Chapter 10: I Love Barley...

"Ha! By the earth gods, boy, your head really did take a beating in those ruins! You’ve developed a sense of humor! Bookkeeping! As if a son of mine would spend his twentieth year counting sacks of barley like a bald clerk in a basement!"

"I was being completely serious, Father, I love barley—"

"Pack your trunks!" Darius commanded, turning on his heel with military precision, his wolf-fur mantle swirling majestically behind him.

"The carriage departs at noon! Caelan is already in the courtyard loading his practice lances, and Elara has been sitting in her traveling cloak since sunrise, radiating frost across the stables! If you are not in that carriage by the fourth bell, I will have Edwin throw you over the back of an armored warhorse and strap you to the saddle myself!"

"Father, please—!"

"Edwin!" the Duke barked, striding toward the double doors. "Ensure the boy has three jars of that strawberry glaze packed in his luggage! He looks thin! An Everhart must never look malnourished at the capital!"

"At once, Your Grace," Edwin murmured, bowing so low his nose nearly brushed his knees.

The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind the Duke, leaving Lucien alone in the parlor with the butler, two footmen holding leather trunks, and a cold, half-eaten pastry.

Lucien stared at the closed doors.

Then, slowly, mechanically, he reached out, picked up the silver teapot, poured himself another cup of spiced chocolate, and stared into the dark, swirling liquid.

"I am going to die," he whispered.

"A most hyperbolic assessment, Young Master Lucien," Edwin said smoothly, snapping his fingers to signal the footmen to begin clearing the wardrobe in the adjoining suite.

"The Academy of Astraea possesses the finest defensive wards in the known world. Lord Caelan is an exceptional protector, and the Lady Elara, despite her somewhat frigid disposition, has already instructed the stablemasters to pack four enchanted warming stones beneath the carriage cushions specifically for your comfort."

Lucien looked up at the ancient butler with dead, hollow eyes. "Edwin."

"Yes, My Lord?"

"If a man wished to fake his own death, immediately, without causing unnecessary emotional distress to his parents... how would one go about procuring a convincing corpse on short notice?"

Edwin didn’t even blink.

He merely adjusted his monocle with the serene, unflappable composure of a man who had served high-ranking, eccentric aristocrats for fifty-five years.

"I would strongly advise against it, Young Master. The Duke’s tracking hounds are exceptionally well-bred, and the Duchess’s divination scrying mirrors have a range of four hundred leagues. You would be retrieved before nightfall, and the Duke would likely force you to run laps around the training grounds in full plate armor as a disciplinary measure."

Lucien sighed, resting his forehead against the cool marble surface of the tea table. "Thank you, Edwin. Your pragmatic counsel is, as always, deeply depressing."

"My pleasure, My Lord. Your traveling doublet is laid out upon the bed. It is the one made of charcoal wool with silver buttons. It complements your complexion wonderfully."

Two hours later, the grand courtyard of the Everhart Manor was a theater of chaos.

The central transport was not a normal vehicle; it was an enormous, masterfully crafted heavy ducal carriage constructed from ironwood and reinforced with polished brass runes along the wheel rims to absorb road vibrations.

It was hitched to four slate-grey Imperial Coursers, beasts the size of small elephants, with breath that steamed in the crisp morning air and hooves the size of dinner plates.

Leaning against the side of the carriage, his arms crossed over an intricately embroidered leather fencing vest, was Caelan.

A heavy, two-handed greatsword wrapped in oiled canvas was strapped securely across his broad back.

As Lucien stepped out onto the marble portico, Caelan grinned, revealing a flash of white teeth.

"Well, look who finally crawled out of the down feathers!" Caelan shouted across the cobblestones, his voice booming over the clatter of stablehands and rolling luggage carts. "The hero of the catacombs! The unawakened martyr! Tell me, brother, did you pack your smelling salts? I hear the capital’s air can be terribly brisk for delicate constitutions!"

"If you speak another word, Caelan," a chilling, flat voice drifted from inside the carriage’s open door, "I will freeze the fluid inside your inner ear. You will spend the entire four-day journey vomiting into your boots."

Caelan’s grin vanished instantly.

He took an instinctive, cautious half-step away from the carriage door, scowling darkly. "You’re a monster, Elara. A tiny, sociopathic monster."

Lucien walked down the sweeping marble staircase, his charcoal coat billowing softly in the breeze.

Behind him, Edwin and three footmen carried his personal leather cases, containing what Lucien had meticulously ensured was an absurdly comprehensive selection of history treatises, tea leaves, and comfortable silk loungewear.

Duchess Seraphine stood at the base of the stairs, her porcelain face glowing with maternal anxiety.

As Lucien approached, she reached out, taking both of his hands into her warm, soft grasp.

"Lucien, my sweet boy," she whispered, her sapphire eyes searching his face with terrifying, intuitive depth. "You still look... distant. Are you certain you are well? If your chest aches, even for a moment, you must go directly to the Magic Tower’s infirmary. Do not let the instructors push you into the practical arenas. You have nothing to prove to those warmongering fools."

"I am well, Mother," Lucien said, feeling a strange, tight warmth constrict his throat.

It was bizarre.

He had only occupied this body for seven days, yet the unconditional warmth of this woman’s affection was so overwhelming, so utterly devoid of the cold, transactional expectations of his previous life, that he found himself leaning into her touch.

"I promise you," Lucien continued, his voice softer than usual. "I will be the most peaceful, invisible student in the history of the institution, and not engage in duels. I will not volunteer for expeditions. If trouble arises, I will run in the opposite direction with great athletic urgency."