire new workers, but I promise I will work diligently. I will never be a burden to you, and I would never betray you, Your Grace. Just please, let me stay here." Tears brimmed at the edges of her eyelids as she pressed her hands together. "My brother and I have nowhere else to go in this world."

Before Sigrid could respond, a raspy, weak voice drifted from the bed behind them. The small figure under the blankets stirred, pushing himself up on frail arms while wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He let out a soft yawn, blinking against the light. "Rosie?" he muttered.

The girl turned instantly at the sound, her eyes lighting up as she cried out his name. "Rony!" She rushed back to the bedside, wrapping her arms tightly around her brother as the boy clutched at her clothes, looking past her shoulder with wide, bewildered eyes at the older lady standing near the center of the room. Sigrid observed the quiet reunion, the harsh edge of her strategic mind softening just enough to grant them this sanctuary. "You may stay, Rosie," Sigrid announced clearly.

Rosie snapped her head back, her face radiant with excitement and disbelief. "Yes! Thank you, Your Grace, thank you!" Rony looked between his sister and the Duchess with quiet curiosity, wondering what had prompted such joy.

Sigrid gestured toward her head maid, who stood near the entryway. "Lilith will oversee your training and instruct you in all household duties. But for today, you will rest. Tomorrow your duties begin."

Rosie bowed repeatedly, offering breathless thanks as Sigrid turned and stepped back into the hallway, signaling for Lilith to remain behind and finalize the arrangements.

Stepping into the vast, echoing corridor, Sigrid surveyed the sweeping stone arches and empty alcoves of the citadel. The absence of the purged staff made the fortress feel less like a seat of ducal power and more like a hollow monument. "This fortress is far too large," Sigrid muttered to herself, her boots echoing against the flags. "We will require new servants without delay."

She raised her voice slightly, calling for her guards who were trailing at a respectful distance behind her. Chester and Maude stepped forward instantly, their armor clinking in unison as they offered low bows. "Tell me," Sigrid asked as she resumed walking, "I am aware that the primary occupations in the North revolve around hunting the wild beasts of the frozen forests and martial service. What other livelihoods do these lands offer our people?"

Chester frowned, scratching at the back of his neck as he considered the question. "Well, Your Grace, I am afraid my knowledge of civilian trades is rather limited. Ever since I was a boy, my only ambition was to take up the sword and serve as a soldier for the Duke."

Sigrid paused slightly in her stride, looking over her shoulder at the veteran guard. "Are you not older than Soren?"

Chester inclined his head. "I am, Duchess. Older than Lord Soren by three years." Sigrid’s crimson eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Then Soren must have possessed formidable strength that impressed you all of the north even in his youth for you to revere him so deeply from such an early age."

Maude shifted her weight, her brow furrowing slightly as she joined the conversation. "That is true, Your Grace, but the Duke has not always resided here in the North."

Sigrid stopped completely, turning to face Maude with subtle surprise. "He has not?"

Maude shook her head. "No, mistress. I have lived in these settlements since my birth, so I remember when the young lord and his retainers first arrived. He was no more than thirteen years of age, his parents having recently perished, leaving him entirely alone. Yet through sheer grit and relentless labor, by the age of nineteen he had amassed an unbeatable army, reclaimed the borders, and was formally elevated to govern the Northern Dukedom."

As Maude spoke, Sigrid’s keen perception caught a subtle shift in Chester’s posture—a tightening of his jaw, a deliberate stillness in his breathing. He knew more than he was letting on. There was a deeper, darker history buried beneath the heroic legend of Soren’s rise, one that the high court in the capital had systematically erased or twisted. The Royal Family treats Soren like an monstrous villain and seeks endlessly to weaken his military strength, Sigrid reflected silently, remembering her husband’s stern, unyielding face—a man who bore the weight of the entire realm without ever granting an inch of emotion. There is a reason behind their fear of him and hatred between Ragnar and Soren. I shall press Soren for the truth when he returns, but for now, my focus must remain here.

Turning back to Maude, Sigrid pressed the initial matter. "So, Maude, do you know of any other establishments or trades operating within the lower towns?"

Maude considered this for a moment before answering. "The population consists predominantly of men, mistress, so commercial shops are scarce. There are a few local bakeries and smithies, but little else. Since the Crown has effectively abandoned the North to its own devices, we lack the grand markets and luxury guilds found in the capital or the southern dukedoms. His Grace attempts to supply the essentials through military rations and local stores, but we possess nothing like the trade hubs of the south."

If only the North possessed a unique resource or craft to call its own, Sigrid mused internally, we could monetize it, establish trade routes, and break this domain’s artificial isolation.

Maude tilted her head, her curiosity piqued by the Duchess’s questioning. "If I may ask, Your Grace... why do you inquire about the local trades? I assumed you were merely seeking where to recruit new household staff."

Sigrid offered a faint, imperceptible smile. "I was simply curious about the state of my husband’s lands, nothing more."

Maude nodded in understanding. "If it is workers you require for the fortress, there are many young men and women in the lower settlements who would be eager for honest employment under your roof."

"Good," Sigrid said, smoothing the front of her gown. "We shall begin the recruitment process immediately." Before she could issue further directives to Chester, the heavy thud of the iron knocker echoed from the main entrance of the citadel, rattling the grand foyer. Chester immediately stepped past the Duchess, striding toward the heavy front doors with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He unlatched the heavy iron bar and pulled one of the grand oak doors inward. Standing upon the snow-covered threshold, windblown and catching his breath with visible anxiety etched across his features, was Leo.

His unexpected arrival at the gates must only mean that urgent news from the capital needed to reach the Northern Fortress.