Disgusted by his own reaction, Varkas straightened up, only for someone to step directly into his path.
“Your Grace, you must be weary from the long journey. Would you not care to rest and recover from your travels first?”
Varkas looked down coldly at the man who had subtly cut him off from Talia.
Dressed in neat civilian attire, Edric Luvon kept one hand over his chest, his expression tense as he gauged Varkas’s reaction.
For a brief moment, the sheer absurdity of the man shielding her sparked a wave of disbelief, but Varkas tamped down his boiling irritation and turned away. He strode across the great hall, walking past the woman standing as rigid and still as an ice sculpture.
As he walked down the corridor and stepped into his bedchamber, the head butler, who had hurried after him to attend his needs, spoke in a hushed, cautious tone.
“Is there anything you require, Your Grace?”
“Prepare a hot bath and fresh clothes.”
The moment the command left his lips, the butler bowed low and quietly slipped out.
With the heavy thud of the closing door echoing behind him, Varkas shed his heavy coat, tossed it carelessly over the back of a chair, and walked to the window.
He pulled back the thick drape to reveal the garden below, where patches of unmelted snow still lingered. Amidst the barren landscape, Varkas caught sight of a familiar slender silhouette, and he leaned his temple against the cold pane.
Moving slowly along the stone path, Talia was flanked closely by two maids and Edric Luvon. They seemed to hover near to catch her should she falter, mindful of her unsteady gait.
Edric watched her with evident worry and offered a word; Talia, whose brow had furrowed in annoyance, let the trace of a faint smile flicker across her lips.
Varkas stared unblinking at that softened profile, only to be jolted by the sharp sound of tearing fabric. He looked up to find his grip had ripped the curtain.
He swept his hair back and stepped away from the window. Just then, servants filed into the room carrying a copper tub brimming with steaming water.
With his squire’s assistance, Varkas unbuckled his sword and armor. Stripping off garments soiled by days of grime and sweat, he sank deep into the hot water. Though it was a comfort he had not enjoyed in a fortnight, the bitter taste in his mouth refused to fade.
He rested his head against the rim of the tub and stared up into the shadowed ceiling.
Why was he so unsettled?
The woman who had once been consumed by uncontrollable fury, even to the point of self-harm, had finally reclaimed her calm; he ought to have felt relief.
Compared to the days when she had wasted away behind locked doors, pale, emaciated, and prone to violent outbursts, this was an encouraging shift. Her venomous resentment toward him seemed to have dulled as well, which meant they would no longer waste their breath on exhausting quarrels.
Repeating those rationalizations to himself, Varkas cupped the water in his hands and washed his face roughly.
When he finished and rose from the water, a servant waiting behind the dressing screen stepped forward with a linen towel to dry his back. Brushing the intrusive hands away, Varkas pulled on a clean shirt and trousers, then sank heavily into a velvet armchair. A rough, grating voice called out from beyond the heavy oak door.
“Brother, may I have a word?”
Without looking up, Varkas replied.
“Enter.”
A moment later, the door swung open and Lucas stepped inside.
Varkas regarded his younger brother with a measured stare.
Over the span of two seasons, Lucas seemed to have completely regained his vigor; his skin carried a healthy, sun-warmed tone. Yet despite the strength returned to his frame, a dark, heavy cast hung over his features.
Taking in that sullen look, Varkas asked bluntly.
“What brings you here?”
“I’ve come to ask a favor of you, Brother,” Lucas said, his voice taut. Varkas gave a slight flick of his chin.
“Speak.”
Even with the permission given, Lucas hesitated, lingering in silence.
Wetting his dry lips nervously, he finally pushed the words past his throat.
“Please grant me charge of governing the eastern frontier.”
The unexpected request made Varkas pause, his hand freezing as he reached for a carafe of wine to fill his glass.
Narrowing his eyes, he countered.
“Why?”
“You told me yourself… that I needed to learn how to manage territory. And with the northern marches currently short on nobility to oversee the estates… I thought it would be an opportune time.”
Lucas kept his tone steady, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
Varkas studied him for a long moment before setting the carafe back onto the table.
“Have your memories fully returned?”
For an instant, a dark shadow drifted across his brother’s face.
Lucas moistened his chapped lips and slowly shook his head.
“Not entirely. Only fragmented pieces that surface now and then.”
Varkas lifted his glass to his lips, considering him quietly before speaking in a dry tone.
“I have already appointed a new administrator for Tarlin. I have no intention of rescinding the order.”
“It does not have to be Tarlin. Any estate in that region would do…”
“Are you truly suggesting I dispatch the second son of House Shearkan to manage some desolate border village?”
Lucas’s lips pressed into a hard line.
He remained silent, brooding over the floorboards, before raising his chin once more.
“Then send me to the northeast. If you place me over the garrison troops, I can deal with the Zram raiders we have yet to quell…”
“Your enthusiasm is commendable, but your timing is ill-conceived.”
Varkas took a measured sip of the strong wine and continued evenly.
“You have undoubtedly heard word of my injury. The vassals are already terrified that I might fall on the front lines without leaving an heir. Until this war reaches its conclusion, you, of all people, must remain quietly inside Raedgo Castle.”
“Yet you have returned safe and sound, Brother. And the fighting will soon be over—”
“It is far from settled. There is no guaranteeing another crisis will not erupt without warning, much like the last.”
Varkas leaned back against the arm of his chair and let out a long breath.
“Wait until next year. The moment the civil war is put to rest, I will grant you a fitting fief. As I have told you, if both you and I run amok on the front lines while the succession remains vacant, the vassals will incite outright rebellion.”
· · ·
“If you understand my meaning, then go.”
Despite the dismissal, his brother did not stir.
Varkas’s gaze turned sharp as he looked back up.
“Is there something else?”
“I understand your reasoning, Brother. Truly, I do. But I cannot bear to stay in Kalmor any longer. If you fear my leading an expedition will agitate the vassals… then at least permit me to reside along the southern border for a while.”
A deep furrow dug between Varkas’s brows.
He demanded bluntly.
“Why are you so desperate to flee this castle?”
“That is…”
Lucas hesitated, appearing torn between silence and confession, before the words finally tumbled out.
“As long as I linger in Kalmor, I am nothing more than a cosseted young lordling. I am sick to death of being treated like an invalid whom everyone must walk on eggshells to coddle.”
Lucas muttered his frustrations beneath his breath, then quickly tacked on in a subdued tone.
“And I believe it would be easier on her—on my sister-in-law—if I were gone. It does not sit right with me to see her subjected to constant scorn over an incident I can barely even recall…”
“Who is scorning her?”
Varkas set his wine glass down on the table with a sharp clatter, his voice dropping an octave.
Lucas looked momentarily rattled before trying to shrug it off with an airy laugh.
“It is not as though anyone speaks openly against her. Just… the usual whispering behind closed doors.”
“I am asking you who is wagging their tongue.”
Lucas averted his eyes, letting his gaze drop to the rug.
The guilt on his face gave everything away. It was undoubtedly Raina and her personal maids doing the whispering.
Varkas ran a hand roughly through his damp hair, sinking back against the chair with a heavy, exasperated sigh.
“I have heard enough. I will find a suitable post for you soon.”
Even with the assurance that his request would be granted, Lucas looked far from pleased.
His brow furrowed in brooding silence, Lucas lingered a few moments longer, bowed curtly, and turned to leave the room.
END