For hours, strong gales raged over Limris. Thunder and lightning shook the earth and split the sky, calling forth the legends of old when the gods rode out to war with the northern giants. Water cascaded down the color-tiled roofs and shot out of the mouths of the griffon and lion statues decorating the Imperial Palace, turning gardens into marshes and marble paths into torrential rivers.

Such tumultuous weather was unusual for the Capital and the fact that it held for almost the entire fourth month made its inhabitants uneasy. The temple of Lustris had not seen so many sun-prayers in decades. Rumors began spreading about the weather being the result of a curse, and that the dreaded witches and warlocks were making a return to the Imperial Domain, which forced the clerics of Norn to double their vigilance in search of malicious magic.

As the rain robbed the streets of their usual bustle, Limris looked more and more like a ghost town. Thieves and burglars had long stopped their nightly exploits. No beggars hung at the corners and before the taverns, and even the stray dogs didn’t dare leave the shelter of the slum's dumpsters. But this soaked calm was not unwelcomed by all.

The candles in the big candelabra hissed and cracked, conjuring wiggling shadows on the walls. The breeze streaming through the open window made the curtains dance around and carried the sound of wet, fluttering wings from the large cage near the sill, where two plump pigeons were working hard to get even plumper with a bowl of fine grain.

Sitting hunched over a large desk, a stout man rubbed his temples and breathed in the fresh moist air coming from the garden. The flickering light contoured his hooked nose and the thick brows hanging over a pair of sharp eyes. Nothing in the man’s well-built body revealed that he was already a couple of years over his prime, except for the few strands of white woven in his short hair and beard, turning them from gold to platinum.

On the table before him lay a stack of documents, filled with strange squiggly letters, numbers, and diagrams. Next to them was another heap of papers - a finger long and two fingers wide - their surface filled with similar symbols and slightly damp from the rain.

Taking one of the strips, the man lifted it to his eyes and studied it for a bit before digging out a specific paper from the stack. His quill circled a few numbers and scribbled some calculations, his lips - silently moving in unison. After a few minutes, he took a clean sheet and, this time, a neat string of words appeared from under his feather.

“Sixth day of the fourth month,” he mumbled, “big fire in Yalda. Duke personally engaging slave traiders. Peers meeting in two weeks to discuss punishment. Rumors of Duchess's sickness; suspected injury in fire. ”

The man’s finger rhythmically tapped on the wood.

“You’ve always been the hands-on type, haven’t you, Noah? Then again, with the Grand Council around the corner, you had to affirm your strength... If only your brother could have a sliver of your merit, the choice wouldn’t be so difficult.”

With a sigh, the man lifted a second parchment and his face quivered.

“Third day of second month. Prince Lionel issues order - marriage of Duke Norden to Orten bastard. Tenth day of second month. Prince Lionel recuperating from injury. Fifteenth day of second month. Prince Lionel recuperating from injury. Twenty fifth day of second month. Prince Lionel still recuperating from injury. Damn you! It was just a scratch, not a chopped leg! And what’s this? First day of third month. Prince Lionel leaves Sefis. Not taking Narrow-Sea route. Ship sailing along west coast. This is insane! It takes double the time to reach Limris! And this? Twentieth of third month. Prince Lionel orders stop at Gate Island. Feeling unwell, possibly sweating sickness. Master Argente spotted again - first time since Marzban-campaign. Master Argente tending to Prince. Master Argente sent on special mission procuring medicine.”

The man squeezed the paper into a ball and cursed.

“Sweating sickness my ass! He’s definitely sweating in bed with some girl while Argente is doing his dirty work or plotting who knows what!”

He gritted his teeth and a vein popped on his forehead. In his anger, the man was oblivious to the light rustling behind his back until two hands landed on his shoulders. He flinched but his weariness disappeared the moment the hands began massaging his stiffened muscles.

“I’m sorry, I woke you up. Go back to bed.”

Only silence followed and the hands continued their work, wringing out a delighted groan from the man, followed by a sigh.

“Saint Ursule, be my witness. That masked bastard drives me crazy. He pops out of nowhere and gets close to Lionel to the point of being his shadow. He becomes either selectively mute or mumbles like a crazy old crone when one tries to talk to him… I don’t buy that whole ‘god-abiding, reclusive alchemist’ thing. Even if his medicine has helped alleviate the Emperor’s attacks, not knowing what’s behind that mask… Is brother turning senile?! And Primate Ambrosinus is also protecting him…”

The massaging hands stopped for a second before slipping down the opening of the man’s loose gown, caressing the strong chest half-hidden beneath.

“You unruly…” The man sucked a breath. “I don’t have time to play!”

A gentle nibble on his earlobe was the only answer he received as the wandering hands became bolder. Prying fingers traced every tight muscle as they made their way to his flat stomach. The playful mouth also switched its target and traveled down his neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses behind.

“Alright.” A hoarse voice escaped the man’s throat as he chuckled and finally capitulated. To Hell with Lionel and his antics. They could wait till morning. “I hope you are prepared for the consequences. I’ll have you repent for interrupting my work until the morning mass, you sly fox.”

Abruptly turning around, he was met by a pair of lips, eagerly seeking his.

***

The morning rays bounced off the steep green roofs of Castle Ildemar, making them gleam like emeralds nestled against the tall white towers. A small flock of birds flitted between the battlements, chirping and enjoying the warmth that the end of the fifth month had brought upon Norden. Spring was slowly giving way to summer and the fjords were in full bloom, promising a bountiful harvest in the months to come.

Yet cold and desolation still lingered between the castle’s walls.

The half-closed curtains in Lorelei’s room let sparse light in, the facetted windows - closed tight to keep as much warmth in as possible. The air hung heavy with the smell of herbs, sweat, and sickness. Several people stood around the large bed, their muffled conversation making the quiet atmosphere even more oppressing.

“Your Highness, let me do this,” Milly whispered in desperation, her hands scrunching up her skirt. “It doesn’t suit a lord to…”

Her words trailed off as she looked at her silent master and bit her lips. She took the bowl of water and exited the room with a low-hanging head that still couldn’t hide her red eyes and running nose.

Noah paid the young maid no heed. With utmost concentration he gently tapped Lorelei’s brow with a wet cloth, his left hand lightly squeezing her cold fingers.

“Please…Please, open your eyes. Don’t give up. Come back. Please, Lorelei, don’t… leave me.”

The words fluttered in the heavy air before melting away. His palm clenched around the towel and shook, his eyes - peeled on the pale face and gray-bluish lips of his wife.

“She can’t hear you, Your Highness.” Baba Marishka knelt beside the bed. “Her spirit is… wandering.”

“How?” Noah hissed and his gaze burned the old woman. “She’s no Binshi. And you continue insisting it’s not a hex.”

“It isn’t, my lord. We are still looking-”

“Look faster!” snapped Noah. “It’s been two days already. Her fever doesn’t go down. She doesn’t wake up. If this continues, she might…”

He gritted his teeth, not daring to utter more. But deep in his heart, the poisonous word sprouted into an ugly realization. She was dying. Lorelei was waning before his very eyes and all everyone could do was shrug and say ‘we are doing all we can’. That wasn’t good enough!

A large palm rested on his shoulder.

“She’ll be fine.” Duncan’s booming voice was now toned down to a whisper. “Let the healers do their job. You can’t spend another day here or you’ll collapse too. Your wounds might worsen.”

“You call those mosquito bites wounds?!” Noah shook his head as the whip marks on his back itched. “Lorelei is the one hurting. Not me. If I could get her plight onto myself…”

“But you can’t,” Duncan said quietly. “It’s the healers’ job to heal her and the shaman’s job to find her spirit. Your job is different, Lord Norden.”

Noah closed his eyes but even then Lorelei’s tormented face filled his inner world. He was scared. What if the next time he saw her, it was in a mound shroud?! What if letting her hand meant losing her forever?! And yet, Duncan’s words also reverberated in his mind - the Lord of Norden had his duties.

Brushing away the sweat from Lorelei’s temples, Noah kissed her fingers and rose to his feet.

“Baba,” he turned to the old Binshi, “take good care of my Duchess. You and your aides are responsible for her well-being with your life. And make no mistake. This is no empty threat.”

“Rest assured, Your Highness.” The woman didn’t flinch but instead, a motherly smile appeared on her lips. “We won’t sleep until our lady regains her soul and strength. I swear upon the Mother Above and my ancestors.”

Noah dipped his head and, not bearing to look back, exited the room. Duncan followed him like a shadow.