Chapter 109

The road to Caldor seemed to stretch on without end. The journey was long, dull, and exhausting, and having spent two days on the road didn’t make things any better.

With every mile they travelled, the landscape grew increasingly familiar. The endless green fields gradually gave way to distant church spires and scattered rooftops, which appeared more frequently as they drew closer to the capital.

They left Westmarch Castle at dawn two days ago, while the morning mist still clung to air and the stone walls surrounding the estate were damp with dew. By midmorning, the sun had burned the mist away, revealing broad stretches of farmland, wooded hills and the occasional village as they drove by.

After spending the night at a decent roadside inn, they were off again again in the morning.

Inside the carriage, Octavia sat beside the window, her travelling cloak folded neatly beside her, an open book clutched in her hands. Her latest purchase. She bought a truck full of them before leaving Norham and had packed half of them for the trip

She and Genie were much alike in that regard; neither of them could sit still for long without something to occupy their hands or minds.

She had tried to read earlier, but Draven had noticed that she had spent more time looking out at the passing landscape than at the pages. Genie sat opposite him, her loaded burning a hole on the side head.

Draven had said little for the better part of an hour.

He was not tired. At least, not in any way that rest would remedy.

His body had grown accustomed to long journeys, difficult nights and the demands of his position. It was his mind that refused to settle. Two matters had occupied it almost exclusively since leaving Norham.

Seeing Cassandra and the last warehouse his soldiers raided.

The first thought was a welcome one.

The second was not.

He had hoped the return journey would give him enough time to make sense of everything that had happened that night. Instead, the farther he travelled from the warehouse, the more confused he became.

And then there was the matter about Lucien Harrow’s dead valet.

It had been five years since he killed Lucien in that hellish duel and the reprobate was still frustrating him from beyond the grave.

Five years had passed since the bloody confrontation in that valley, and the events of that day altered far more than Draven’s life. His family were left to bear the consequences as well, each of them carrying the burden in their own way.

Lorelei, despite having done nothing wrong, had suffered the most, even though Draven was the one who killed the man.

None of it had been fair to her, and he knew he would never forgive himself for failing to do more to protect his sister.

It was precisely why he did not tell Genie what he had discovered at the warehouse despite promising to tell her everything when he returned.

His gaze shifted toward his sister who was still glaring at his head. He didn’t know how she would react if he brought up the death bastard, or even how it would affect their mother. Lucien’s name was as good as forbidden in their household.

"That road through Aphreny is dreadful," Octavia remarked, glancing through the carriage window. "How does the Crown manage such a vast territory when even its roads are so difficult to maintain?"

Right on cue, the carriage lurched violently as the wheels struck a particularly deep rut in the road.

"It is hardly easy," Draven replied. "Though the Council creates its own difficulties."

"Which is why I imagine you prefer dealing with councillors. They can be reasoned with, persuaded, threatened, or simply waited out."

A faint smile touched his mouth. "People are predictable once you have observed them long enough. They leave evidence of what they want, making them easier to reason with."

"You still haven’t told me what happened that night." Genie cut in rudely, giving him a pointed stare.

The transition was so abrupt that Draven knew immediately she had been waiting for an opportunity.

Her mouth was pursed, ready to dole out another brusque remark.

He leaned back slightly against the carriage seat. "There was a great deal of violence," he said at last. "I would rather spare you the gory details."

Genie’s glare intensified and he knew must have said the wrong thing.

"Why? Do you think because I am a woman that I cannot hear such things?"

"No." He answered before the situation had a chance to escalate. It was the worst possible moment to put his foot in his mouth, especially when he was trapped there with her and their mother, with nowhere to escape.

"It is not that I think you are incapable of hearing it," he explained to placate her. "There are simply too many things about that night that I do not yet understand. Until I have something more certain than mere speculation, I see no reason to burden you with conjecture."

That answer was honest enough to make her irritation lessen, but it did not satisfy her.

"I still want to hear it. You have been evasive lately, more than usual after that night." She said, sounding indignant.

Draven rubbed his temple to ease the migraine gradually brewing.

Genie was right. He had been acting differently since then but he wished she hadn’t noticed.

Octavia closed her book and set it down on her lap. She had been listening to their petty squabble and now her interest was piqued.

"What happened, Draven?" She asked, looking at him expectantly.

He sighed in defeat. "It was a warehouse my men had been watching. We had reason to believe smugglers were using it to store weapons and other contraband, so a small force was sent to secure the location." He paused, recalling the report his commander gave him. "They were discovered and the smugglers opened fire. Many were killed and it was a horrid scene, bodies everywhere."

Octavia nodded once. She already knew about his investigation into the smuggling network. Draven had told her enough over the past year that she needed no further explanation of what had brought his men to the warehouse.

He scowled at Genie for forcing this out of him. "The warehouse was filled with contraband, just as we suspected. I recognized one of the dead smugglers. He was Lucien Harrow’s valet."