With letter in hand and secure in the knowledge that he was fulfilling his contract with ample time to spare, captain Henriot allowed himself to relax and enjoy the voyage from Blistimere to Derranhall. The air was brisk and chilled with a fall wind, but not unpleasantly so, cool but not cold. After a night of rain, the sea was calm and the sky above was clear and bright. The crew knew what to do and hardly needed his guidance at all. With Estien to give them what little direction they needed, Henriot could let his mind wander.

He stood at the bow where the ship’s keel swept up to form a post, leaning against the solid wood and looking out over the side of the ship to the sea and beyond. The journey was short, especially with the wind at their backs and a massive warship to escort them.

The Gladiatrix, house Teloway’s flagship and lady Rianne personal command was a sight to behold indeed. They had launched side by side with that massive wooden behemoth dwarfing Henriot’s own vessel beside. The design was similar and in the new blood tradition, only many times larger. The same swept hull and square rigged sail, the same oars, only the Gladiatrix had two rows of them. The crew had to be at least three times Henriot’s and that wasn’t including the passengers and soldiers on board. It was the biggest ship Henriot had ever seen in the hands of a new blood house. Few could get the permission necessary. Fewer still could afford to commission and keep one crewed. Only house Teloway was important enough and on good enough terms with the empress across the sea to warrant it. Knowing that made Henriot’s mission all the more confusing.

He’d shown the letter he carried to lady Rianne, he hadn’t seen any reason not to, but now she was following him to Derranhall with a vessel for war. Henriot did not read the letter himself, though he had been tempted. Rianne had resealed it after reading it and handed it back to be delivered to its destination, but whatever it contained, it had made an impact. She was more decisive than some nobles Henriot had met, but setting sail for a foreign port without time to prepare was brash, even for her. Henriot just hoped that whatever was happening between these houses would not affect him or his crew too greatly. They had a cushioned place in the network of house Teloway’s traders that he was not ready to be rid of just yet. It kept him and Estien busy but well paid. Content, if not wealthy. Certainly not the thing to give up for noble bickering.

Henriot had seen enough of that in his years. He’d once been chartered for another house, its name had been forgotten, expunged from official records years past. He even kept it from his mind for fear he might let it slip in the wrong port. The seat of that house, a hard-headed young woman with a fiery heart had overreached one too many times. She had been executed and lands were seized and divided amongst other claimants. Now nothing remained but a burnt out old ruin that had once been the bastion of her power.

But that hadn’t been the end of it. Many people spoke of such things as if they happened and then vanished cleanly. Henriot knew different. He had only been contracted to carry supplies. A mere sailor, not even captain of his own vessel yet, but he had been hunted doggedly. Any vessels captained by loyal sailors were burned as a warning to those who resisted and Henriot’s captain had been fiercely loyal. Until the day he too was executed.

Those were the real dangers of the incessant quibbling between noble houses. The price in common life was always great and always forgotten soon after. But Henriot remembered, he couldn’t forget.

The miles of sea passed with a comfortable ease on idyllic waters that contrasted hardly with Henriot’s mood. The going only got easier as strong winds propelled them along and not a single rain cloud darkened the horizon. Soon enough, the shores of their destination were visible ahead like a dark smudge on the horizon to interrupt the vast expanse of blue sky and sea.

The creatively named “far north” looked much like Henriot’s homeland to the south. The only differences were in the people, in his experience. The pleasant shores belied a culture of viscous barbarians. It was thanks to them that sailors carried weapons, at least in large part. Nine in ten pirate vessels were in the employ of these far northern houses. They even carried legitimate writs by house seats from time to time. The empire did not respect them of course, but also did little to stop them. The pirates were rarely so bold as to be caught in fights they could not win. They preyed upon small ships, most often the slower moving old blood trading craft, or unguarded settlements. It was a cowardly practice as well as barbaric, though Henriot still had enough sense to be wary of them himself.

Estien called to slow and follow the Gladiatrix as they neared the port. It was a grim looking place, filled with ships made for war. Compared to the old blood merchant ships, Henriot’s always looked a little aggressive with its swooping, narrow hull built for speed and shallow draft, but these vessels, these only had one purpose. And they filled it well. The dock bristled like a quiver full of arrows ready to be loosed in a devastating barrage.

There was a surplus of sailors on the docks, all rough looking enough to match their ships and all armed to the teeth. Many wore armor, though it was of mixed varieties. Here and there Henriot spotted an unmistakable imperial crest of horse hair on a helmet that had not been dyed or the markings of a house far south of here poorly painted over. These were pirates, no two ways about it.

All of Henriot’s anxiety came back upon seeing them. Luckily they were able to dock near to the Gladiatrix, and a contingent of Rianne’s soldiers rushed out to stand guard on the dock, watching warily from the shadows of their bronze helmets. Henriot ordered his crew to stay put and they were more than happy to do so. All except for Estien.

As Henriot went to disembark, Estien rushed up behind him, grabbing his loose shirt sleeve before he could set foot on the gangplank.

“I’m not letting you go out there alone.” He hissed, with a fire in his eyes that Henriot had never seen there before. Another shock was the sword that hung from his belt. The polished fittings on the scabbard marked it as one of those sent with them by lord Broderic. Henriot had never seen Estien with a sword before.

“It's not safe for you.” Henriot replied, turning to face his first mate and keeping his voice low. It was bad for them to present any division in front of the crew. Strong leadership was essential on any vessel.

“If it isn’t safe for me, it isn’t safe for you,” Estien said. His jaw was set and a stubborn look that Henriot was familiar with was on his face. “I’m going with you.”

Henriot sighed. He didn’t think he would be able to convince Estien to stay with the ship. The lad was tenacious when he set his mind to a task and Henriot did not have the energy to put up with a lengthy argument. Besides, he would be much more comfortable staying near Rianne and her guards, and they were already leaving.

He shrugged and waved for Estien to follow. The foolish lad grinned as he scampered down the gangplank. They probably weren’t in any real danger, but Henriot hated the idea that they could be. That Estien could be, really. Henriot had faced pirates before, but he wasn’t the only one in danger now and there was no way Estien knew how to use that sword at his hip.

Henriot followed along after the lady Rianne and her party, keeping a respectful distance and Estien followed at his heels, all wide eyed interest as they passed warship after warship clogging the docks. The people who crewed them gave him pause, but only a little. Estien had never had enough wariness for his own good. He probably just saw sailors like any other. They bore a few more scars than most, perhaps, and many were armed, but sailors were sailors. They had the prematurely aged faces of people who had spent too much time and in the wind and the sun and they walked with the familiar gait of legs used to the swaying deck of a ship. He would only see those commonalities and assume a kinship that wasn’t there. But Henriot knew better. These people had done terrible things and felt not a whit of guilt for them. If Estien could not see that, it would be up to Henriot to keep him safe.

More than the people or the ships, it was the strange buildings that caught Estien’s attention and he gawked at them like a child on his first voyage. As they began to climb the hill towards the town of Derranhall itself, low wooden buildings clustered around the road, if it could be called that. It was little more than a twisting line of packed dirt.

The buildings matched the road, drab and dull. Most were so short that the peaked, thatched roofs almost touched the ground at the sides and very few were more than a single story high. There were a few, with stone foundations and walls made of thick wood, but even those were squat and wide. It hardly looked like the seat of power for an influential noble house. More like a dismal backwater town on a long road to someplace better. Still, Estien swiveled his head about to take in every detail. Henriot could not help but smile. His eyes were far too clouded by a lifetime of experience, but he could still see that innocent joy in Estien.

As they climbed closer to the center, where the eponymous Derranhall lay, there were more larger buildings, but they were more often short and wide than tall. The only buildings made of stone that Henriot saw were a blacksmith’s shop and a baker’s, and they were still thatched, which seemed a dangerous choice.

Even though the buildings were strange, the people seemed just the same as any he had met. Folk who knew the sea, and Henriot could respect that, if not where their experience came from. Throughout the town, not just in the harbor, there was the smell of salt and fish, smells that were kept out of many cities he had docked in over his years. They eyed the lady Rianne’s party with strange glances, but few even looked at Henriot or Estien. Still, Henriot held Estien close with an arm around his waist. Estien didn’t seem to mind. He even leaned his head over and nuzzled lightly against Henriot’s neck as they walked.

Henriot could feel a ruddy blush coloring his cheeks, but no one paid him enough mind to notice. They all reserved their attention to the lady and her attendants. The stretcher that was being carried by two of house Teloway’s sailors too. Henriot doubted if these people recognized the face of their late lord’s heir, but it wasn’t a pleasant sight regardless. That man was in poor shape, Henriot would be surprised if he survived the week.

“Why do you have to go up yourself?” Estien asked, that genuine look of curiosity that Henriot knew well in his eyes. “Couldn’t lady Rianne carry the letter?”

“Perhaps,” Henriot replied, mulling it over in his head. “But better to see the mission through. If the letter were to get lost before arriving, who do you think would be blamed?” Henriot didn’t chastise, Estien needed to learn these things, but the younger man turned away, looking chagrined. Sometimes it was surprising just how inexperienced he was. It made Henriot feel old. Like a wizened grandfather dispensing knowledge. He did not care for it in the slightest, but Estien needed to learn.

“I suppose you’re right. But I don’t want to spend more time here than I have to.”

Henriot nodded in assent. He wanted to be on his way as much as Estien did. In fact, he intended to set off that same day. Hopefully with a healthy load of cargo to pay for the voyage. Lord Teloway hadn’t requested that he carry any letter in reply, but Henriot expected that there would be one. And that meant no stops on the way back to Maerin. This would be the only port to take on cargo. He moved his hand to hold Estien’s, taking comfort in the younger man’s strong grip as they continued to labor up the hill.

The town’s namesake, Derranhall itself, was very little to look at. It looked like an overgrown version of any of the other buildings in the town to Henriot. A single story for the most part, but wide and longer than most noble manors Henriot had seen. Unlike most of the town's buildings, it was blessed with a stone foundation. It was made of stones far too rough for Maerinen nobility, but it was luxurious by the standards of the other buildings.

The walls were rough hewn wood and aside from a stone-walled section that was situated behind the main structure, it wasn’t very fortified. It was surrounded by a wooden palisade, but Henriot doubted that would repel many attackers. The guards on the other hand, who patrolled the length of the palisade on either side, would do a much finer job. They were armed to the teeth, each carried a spear in hand as well as a sword at the hip. They were covered for the most part by oblong shields but behind them, they wore the finest armor Henriot had ever seen. Made of iron, he was sure, to match the weapons, and painted in the green of house Derran. Many sections were polished to mimic the silver of house Derran’s sigil too. They were an intimidating sight. Strangely, those who lined to path to the hall wore a host of different colors, but Henriot chalked that up to them being pirates. They did not forge their own amor.

As Henriot scurried through the gates behind lady Rianne, one guard turned his head and when Henriot caught a glimpse of those dully shining eyes, he knew full well that he would not live long if he did something to offend. He gripped Estien’s hand tighter and hurried his pace, but he would not be deterred. He needed to finish his mission. Then he would leave as quickly as possible. Within the day.

***

Derranhall looked like a crouching animal, primed and ready to pounce for the kill. Lana felt chillingly like its prey as she covered the short distance between the palisade gate and the hall’s doors. The walkway was lined with sentries, all burly men and women bedecked in iron weapons and armor. A surprise thought came into her head, they would rival the Monarch’s personal guard for force and equipment. And though most carried the sigil of house Derran on their shields, when Lana got a glimpse behind, she saw that many wore different colors on their helmets and armor, freshly painted and polished, not scuffed like that worn by the sailors on the docks.

At the gates, they were greeted by a rusty-haired man who bowed diffidently to Rianne then proceeded to wrap Jormand in a tight hug. Then he noticed Ketrim on his stretcher and immediately went into a flurry of motion. In a matter of moments, he was commanding the stretcher bearers somewhere and he followed along after them, leaving Jormand to lead the way into the hall.

He paused for a moment at the threshold until Lana gave him a gentle nudge. He looked down at her with a weak smile and took the first step.

Jormand walked the corridors like he was heading for his execution. The building was actually surprisingly pleasant, well lit and decorated with tapestries, paintings, and even brightly painted statues, but you never would have known it by watching Jormand’s face. His lips were set in a thin line and he marched straight forward down the main hall, ignoring any and all doors along the way, until the corridor ended in a particularly ornately carved pair. There he came to a sudden halt, his hand raised, palm inches from the door, frozen and perfectly still.

Lana searched his face for an indication of what to do. Maybe he expected one of them to act as servant and open the doors for him. But there was no hint at all. He just looked afraid, like she had never seen him look before. Afraid and angry. Those steel eyes, that tight jaw, they said it all. Jormand was a man full of fear and here it boiled to the surface and over.

Lana waited patiently. Ketrim had been brought to a physician, or so Lana hoped, and they stood within the walls of Derranhall. Her work was done. She was happy to let the weight that had sat on her shoulders for only a few days lift. Now it was Jormand’s turn, and she could wait.

Eventually, Jormand took a deep breath, let his hand make contact with the door, and he heaved. For a moment, the thick door did not budge. His muscles strained and shook under his bandages and then the door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges once pushed into motion.

Jormand stepped in and Lana followed him into a hall that spanned the width of the whole building. It was dominated by a firepit that ran the entire length of the room, flanked on either side by wooden tables and benches, all empty, but a low fire burned, dispelling the chill but not giving off too much warmth. It was comfortable, like the rest of the building. Not at all what Lana had expected of the family that produced Jormand Derran.

At the opposite end of the room, directly across from the doors and above a small dais on the wall, was a massive rendition in polished silver of the stag of house Derran. It glinted in the firelight, drawing attention to the intricate carvings that covered the surface. From across the room Lana could not make them out, but it made the thing look impossibly complex and it kept her raptured until a sound brought her attention back to the present.

A woman was standing from a chair that stood on the dais. The most ornate of the five chairs that sat there it was put atop a small plinth of its own that made it stand even taller.

The woman was far more striking than the chair though. She was tall and slender with hair that hung in a braid over her shoulder down to her waist and a stately gait that quickly covered the distance of the room without making her seem to hurry.

As she walked, her skirts swished around her ankles and flowed over the stone floor behind her in an ornate wake of silk. The dress was easily the most majestic thing Lana had ever seen, even compared to the finery she had witnessed in Maerin. It was made of dark red silk set with silver fittings that matched to a scattering of rings, bracelets, and necklaces that she wore. They made a sharp but quiet noise as she moved that somehow only enhanced the splendor of the woman walking across the floor.

Lana was surprised to realize that she had stopped in her tracks, leaving Jormand to continue on alone. She scurried forward to catch up, but looked back to see that Gisela had remained by the doors. Rianne and her retainers hadn’t even crossed the door, nor had that captain and his man. Lana was tempted to turn back, but Jormand hadn’t told her anything about staying out of the room, and even as she thought about leaving, he looked back at her over his shoulder and the look he cast her way made certain that she would stay.

Lana caught up with Jormand and his long strides as he met with the elegant woman in the middle of the room. There they paused, looking at each other with matched impassive expressions. Nothing else about them could even be compared. She was the model of regal elegance, immaculate in a way to appear entirely effortless. He was worn and ragged, dressed in tattered clothes stained with travel and bandages equally stained with blood. For every aspect of perfect regality she had, there was an equal lack in Jormand. But they appeared as a pair of strange equals for a short time.

Then, after an uncomfortably long moment of silence, Jormand dipped in a respectful bow. Much more fluid and practiced than Lana had ever seen from him.

“My lady.” He muttered in what could have been taken for a respectful tone. There were hints of something else though, beneath that surface.

“Oh please,” The woman said in reply, accompanied by a roll of her eyes that Lana would not have expected from her exterior. “Don’t stand on formality Jormand. Deign to give your mother a hug.”

Lana gave a start. His mother? She looked hardly any older than him! As Lana peered more closely at the stately woman, she did notice tiny signs of age, but they were so minor she thought she might be making them up. Perhaps a few wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. But what was more surprising to find was that her face was entirely bare. Not a touch of makeup at all.

She swept forward over the few paces that separated them, her trail following a moment later, and enveloped him in a storm of crimson silk and flashing silver. Jormand stood stiff. It looked like he didn’t know what to do with his arms and so they just hung at his sides. So close together, Lana began to pick out similarities between the two. Firstly was their height. She nearly matched Jormand, only coming short by a few inches. And so many of those features that appeared brutish on Jormand’s face were elegant, if powerful, on her. She was like the polished statue hewn from the same marble as Jormand. Her edges smoothed and perfected where his were left rough and unyielding. But they were the same.

She pulled away and held Jormand’s shoulders in her hands, beaming up at him as if he were not covered head to toe in dirt, blood, and grime.

“Welcome home,” She said in quite possibly the warmest voice Lana had ever heard. Honeyed tones and genuine affection that seemed to warm the air around her far more than the fires ever could. It was strange to hear it directed at Jormand. Tears of joy sparkled in clear green eyes but somehow only enhanced her beauty. “Next time do not stay away so long.”

“I will try, mother.” Jormand said gruffly and in stark contrast.

She seemed to accept it as enough however and nodded graciously. Then craned her neck to look over Jormand’s shoulder. “Where is your brother?” She asked and Lana felt a ball of lead settle heavily in her stomach. She saw the same dread reflected on Jormand’s face.

“Brandt is seeing to him.” Jormand said in a considerably softer tone. “He’s hurt, badly.”

Her eyes flashed wide and suddenly all of her stately glory was transformed into something dangerous. She immediately went to push past Jormand but he stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

“Let him rest. There’s nothing you can do for him.” Jormand said, raising a hand to stop her.

“He’s my son,” She growled and swatted his hand out of the way. She bristled with a contained intensity that shone out through her eyes and made itself known in her tightening jaw. Lana was beginning to see the family resemblance more and more. “I must see him.”

Once again she tried to push past Jormand, but he took a step back to stay in front of her. “It won’t do him any good, nor you. He needs to rest. Let Brandt help him.”

She didn’t look like she wanted to acquiesce but Jormand was marginally larger and moved quickly on his feet, regardless of his injuries. Unless she wanted to bodily move him aside, she had nowhere to go. She nodded, though it was with the jerk of taut muscles. “Very well,” She said, “You’re probably right…” She trailed off with a miserable sound half between a sigh and a whine, but instead of making for the door again, she took a seat on a nearby bench, gracefully folding her legs so that her lengthy skirts did not hinder her movement.

“Sit with me Jormand, tell me what happened.” It was more command than request. Lana had a suspicion that she was quite used to being in charge. Hidden behind a practiced wall of propriety there was a raw nerve though. Fear was chased from her features by a purposeful calm, but not before Lana saw it. “And introduce me to your friend. No good to leave her standing there like a frightened child.” She waved a hand in Lana’s direction absently, but her gaze was fixed on the door. It was empty now, Rianne and her escorts, the captain and his sailor, even Gisela, had all left, leaving the carved doors closed.

The hall felt painfully enclosed after that. Jormand and his mother on their bench were the only other life and it felt like Lana was an intruder into a private world. She wished that she had stayed by the door with Gisela. Then she would have been able to slip away. Instead she was left with no choice but to approach the bench.

She bowed as was appropriate, but the other woman did not seem to even notice.

“This is the lady Lana Tel, from the southerlands. We met in Maerin. She helped us to escape the city.” Then he turned to Lana with an expression that said not to rock the boat. So Lana was to keep up the charade of nobility a little while longer then. She thought she could manage it, perhaps more easily once she found some less filthy clothes. “This is my mother, Ingrid, the lady of Derranhall and seat of house Derran. For the time being at least.”

Lady Ingrid turned when she heard her name mentioned and Lana bowed again, to be safe. She received a polite nod in turn. “Well met, Lana from Maerin, and welcome to Derranhall. As a guest of my son, I hope you will do me the honor of staying here. I will have rooms prepared for you within the hour.”

Lana was a little surprised but more so she was grateful to hear that she would have a place to stay. A roof of any sort would have been welcome, but a warm bed would be even better.“Thank you my lady,” She said, “The honor is mine.” Strange to think that she valued such comforts so greatly now. There was a time not a month gone when a blanket under a lean-to would have evoked an equally strong reaction.

“Nonsense! It will be my pleasure to host a friend of my son’s. It has been far too long since he’s been home.” She smiled fondly at Jormand who looked profoundly uncomfortable, sitting stiffly on the bench. Her eyes darted back to the door for a moment and the smile faded, but she never let it slip.

She smiled again, this time to Lana, and clapped with enough force to startle Jormand and Lana both. A door that blended perfectly with the wooden wall at the far end of the hall swung open and a short man in simple clothes under a forest green tabard scurried out. He bowed first to lady Ingrid, then to Jormand, and finally to Lana before straightening and looking expectantly at Ingrid with a diffident posture.

“Guide the lady Lana to the east tower and have her rooms prepared.” Ingrid said, not more than glancing at the man. She smiled at Lana but it was an imperious smile, affected for the sake of politeness. Her eyes searched Lana’s face and weighed and judged visibly. Lana felt naked. Those eyes peeled off her clothes, then her skin, to see the deepest parts of her. She had to stop herself from shivering.

Then to Lana she said, in a voice that held nothing of that judgement, “I hope that you will join us for supper this evening, after you have time to recover from your journey.”

Lana nodded and was about to respond when Ingrid turned her head back to Jormand, abruptly ending the conversation. The little man in servant’s livery started towards the opposite end of the hall, where he had come from and called back to Lana over his shoulder, “Follow me if you please, my lady.” He said, already hurrying out of the room.

Lana scurried after him, out through a much larger door situated behind the raid dais. It had been hidden behind the chairs, but did not blend into the wall like the one the man had come from. He held the door for her then led her into a hallway much the same as the one she had walked through before.

There was another woman there, who leaned against the wall, flanked by a pair of rough looking men in partial sets of armor. All three cut tall, intimidating figures with toned muscles from head to toe and hard eyes that followed Lana for a few steps before disregarding her as a threat. The woman’s gaze followed her for a little longer as her lips thinned in a calculating frown, but Lana was led through another set of doors and the woman and her guards were out of sight.

The walk to her rooms was a short one. The servant man covered ground quickly with his short legs, no doubt necessary in a land full of veritable giants. He opened a tall door bedecked in carvings and bowed subserviently as he motioned for her to enter.

The door opened to an antechamber furnished with a few chairs and an ornate rug woven in crimson and blue. An identical door stood open in the wall directly in front of Lana and a staircase led upwards to her left. The servant ignored it though, instead ushering her through the door. This one opened into what looked like a small common room, like the one she had seen in the Captain’s Cat. A long table dominated the space with an extensive set of chairs surrounding it, all made of masterfully carved wood. Another rich rug covered almost the entirety of the room so stone only showed at the tasseled edges. There was a large stone fireplace on one wall and the other two had smaller doors, similar to those Lana had walked through, but understated enough not to draw the eye away from the room’s other decoration; a mural that covered the wall on their side of the fireplace. It depicted a calm sea from a rocky promontory, dotted with ships in the distance and clouds overhead. It spanned the length of the wall, but even as Lana stepped forward, the perfect detail was not distorted. It was as if she were looking out a window frozen in a single moment. The sight took her breath away.

“I hope the accommodations are to your liking, my lady.” The little man said, his eyes cast downward towards the floor. “I will be back with bedding and some clothes for you to choose from, if you intend to accept lady Derran’s invitation this evening.”

Lana nodded, her attention still captured by the room and its furnishings. There was no bed, which she found to be a little odd. But maybe these northerners slept on the floor, the servant man had mentioned bringing bedding.

“Very good my lady.” The servant said as if it had been the reply he expected. In truth it probably was. Lana didn’t think anyone had the strength to refuse lady Ingrid’s request in her own home. That woman was a force to be reckoned with, Lana could already tell. With that, the little man bowed and began to back out of the room, still looking at the floor diffidently.

As he was about to leave, his hand already on the door latch, Lana realized that she had never even gotten his name. She whirled about to face him.

“Wait!” She called, her voice a little more shrill than she had intended. He immediately stopped and adopted the same submissive posture.

“Yes my lady?”

“I um… What's your name?” She only meant to be polite but she could tell by the confused look on his face that she had done something wrong. He looked up at her, making eye contact for the first time and stood in confused silence for a moment, his dark brown eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of something.

“It's Steig, my lady.” He said hesitantly.

Lana nodded and turned back to the room as regally as she could manage. She didn’t know what she’d done wrong, but nobles were always acting stately and regal so she figured it was as good a bet as any. Behind her she heard the door close. She waited a few moments, then turned to make sure Steig was gone. He was, so she went to the nearest chair and let herself fall into it with a tired sigh. She wanted to rest if she was going to have to deal with nobles for the whole evening. They were a tiring lot.