Chapter 100

At Westmarch Castle, Draven was asleep when the messenger arrived.

The guards at the entrance recognized the soldier immediately and admitted him without delay.

His clothes were dirty, his face drawn and his coat stained with blood that was not entirely his own. He gave the guards a hurried account of what had happened, and one of them went to wake the Duke.

Draven appeared some minutes later wearing the clothes in which he slept, a dark robe thrown hastily over them. His hair was tousled from sleep.

Like he did with the castle guards, the soldier recounted the details from the mission and how it devolved to mad chaos.

Draven vacillated between whether to be happy that his soldiers managed to hold their own against armed smugglers or to be annoyed that they had gone against the clear orders he gave them not to engage.

He listened to the rest of the account, asked only the questions necessary to understand what had happened, then turned to head back upstairs.

Eugenia stood at the top of the stairs, one hand resting lightly against the banister.

Draven paused when he spotted her.

"Has something happened? Is everything all right?"

Her question snapped him out of his surprise.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, still looking somewhat startled to find her there.

"I heard the noise when he came in," she explained, glancing briefly toward the soldier before turning her attention back to her brother. "I came out to see what was going on."

Her concern was palpable. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Draven assured her. "Everything is fine. I just need to go and look into a matter that requires my attention. It will be dealt with."

Eugenia did not appear entirely convinced, but she gave a small nod.

"Go back to your chambers and get some rest. You and Mother have had a trying day," he continued, his voice taking on the gentle lilt he reserved for his family and those dear to him. "I’ll tell you everything that happened when I return."

She hesitated for another moment before nodding again.

"All right. Just... be careful."

"I will," Draven promised, offering her a reassuring smile.

Eugenia turned and made her way back toward her chambers. Draven watched until she disappeared from sight before turning and heading toward his own.

He got dressed quickly and summoned several additional guards he planned to take with him, in case more trouble awaited them. The guards were trained like mercenaries and just as skilled.

The soldier who had brought the report rode with them, directing them back toward the warehouse.

By the time they reached the outskirts of Norham, the first grey hint of dawn peeked over the horizon.

A few Lanterns flickered around the warehouse when Draven arrived. His men had secured the area.

The dead were being gathered, the wounded restrained, and the surviving smugglers watched closely while others began examining the crates. The smell of gunpowder still lingered heavily in the air, mixed with the sharper scent of blood.

Draven dismounted and walked into the yard, preferring to see things for himself.

His gaze travelled slowly over the scene, taking in the bodies, the shattered lanterns, the splintered wood and the marks left by bullets.

His men moved quietly around him, their faces grim. Two of their own lay among the dead, and Draven paused briefly beside them.

He knew both men.

They had followed his orders without hesitation, as they had done countless times before.

His jaw tightened, but he forced his attention onward.

Near the warehouse entrance, another body lay on its side. Draven stopped in front of it, noting the open wound on the man’s neck.

Something about the man’s clothing had caught his attention, though he could not immediately say why. He stepped closer and looked down at him. With the toe of his boot, he carefully nudged the body onto its back.

The lantern light fell across the dead man’s face.

Draven went still.

He recognized him. It was a face he had not expected to see again.

The years between then and now seemed to collapse without warning.

Draven remembered that face—that man—standing behind another at a house he had visited under circumstances he would rather forget. He had seen him again afterward, when the matter had ended in a violent duel. This man was the one who carried away Draven’s lifeless opponent.

His man was his opponent’s valet.

Draven stared down at him now, his thoughts suddenly disturbed by a memory he sealed away long ago.

What was he doing here? How had a man who once served someone of good birth come to be involved in smuggling?

Had he fallen into it afterward or was this something he was always involved in? Had there been something about his former master’s world that Draven had never understood?

The answers to his questions remained stubbornly out of reach.

"Your Grace." The voice startled him from his thoughts.

He turned around and found the commander of the operation walking towards him.

There was blood on his sleeve and a fresh cut along his cheek, but he was standing firmly enough which meant he wasn’t badly injured.

"We were discovered before we could complete the observation," the man explained. "One of our men was forced to fire when a worker found him. The others raised the alarm, and the rest followed quickly."

"We lost two men in the process," the commander continued. "The smugglers suffered heavier losses, but there are several survivors. They’re wounded, though none so badly that they cannot be questioned. A ghastly business, I would have preferred to bring everyone home."

"So would I." Draven replied seldomly. "Their families will be compensated. See to it that their names and circumstances are recorded properly."

It was the least he could do for them now.

"Yes, Your Grace. What remains of the cargo is inside."

"Secure it." Draven ordered. "Every crate is to be examined and recorded. Bring every paper, ledger or shipping document you find to me."

The commander nodded. "And the survivors?"

"Keep them alive," Draven said. "I want them questioned before word of this reaches whoever sent them."