Ch#152
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The manor’s subterranean levels were divided into various functional zones. While a portion served as a standard dungeon for common criminals, other quarters were designed to house high-born detainees. Under normal circumstances, Lev would never have been granted such accommodations, but his status as a recovering patient earned him a rare luxury.
“Lev Zid.”
Yuls addressed him. Although the man was restrained to the mattress, his clarity of mind was unmistakable. It was an impressive feat of willpower to remain lucid in a windowless void. Clearly, the staff had been diligent in their care during the master’s time away.
Lev met Yuls’s gaze with a look of pure loathing. Detecting the raw hostility in that stare, Yuls let out a soft, mocking laugh.
“Do you truly believe a mere glare can accomplish anything?”
Bert moved to the bedside, pinning Lev’s head against the pillow with a heavy hand to ensure he stayed still. Yuls pulled a chair over, settling into it with his legs crossed right in front of the prisoner. Behind him, the head chamberlains stood like statues of ice, their expressions devoid of warmth.
“I have a few inquiries,” Yuls began. “We shall start with Grimaldi.”
Lev remained stoic, his face a mask of stubborn silence. However, when Yuls mentioned Macauliffe, a flicker of recognition crossed the man’s features.
“And then there is Adrina.”
Yuls paused, appearing to weigh his thoughts for a second. “Actually, your input on her isn’t required,” he decided, standing up abruptly.
“Ivan.”
“At your service, Your Excellency.”
“Proceed.”
At the command, Bert stepped aside to make room. Ivan stepped forward, pinching Lev’s nostrils shut to force his mouth open before pouring a vial down his throat. The prisoner struggled, the liquid spraying and foaming as he tried to reject the dose. He coughed and strained to spit it out, but Ivan remained clinical, watching with a detached air until every drop had been swallowed.
When the ordeal ended, Ivan withdrew. Lev collapsed back, clutching his neck and gasping for breath.
Yuls leaned over the bed, catching Lev’s chin and tilting his face upward. The light was fading from the man’s eyes, turning them glassy. The final image to burn into Lev’s consciousness was the sight of Yuls’s cold smile.
*
Billy often remarked that the greatest quality of the nobility was a specific trait.
“Restraint.”
“…”
“That signature pride, the aloofness, the rigid adherence to social standing—all of it stems from the discipline of self-control. It reaches its peak when paired with the right amount of apathy. Furthermore, a minimalist palette is always superior.”
Adi watched him, her expression making it clear she found his philosophy baffling.
“Why are you explaining this to me?”
“I am curious which of these you find more elegantly understated, Guard,” Billy replied. “I thought a woman’s perspective might be enlightening.”
“The one on the right.”
Billy looked down at the garments he held. “Right from your view or mine?” When Adi indicated her own right side, Billy paused to consider. Ultimately, he selected the clothes on the left. Adi couldn’t help but wonder why he had bothered to ask for her opinion at all.
Yuls soon entered, fresh from the bath and draped in a simple robe. A team of chamberlains immediately descended upon him, drying his hair and beginning the intricate process of his toilet. A nobleman’s grooming was as time-consuming as any lady’s; the results were simply more subtle.
Billy observed that Yuls had filled out recently. His frame had broadened, making his clothes fit more snugly. Though Billy loved a sharp, tailored silhouette, Yuls usually preferred a looser cut for comfort. Now, he seemed pleased that his current wardrobe fit him so precisely.
While the Duke finished dressing, Adi moved toward the Drawing room. She crossed paths with Bert, who was heading in the opposite direction. He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“Macauliffe is here. Stay put; we’ll join you shortly.”
Adi gave a nod and watched him pass. She stood in the quiet corridor for a heartbeat before continuing on her way.
Viscount Macauliffe was dressed in a charcoal suit paired with a blindingly white shirt and cravat. He leaned on a cane topped with a golden grip. Two unfamiliar faces—a servant and a knight—stood at his back. Adi wondered what had happened to his previous attendant. It seemed he replaced his staff as frequently as Claude did.
Sensing Adi’s intense scrutiny, Macauliffe chuckled and met her eyes. She was there under the guise of an escort, but both knew her true role was that of a jailer.
The Woodpecker manor exceeded Macauliffe’s expectations. Compared to the cramped feel of the Ionad residence, this ancestral seat was massive and regal. It rivaled the royal palace in scale, though it embraced a much more disciplined aesthetic. Some might call it plain, but it suited Macauliffe’s tastes perfectly.
Ivan eventually entered the room to announce the Duke’s imminent arrival. He took a position next to Adi, offering her a tiny, reassuring smile. “Everything in order?” he whispered. Adi confirmed with a nod.
“Good to hear.”
Ivan then turned his attention to Macauliffe, his eyes narrowed as if he were dissecting the man.
A moment later, the floor began to hum with the vibration of approaching footsteps. It was a distinctive, rhythmic sound that both Adi and Ivan recognized immediately. The Duke was close.
Surprisingly, Macauliffe and his retainers also seemed to sense the movement. When they instinctively looked toward the hallway door, Adi felt a prickle of unease.
A chamberlain pulled the door wide, and Yuls stepped inside. Macauliffe rose to his feet at once.
“Your Excellency.”
“Viscount.”
Yuls took his seat across from the guest.
Adi had to admit that Billy’s fashion sense was superior to hers. Yuls looked striking in the outfit the chamberlain had chosen. Detecting her gaze, Yuls glanced her way and shared a fleeting smile. His face quickly returned to a stern mask as he turned back to Macauliffe.
“I imagine your trek here was exhausting.”
“Not at all. The moment I crossed into your lands, the vista was so striking I couldn’t look away.”
“You found it striking?”
“Indeed. It is the sort of beauty one might wish to possess.”
To possess it? Adi’s mind raced. Land was a gift from the throne; it wasn’t something a noble could simply take. To say such a thing suggested a total ignorance of social norms—or something more calculated.
“The northern woods,” Yuls remarked. “They are quite weathered now, so your praise is generous.”
“I have heard the accounts of the forest’s state. It must be a heavy burden.”
“Only heard? You haven’t seen them?”
“I arrived by sea, you see.”
“The overland route is usually preferred when traveling from Ionad or Pallesa Palace,” Yuls noted.
“I had errands elsewhere that required a detour by ship.”
“Understood,” Yuls said, signaling to Ivan.
“Dinner will be served shortly. For now, you will be shown to a room where you can refresh yourself.”
Yuls looked at Macauliffe, who was staring back at Ivan. A heavy, silent tension hung between the two men.
Macauliffe was the one to break the silence. “Will this chamberlain be my guide?” he asked, smiling.
“I shall perform that duty,” Billy interrupted. Macauliffe shifted his gaze to the other head chamberlain by the door.
“If you would follow me, Viscount.”
Billy didn’t wait for a reply. He turned on his heel and marched toward the exit, his posture signaling that he would not tolerate a delay. Macauliffe followed, looking slightly caught off guard, trailed by his staff. Billy shut the door firmly behind them.
The sound of their retreating steps thudded through the floorboards. Yuls watched the door as the noise faded. Adi realized then that the Drawing room was acoustically designed specifically to track movement outside.
Once the silence was absolute, Yuls spoke. “Give me your assessment.”
“He is from the East, without question,” Ivan replied.
In their shorthand, the cardinal directions carried hidden meanings: the West meant demonic influence, the North meant magic, and the East meant the blade of an assassin. If Ivan, who shared that origin, identified him as such, then Macauliffe was a professional killer.
“We should reach out to the Duchy of Dunbar to see what they know,” Dimitri suggested. Yuls nodded, a dark smirk tugging at his lips.
“The King seems to hold the Viscount in high regard.”
Adi wondered if the King was complicit or simply a fool.
“We will observe him for now,” Yuls decided. Neither option was particularly comforting. “There is no profit in showing our hand too early.”
With that, the Duke stood up to leave.