Soon they found themselves on the third floor, midway down a broad hallway that was more modestly adorned than the ones below. Fishing a small silver key from a pocket, Caedmon unlocked an almost plain set of double doors, and bade Alistar to follow.

The office was at least five times larger than Alistar’s bedroom. The walls were lined with shelves on all sides that were stuffed with books to the point of overflowing, works in all shapes and sizes, and in all states of condition. Most of the study was neat and orderly, though there were several sections where books had been hastily jammed into random shelves, with a good deal of volumes cluttering certain parts of the floor. The scent of dry, aged parchment filled Alistar’s nostrils, nostalgia in his eyes as he adjusted to the light of several lanterns that burned gently from their places upon hooks and hangers. A pair of large desks faced one another from opposite ends of the room, delicately carved from expensive mahogany, each with a comfortable chair. A handful of similar chairs sat off to the side in a loose clump.

“This room doesn’t see many visitors, so pardon the mess.” Caedmon knelt down to gather some sheets of parchment at the base of the messier desk, which was on the right side of the study. It seemed that this was where he usually sat.

Without asking, Alistar sat onto a fine, cushioned chair, his heart as cold as the sweat on his back. This was no time to worry over manners. Madeline had said that the messenger had returned alone. If his mother wasn’t with him, it meant that the owner of the mine had refused to sell her, even with the ridiculous price Caedmon had pitched. If they wouldn’t agree to five times the usual selling price, then how could Alistar possibly hope to work up enough money to appeal to them? If even Caedmon couldn’t buy his mother’s freedom, then how could he hope to free her, Kaila, and Talon? Despair descended upon him, a familiar, detestable feeling that stabbed at him like a cold blade in the hands of an old friend.

Someone knocked and then entered the room, though Alistar kept his eyes on the fine rug that covered nearly the entire floor. When he looked up a few moments later, he saw a young man standing before Caedmon, who sat crossly behind his desk with hands balled up into fists. Behind the man’s fury, Alistar saw a mirror of himself. His uncle was hurting, and he couldn’t hide it.

The two men exchanged a few words and then the young man began his report. Alistar, whose gaze had grown downcast once more, slowly turned his head in their direction as if it rested upon rusted hinges. The messenger wore fine clothes, though they were torn and dirty from his travels, his modest features marked by several bruises. Most glaring was the one around his right eye.

“I’m deeply sorry, my lord,” frowned the man, his voice heavy with shame. “As you instructed, I took the fastest horse in the stables and hired the swiftest escorts. We made good time, considering the absence of rest stops, but the one in charge of the mines made us wait outside for days. When I finally spoke to the man, he was anything but reasonable.” The young man paused to clear his throat, suddenly hesitant. “They refused to send word to the count about your offer. They simply stole the money you had prepared, and then forced me to leave when—”

“What of Laisha?” Caedmon cut in. “What did you learn of her situation?”

“Erm,” the man looked away. “The man in charge—one of the count’s sons, I took it—told me that she had passed away sometime during the week before last.” He dropped to one knee so quickly that his kneecap might have cracked, from the sound it made when it hit the floor. “My deepest apologies! I failed to bring back your sister, and I lost the fortune you entrusted me with!”

Alistar couldn’t breathe. His mother, dead?

“There’s no need for that,” mumbled Caedmon, despondently. He glanced at Alistar and straightened up in his chair, his voice regaining some of its usual strength. “This isn’t your fault, Stason. You did well to make it there so quickly. Your appearance says everything about your devotion, so there’s no need for self-ridicule. Know that I’m grateful to you for your hard work.”

“My lord…”

“It’s best you be off now. Have one of the girls draw you a bath. There will be a meal waiting for you once you’ve finished.”

“Yes, my lord.” Stason stopped on his way out of the room, clearly troubled. “I wasn’t actually able to confirm their claim. The captain was a slive if I’ve ever seen one. There’s a chance that he may have been dishonest.”

“Your bath awaits you, Stason.”

Caedmon rose from his seat as the other man left, and knelt down at Alistar’s side a few moments later. Though they were so close, Alistar couldn’t see him. The only thing that he could see was an empty collection box and a vacant workspace down the working line. He saw the graveyard pit hidden within the forest, watched hungry animals as they awaited a fresh meal.

His mother had meant everything to him, and the hole that her death left behind was deeper than any tunnel or mine. His sole purpose had been to free her from Crystellum, but he’d never even had the chance. The news left him drained, lifeless. Not himself.

Caedmon pulled him into a light embrace. He smelled of light cologne and aged parchment. “I’m sorry, Alistar. I’m sorry that I couldn’t save your mother. I’m so sorry.” The embraced tightened as the seconds passed. Neither knew who shed the first tear, but soon they were weeping together in silence, sharing the same tears and sorrows.

Alistar came to realize that, although this was not yet his home, it was a place where he had been accepted by those around him. They were not the family he had known growing up, but that didn’t mean they weren’t family. As he desperately clung to his uncle, he suddenly found comfort in the newly birthed connection, but it was a small reassurance in the face of his titanic loss. His life had only just gained some semblance of stability, only for his world to come crashing down upon him like a terrible avalanche, leaving him cold and bitter.

Caedmon mastered himself much quicker than Alistar. He vowed to raise him as his own, to provide for him and to see that he was brought up in a way that would prepare him for anything the world might throw at him.

Although he was endlessly grateful, Alistar was unable to show his gratitude. Right now, he wanted to be left alone. He conveyed this to his uncle, who escorted him back to the basement, and then left to check up on Stason.

Though the day was still in its infancy, he felt no desire to leave his room. The library had lost its allure, and he wasn’t in the mood to shadow Madeline and the other house servants. He must have sat limp on the bed, eyes vacantly directed in some general direction or other, all the way through to dinnertime. Nobody came down to get him, which was fine, as he wasn’t really in the condition for conversation. He eventually decided to go without eating, and missed his first meal since taking up residence at the manor house. The familiar pangs of hunger dug deep into his belly, but the old sensation just reminded him of his mother.

He went to his wardrobe and dug out the smelly rags he’d worn for much of his life. The sackcloth brought back a tide of memories. Glancing down at his fine tunic, his fitted leggings and cozy stockings, his bottom lip began to tremble. He dragged his feet over to the left side of the room and rummaged through the drawer of a small dresser. This was where he kept his spare sets of clothes, even though one had been ruined. He grabbed a soft pair of stockings that he’d tucked into a corner, from which he withdrew the pretty red crystal, which was still wrapped in a strip of sackcloth.

Nearly three years had passed since he and Kaila had found the strange gem. Not one of the books he’d read had mentioned anything of a crystalline, scale-stemmed flower, nor of any light-emitting, gem-producing plants. Staring down at his treasure, he undid its wrappings and traced it with a delicate, absentminded touch.

The crystal reminded him that he still had a goal to achieve, a reason to keep on living. He had to save Kaila, and bring her home to Mayhaven. He had lost most of his family, but not all of them, and had gained something new, something else entirely. Thanks to his uncle, he had gained the opportunity to become more than just an overworked slave.

He squeezed the stone in his hand. He would take full advantage of this opportunity, and would grow to become someone that his parents could be proud of, someone that could free Kaila from Crystellum. Someone like his father.

After how things had developed with Stason, it was obvious that the guards would never set Kaila and Talon free regardless of how much money they were offered. If he wanted to rescue them, then the only way was to do so by force. This was impossible at the moment, and would likely remain impossible, but he couldn’t simply forget about them and leave them to their fate. He had made a promise with Kaila, and he would keep it no matter the cost.

I hope you’re okay, Kaila. Please, be okay.

Regardless of his resolve, he was still frightened, still in shock, still lonely and terribly sad. But he’d been through this before, hadn’t he? It had been the same when he’d lost his father. Having gone through that, he knew that even if he was lost in a maze of depression, he would eventually find his way out.

He returned the crystal to its hiding spot and then climbed into bed. He immediately buried his head beneath one of the many pillows, gritting his teeth and clenching at the sheets in temporary resignation. For now, he would grieve.