Found Him

Dannen adjusted his sword belt as he approached the gate of the Valens estate. The usual two guards had multiplied to six, all wearing crisp new uniforms in Valens green and gold. They recognized him immediately, waving him through with practiced efficiency.

The gravel path crunched under his boots as he made his way toward the manor. Servants rushed past carrying bolts of fabric, trays of food, and stacks of documents. The air buzzed with excited chatter and hurried footsteps.

A group of tailors hurried out of the main entrance, their arms laden with what looked like ceremonial robes. Behind them, a harried-looking scribe clutched a sheaf of papers to his chest, ink stains dotting his sleeves.

The gardens, usually meticulously maintained, now swarmed with workers setting up elaborate decorations. Wooden platforms rose between the flower beds, and colorful banners hung from newly erected poles. The scent of fresh paint mingled with the sweet perfume of late summer blooms.

Dannen dodged a pair of servants carrying a massive mirror up the steps. Inside, the manor’s usual quiet dignity had given way to controlled chaos. The marble floors echoed with dozens of footsteps, and voices bounced off the high ceilings.

“Watch it!” someone called as a ladder nearly toppled. Dannen pressed himself against the wall, letting a team of workers pass with long wooden beams balanced on their shoulders.

In the great hall, artisans perched on scaffolding, adding gilt details to the ceiling frescos. The room sparkled with fresh paint and polish, transforming the already impressive space into something truly regal.

Dannen’s gaze swept across the great hall, finally settling on Klindon. She stood near one of the newly-gilded columns, deep in conversation with a scribe whose quill scratched frantically across parchment. Her dark eyes met his, and she gestured subtly toward her study with a slight tilt of her head.

The familiar path to her study felt different today, with all the commotion echoing through the halls. Dannen’s boots sank into the plush carpet as he entered the room. Morning light streamed through the tall windows, catching dust motes disturbed by the renovation work outside. The usual scent of leather-bound books and wood polish mixed with fresh paint from the ongoing work.

He waited, studying the room’s details - the precisely arranged desk, the careful organization of scrolls and ledgers, the way even the quills lined up at exact angles. Everything about the space reflected its owner’s methodical nature.

The door opened several minutes later, and Klindon entered with measured steps. She closed the door firmly behind her, muffling the chaos beyond.

“Your report?” Her voice carried its usual calm authority.

Dannen bowed low, his right hand resting on his sword hilt. “My lady. The grain merchants report standard autumn prices, though there’s talk of a slight increase before winter. The harbormaster’s new fee structure has caused some grumbling among the smaller fishing boats.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “The banking district remains quiet, though there was some interest in a large withdrawal from one of the northern branches.”

Klindon’s expression remained neutral as she settled into her chair, arranging her skirts with practiced grace. “Continue.”

“The taverns are full of the usual gossip. Pirates spotted off the northern coast, though that’s likely just drunk sailors’ tales. A dragon ship in port caused quite a stir - seems it’s headed for Luminara.” Dannen kept his voice steady, watching for any reaction. “And there was talk of someone matching young master Estaria’s description seen leaving Leona’s bakery. The baker herself was with him, both carrying travel gear.”

The scratch of Klindon’s quill against parchment paused for just a moment - so brief anyone else might have missed it. She made a small notation before looking up. “The baker, you say? Interesting.”

The silence stretched between them like a drawn bowstring. Dannen shifted his weight, the soft carpet muffling his movement. Dust particles danced in the sunbeam streaming through the window, making the air seem thick and heavy. His collar felt tight, and he resisted the urge to adjust it.

Klindon’s eyes remained fixed on some distant point, her fingers absently tracing the edge of a document on her desk. The usual sounds of construction and preparation filtered through the closed door - hammering, voices calling instructions, the scrape of furniture being moved. But in the study, the quiet grew oppressive.

Dannen cleared his throat softly. The sound seemed to snap Klindon back to the present moment, her dark eyes focusing on him with laser precision.

“Was there a caravan in Tidalrest?” Her voice carried its usual measured control, but something in her tone suggested deeper calculations at work.

“Yes ma’am.” Dannen straightened his posture instinctively. “It left the day after young master was spotted. Do you think he was joining the caravan?”

Klindon’s fingers drummed once on her desk before going still. The morning light caught the silver threads in her hair as she turned to look out the window. Outside, workers were raising another wooden platform in the garden. The sound of their hammering provided a steady rhythm to break the renewed silence.

A knock at the door made Dannen start slightly. Klindon didn’t move, her gaze still fixed on the garden below.

“Enter,” she called, her voice carrying easily despite its soft volume.

A servant appeared, carrying a tray with tea service. The china clinked softly as she set it on a side table, bowed, and departed without a word. The fresh scent of mint tea filled the air, mixing with the leather and wood polish that perpetually perfumed the study.

Klindon finally turned from the window. She poured two cups of tea with precise movements, offering one to Dannen. He accepted with a slight bow, careful not to let his hand shake. The cup was delicate - far more delicate than he was used to handling.

Dannen’s heart raced as Klindon finally broke the silence. Her voice emerged cold and precise, each word dripping with an intensity that made his skin prickle.

“Find the caravan… at all costs.”

She glided across the study to a large map mounted on the wall. The morning light caught the silver threading in her dark hair as she reached for a marking pen. Her hand moved with deliberate purpose, writing Estaria’s name next to Tidalrest along with the date of the sighting. Her fingers lingered on the mark, tracing it slowly.

The silence returned, broken only by the distant sounds of construction and the soft ticking of the mantel clock. Dannen remained motionless, his tea cooling forgotten in his hands. The delicate cup suddenly felt like a burden, but he dared not set it down.

Klindon stood before the map, her shoulders rigid, completely still except for the slight movement of her finger tracing routes across the parchment. The morning light streaming through the window cast strange shadows across her face, making her expression unreadable.

When she finally turned to retrieve her tea, she started violently at his presence, as though she’d completely forgotten he was there. Her usually composed features flickered with something Dannen had never seen before - was it fear? The expression vanished so quickly he couldn’t be sure.

“Dismissed.” The word cut through the air like a knife.

Dannen bowed deeply, grateful for the excuse to break eye contact. He set his untouched tea on the nearest surface and backed toward the door, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the handle.

Once outside, he sagged against the wall, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His heart hammered against his ribs, and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool morning air.

Fifteen years he’d served as Klindon’s scout. He’d seen her negotiate brutal trade deals, outmaneuver political rivals, and weather countless crises. But this - this was different. The controlled precision of her movements, the cold calculation in her voice, the moment of startled recognition - it all spoke of something far more dangerous than her usual schemes.

The sounds of construction seemed suddenly too loud, too chaotic. The endless shuffling of servants’ feet and the constant hammering pressed in around him. Dannen pushed himself away from the wall, his legs unsteady beneath him.

He needed to move, to put distance between himself and that study. His feet carried him forward, first at a walk, then a jog, and finally a full run. He dodged around servants and workers, ignoring their startled looks.

Through the great hall, past the artisans on their scaffolding, down the main steps, and across the garden - he ran as though pursued by demons. The guards at the gate straightened as he approached, but he barely noticed them as he burst through onto the street beyond.

Only when the Valens estate disappeared behind him did Dannen slow his pace. His chest heaved as he gulped in the cool morning air. He’d seen many sides of Klindon over the years - the shrewd businesswoman, the calculating strategist, the demanding taskmaster. But never had she seemed so… overtly predatory.

His hands were still shaking as he straightened his sword belt. Whatever game Klindon was playing now, it was clear the stakes were higher than ever before. The morning sun suddenly felt weak against the chill that had settled into his bones.