Chapter 13

Wil paced Annabelle Quentin’s office, waiting for her to review the ledgers he had delivered. So far, she hadn’t found anything glaring, aside from a few irregularities that would be expected from a noble house the size of Brookmoor.

“For goddesses’ sake, sit down Wil! You’re driving me insane.” Quentin explained, throwing the ink pen that she had been idly chewing at him. Dodging the projectile, he sat on the chair in front of her desk, his leg still bouncing.

“Anything?” He asked.

“For the dozenth time, no. It’s going to take me hours to comb through these ledgers, and even then, I can only do so much without the copy filed with the Imperial Tax Office. You’re going to have to be patient Wil.” She advised him.

He had arrived at her office an hour ago, appearing out of nowhere and startling her half to death. With a rushed explanation of conspiracies and potential machinations against the Empire, he had tossed the thick ledgers to her, asking for her expertise in reviewing them.

“I know this is important Wil, but you’re going to have to trust me. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something.” She reassured him, flipping through the thick parchment paper to the next line of expenses.

“Do you have any other leads?” She asked, making a notation in her notebook. with a new ink pen at a particularly noteworthy line item.

“Margaret Ashworth. Do you remember her? We met briefly in East Haven.” He reminded her.

“Ah! The gossipy one. She certainly would be one to follow up on.”

“She’s a Herrington now, according to the letters she sent Tabitha. She might know what my sister is up to.” Wil reasoned, looking for Quentin’s opinion.

“A good place to start. You’ll need a change of clothes, something more formal, if you’re going to stop in there for afternoon tea.” Quentin instructed, looking up from the books and frowning at his armor and sword. Wil snorted at the suggestion.

“Like that would work. I’ll just show up and say ‘Good Afternoon, Margaret, it’s Wil! I know I have been on the run for seven years, which you are no doubt aware of, you gossipy cow. I’m here because my sister and father are planning something nefarious, and I know that you are involved somehow. Scone?” Wil joked.

“Maybe leave off the last part, at least don’t include it in your introductions.” Quentin replied, dryly. “You’re right. She’s going to suspect why you are there.”

“Exactly. There isn’t a subtly way of going about this, not unless I want to spend months, or years, following leads, all while evading their scrutiny. Instead, I should simply force the answer from her.” Wil sighed, leaning further back into his chair.

“And be a criminal in two lands? You are already forbidden from returning to Lund, are you willing to have the same happen here?” Quentin asked, looking up from the ledger and eyeing him carefully.

“To be honest? It doesn’t matter much to me anymore. You, Mara, and the others are the only reason why I want to stay…besides, I doubt they will try to arrest me simply for asking questions.” Wil reasoned.

“It would depend on how you ask those questions. But I can see your point, dragging this out is likely to leave you a step behind whatever they are planning. Better to strike fast, before they can respond.” Quentin agreed, nodding her head.

“Well, now that I have your permission.” Wil said, smiling. He leapt back to his feet, mana already gathered around him for a teleportation spell. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” He said, disappearing in a flash of light.

Letting out a sigh, Quentin looked back at the ledgers, her quill already making notes once more.

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Margaret Herrington entered her manor house in East Haven, her servants carrying a string of packages she had just purchased from arriving merchants from the west. Since Aachen’s reconstruction, caravans had been coming with increased frequency, carrying goods to Khmer and beyond.

“I want those decorations placed in the family room. Sarah, see that those bolts of cloth are given to the dressmaker, I want something spectacular made for next week’s dinner with Mother.” She ordered, directing her handful of servants in different tasks.

Satisfied, she made her way upstairs to her private rooms. Although she was married, she preferred to sleep alone. Her husband hated that she stayed up late, favoring sleeping in each morning over her husband’s early to sleep, early to rise attitude.

With her servant, Sarah, following her, she opened the door to her rooms, only to see a state of ruin. Her belongings had been ruthlessly tossed around, her books lay scattered, some lying open on the ground where they had been thrown. Even her bed was a mess, the sheets pulled off and the mattress ripped open.

In the center of the room was a man, sitting causally at her desk chair, reading her correspondents and personal journals without a care in the world. He was incredibly handsome, with long dark hair, tanned skin, and beautifully crafted silver and black armor that clung tightly to his well-muscled frame.

To her surprise, Margaret realized she knew this intruder!

“Wilhelm Brookmoor!?” She exclaimed, her mouth wide open in shock. He had been missing for years, run off in Lund. She knew his father was looking for him, but she hadn’t heard a thing about his return. Just when she was about to call for her guards, the man spoke.

“Hold Person.” He muttered, pointing a finger at her, then the servant behind her. She felt a wave of power crash over her, forcing her to stop, preventing her from moving a muscle. She tried to force her lips to move, to call out for help, but it was useless.

“Hello Margaret. Apologies for all of this, but I’m in a hurry. I hope you aren’t too uncomfortable, I’ve been practicing my Enchantments, but I’m afraid I’m still not an expert.” Wil responded, putting aside the letters, but not standing from the chair.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, Margaret, and you are going to tell me the truth.” Wil stated, his tone iron and face icy.

“You and my sister have been communicating regularly for the last few years.” Wil said, gesturing to the stack of letters. “Which is surprising, since my sister detested you and I suspect you felt the same. What changed?” Wil let the spell loosen enough for her to speak.

“We…We became friends. People change!” Margaret stammered out, while she looked desperately for a way to escape.

“True, they do. For example, I remember you being a simple gossip. And now? You’re what…a recruiter?” Wil asked, holding up a letter that he had found tucked away in a safe in her room. A simple ‘Knock’ spell had been enough to open it, his mana overwhelming the simple enchantments on the item.

‘I need to thank Amora for encouraging me to branch out to different schools.’ Wil thought. She had gifted him several spell books, Transmutation amongst them.

“Margaret,

Your efforts are appreciated. Soon, the time of our rising will come, and you shall find yourself elevated to your deserved position.

Glory to the One.”

Wil read out the letter, watching her reaction. Margaret paled, the panic turning her stomach to ice before she controlled herself.

“I’ve been volunteering at the church. I’ve found faith in the gods since you’ve left.” She explained, using her rehearsed response.

“Clearly.” Wil replied dryly. “But I’m more interested in which god in particular. Who have you sold your services to, Margaret. Why are you and Tabitha so close? I know from experience that she has no interest or use in the gods, yet you have several letters here discussing your faith.” Wil pushed, his intense eyes focusing on hers, boring into them, looking for her secrets.

“I...I’m faithful to the Twins. I just so happen to correspond with many people of different beliefs. That isn’t a crime, and you are not the law!” Margaret stated, her voice firming.

She was the future lady of Ashworth and Herrington, and Wil Brookmoor was a known useless wastrel, a disgraced son of the Earl. He could threaten her, but he couldn’t harm her. And when she was free…

“That’s good to hear, Margaret. It just so happens that I have a token here, a gift from Secundus herself. You wouldn’t mind holding it, would you? Reaffirming your faith on a relic of the goddess, someone as faithful as you should find that an honor.” Wil asked, pulling out the golden coin and showing it to her, pinched between his fingers.

“I will not! My faith requires no proof! Just you wait, Wil Brookmoor. My guards are coming, and the Emperor himself will judge you! Assaulting a Noble Lady, thieving and destruction of property. I’ll see you hang!” She hissed. She tried to scream the last, but the spell holding her didn’t allow her to shout.

Wil moved closer to her, holding out the golden coin. Margaret stared at it like it was a dagger, fear crossing her face as he stopped in front of her.

“Secundus hates those that lie in her name, Margaret. I know you don’t serve her, or Primaris. ‘The One’, sounds suspiciously like something I heard when I was in Aachen, years ago.”

“Do you know what happened there? They had a cabal, made up of wealthy merchants and nobles who wanted more. More power, more wealth. They pledged their allegiance to something, an outsider, a creature beyond the gods. You can guess what happened next.” Wil explained calmly, watching her carefully.

Margaret’s face paled, her lips moved soundlessly.

“I will do whatever it takes to keep the horrors I witnessed in Aachen from happening again. Do you understand, Margaret? Anything.” Wil stated, his voice soft.

Staring into his ice blue eyes, she believed him.

Stammering, Margaret Herrington, once Ashworth, told him everything.