Chapter 54: As Swift as Wind
Warren set down his teacup on its saucer after taking a sip. Flowery Pekoe had never been his favorite blend, but he’d deferred to the duchess’s suggestion and tried it, so as to avoid appearing impolite to his hosts. That said, if it were up to him, he’d much prefer to be having coffee; now that was a proper morning refreshment. He’d only begun to favor it recently, and now he couldn’t even imagine how he’d ever survived without it.
Alas, an invitation from House von Rhenia wasn’t something to be casually spurned.
Across from him sat Duke Maximilian von Rhenia, and next to him were Duchess Adelheid and Lord Conrad. At the duke’s invitation, Warren had joined them for a private morning tea at the Westwick Plaza, and they were now casually conversing about the recent succession crisis in the Archkingdom of Norravia, where multiple jarls had laid claim to the vacant throne.
These types of social gatherings weren’t exactly enjoyable occasions for Warren, but he didn’t detest them either, at least not like he used to. Over the past few months, Warren had truly come out of his shell, and he no longer considered such social occasions as terrifying burdens—when he recalled the lengths his past self had gone to in order to avoid them, he almost physically cringed.
It was difficult to believe how much his life had changed since then. He hardly resembled the sickly recluse who’d spent most of his time in bed or reading, and he thanked the Goddess every day for his miraculous healing. And Her Holiness, of course.
Yet even with his newfound ease in social settings, Warren was acutely aware that this particular tea was not merely tea. Duke von Rhenia did not extend invitations without purpose, and the man’s amethyst gaze had been settling on Warren with increasing frequency throughout the conversation.
“The Norravians will sort themselves out eventually,” said the duke with finality. “In the meantime, the northern trade routes remain open, and that is what matters to Albion and, by extension, Arcadia, is it not?”
“My father would agree wholeheartedly, Your Grace. The Duchy of Albion has little interest in who wears the Norravian crown, so long as they understand that peace in the North Sea is non-negotiable. One can hardly fathom a return to the days of roving bands of raiding jarls.”
“Perhaps there are some who would relish the challenge.” Lord Conrad smirked, and the duchess glared at him in response.
Warren allowed himself a small, practiced smile. “I am sure many of the jarls would, Lord Conrad. Thankfully, the nobility of the Holy Kingdom of Arcadia is more civilized, yes?”
“Civilized.” Lord Conrad’s smirk quickly turned into a frown. “I am not sure that is how I’d put it, when the royal family’s knights act just the same as murderous raiders.”
Warren decided not to retort. Losing Sir Ricardo had clearly shaken the von Rhenia family to its core, and the young heir wore his pain on his sleeve.
“Speaking of civilized,” said the duchess, trying to lead the conversation away from Conrad’s remark, “I have received word from Duchess de Bragança that her father is in Istantinople.”
“The former duke is on a state visit to the Empire?” asked Warren. “I thought he was secluding himself after his retirement.”
Conrad scoffed. “Secluding himself? That man? It would be impossible to keep him confined even if we tried.”
Duchess Adelheid chuckled. “It’s not a state visit. Lord Pedro has been undertaking… something of an incognito world tour, you could say, now that his daughter has gotten used to her duties. He quite enjoys his privacy, so do keep that information to yourself.”
“Of course, Your Grace. My lips are sealed,” said Warren. “But a world tour? How interesting.”
‘Irresponsible’ might be a more fitting word, if Lord Conrad wasn’t engaged to Duchess de Bragança’s second daughter.
“Lord Warren,” the duke said, the shift in his tone subtle enough that a less attentive listener might have missed it entirely. “I trust you are confident in the ongoing trial.”
Ah, there it is. I suspected this was what he wanted to talk about.
“I should hope so, Your Grace. The prosecution’s case remains strong, despite Counsel Casewell’s unorthodox contributions.”
“Unorthodox, you say. I suppose that is a fitting descriptor for her.” The duke took a sip of his tea. “I am interested in your… legal expertise. I take it you believe the inquisition will secure a conviction?”
If Warren had been asked that question a few days ago, the answer would have been an unequivocal yes. But after the stunt Casewell pulled, he wasn’t so sure anymore. The woman seemed to have developed a penchant for turning the tables on him when he least expected it. By all rights, he should have hated how difficult she made his job, but in truth, it was exhilarating. The way he felt when crossing words with her was almost—
“My lords, forgive the interruption.”
A soldier of the Church’s Order of Elowen stood at the doorway, slightly out of breath. He recognized her as one of those stationed at the Westwick garrison.
“What is it?” Warren asked.
“Lord Warren.” She bowed to him directly, which told him that this was likely inquisition business. “There appears to have been an incident on the road from the capital. Some travelers who just arrived in the city reported it.”
“What manner of incident?”
“Likely a robbery, my lord. Of a mail coach. Unusual in these parts, but not unheard of.”
A robbery hardly seemed like something severe enough to interrupt a private conversation between high nobility. “Why bring this to my attention? Aren’t there routine procedures in place for something like this?”
“It seems the driver’s been killed. We were told of a body with an arrow in the neck. We can handle it as usual, sir, but you had asked to be notified immediately if a serious crime took place in our jurisdiction, and since someone’s dead…”
Roadside murder mere hours away from Elysia? And killing a driver in service of the royal post, at that? Bold. But not particularly intriguing.
“Send a patrol to investigate. Inform me if there is anything unusual.”
“Yes, my lord.” The soldier thumped her chest in salute.
But just as she was about to leave, Duke von Rhenia spoke up.
“Wait.”
“My lord?” she asked.
“Lord Warren.” The duke’s gaze was intense. “If you’ll indulge me, House von Rhenia shall join the investigative party. I will gather my troops.”
Warren raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t a strictly unreasonable request; ducal troops often worked with church forces. But the question was why Duke von Rhenia would bother to volunteer himself to look into something so apparently mundane. Was there something more beneath the surface?
“The inquisition should be glad to collaborate with House von Rhenia, but is there something particular about this incident that drew your attention, Your Grace?”
The duke tapped his finger on the table while considering his response. “It may interest you to know that yesterday, Miss Casewell departed for Elysia City to retrieve some information. I’m told she hasn’t returned to Westwick yet. This could very well be unrelated, but—”
He rose and turned to the soldier before the duke had even finished speaking.
“Ready a horse for me immediately. We depart with all haste.”
The highway east of Westwick was unremarkable, the horses’ hooves striking at the packed earth in a rhythm that was almost as fast as Warren’s heartbeat. Hedgerows and the occasional farmstead bordered the first stretch of the road, until they were gradually replaced by an increasingly dense treeline.
Warren rode at the front of the column, with Duke von Rhenia at his side. Trailing them were Lord Conrad and Duchess Adelheid, then a dozen mounted soldiers, half from the Order of Elowen and half from House von Rhenia. The von Rhenias had all changed into equestrian attire—the duke and his son wore dark tailcoats and breeches, and the duchess a beige waistcoat over a high-collared shirt, below which was a long white skirt. In his rush to depart, Warren himself hadn’t stopped to change from his usual suit, though he had retrieved his arming sword.
He was not, as a rule, a man prone to anxiety, or at least not anymore. Anxiety was an indulgence of the underprepared, and Warren Righton made a point to always be prepared. And rationally, he understood there was likely nothing to worry about. Casewell was probably still in Elysia City, finishing whatever business she had there before returning to Westwick, and the crime they’d been alerted to was simply an unrelated highway robbery. Yet, judging by the way his teeth ground against each other and his fingers kept fidgeting with the reins, his body had not received that memorandum.
Going even further, he wasn’t even sure why he’d sprung to action. There was no relationship between him and Casewell. She was just a commoner, and she wasn’t even in House Albion’s service, so she really ought to be none of his concern. The von Rhenias were here because she was their former servant, but that had nothing to do with him. He could sympathize with anyone in a dangerous situation, but someone of his station could hardly afford to involve himself every time a peasant might’ve fallen victim to a bandit attack.
So why did his chest feel so heavy?
He spotted the coach before the outriders signaled it. It sat at an angle on the side of the road, and the horses were gone, either fled or taken. The driver’s body remained slumped on his bench, with a bloody arrow protruding from the side of his neck.
Warren dismounted before his horse had fully stopped, handing the reins to the nearest soldier. The duke followed with more composure, planting his cane in the dirt as Lord Conrad swung down beside him.
“Fan out along the treeline,” Duke von Rhenia ordered his knights. “If there are tracks, I want them found before the next rain washes them away.”
Warren approached the coach and opened its door. The interior was cramped and disordered, with packages ripped open and tossed about, and some presumably missing entirely. The upholstery on the left of the bench had been scuffed, and there were marks on the side of the doorframe consistent with someone struggling to push it open.
It could have just been the robbers, carelessly throwing the door around as they ransacked the packages.
Or it could have been a passenger. A kidnapping for ransom, or worse.
He couldn’t understand why Casewell hadn’t just asked him if she needed to travel to the capital. He’d warned her of the danger she was in, and he could have ensured she traveled under armed guard. It’s just like her to let her pride stand in the way of seeking the help she needs.
Warren stepped back out of the coach and knelt down. Behind him, he could hear the duke directing his troops, and the duchess speaking with some Church soldiers near the body. Warren paid them no particular attention as his eyes scanned the scatter of overlapping boot prints around the coach.
Several people had been here. He tried to trace their paths, but they’d simply disappeared into the treeline. With time and a proper tracking team, it might be possible to find a trail to follow, but that was beyond what they could do with the men they had at hand, though the von Rhenia party was certainly trying.
Warren cursed his luck. If Her Holiness’s treatment for his illnesses hadn’t sapped his magical energy, he might have been able to do something. The inability to use magic had been the one unfortunate side effect of his healing.
He stood back up and brushed the dirt off his knees. From everything he’d seen, there was no reason to assume this was anything other than what it seemed to be: the scene of a bandit attack unrelated to Casewell or to the trial in any way. By rights, he should return to Westwick and go about his business. If he wanted to be extra safe, he could even send some men to Elysia and check the inns for her. There was nothing more to do here.
After all, out of the manifold ways Casewell could’ve chosen to journey back from Elysia, what were the odds she would’ve picked this particular mail coach at this particular time, then fallen victim to a random crime? The very notion bordered on the absurd.
Absurd. That was an interesting word.
With matters she’s been involved in, how many absurd notions ended up being true?
It couldn’t hurt to look over things again.
He crouched and carefully moved around the rear of the coach, keeping his eyes peeled for any details he might have missed. And that was when he saw it: a glint of metal wedged under the wheel, half-buried where the rim pressed into the dirt. He reached down and worked it free from under the wheel.
It was a ring. He turned it between his gloved fingers, letting the dirt fall from the band. He’d seen one just like it recently. Gold, with a sapphire set into it. But that still didn’t mean it was a soulmate ring; it could just look similar. Sapphire on gold isn’t exactly breaking new ground when it comes to jewelry.
Well, there was an easy way to check that. He slid it onto his right ring finger, and the effect was instantaneous. It was much fainter than it’d been back at the jeweler, but it was unmistakably tugging him northward into the trees.
Warren’s stare was fixed on the ring on his hand, the world slowing down around him. Okay, so it was a soulmate ring. Even so, there were many couples in the Holy Kingdom of Arcadia, and, as the shopkeeper had said, these rings were among their most popular pieces. The matching ring could belong to anyone, or even to no one at all—maybe the set was in one of the packages the bandits had ripped open, and they’d dropped one of the rings by accident when fleeing the scene.
And yet.
“Lord Warren.” Duke von Rhenia approached him with his eyes narrowed. “Have you found something?”
“We ride north.”