Chapter 145: House Wardell.

The gates of Duke Wardell were a plain and simple black. They were also closed.

I had been in front of a set of closed gates like this before. Back then, I'd had to wait the better part of an hour before House Thalos' men let us in. Thankfully, it did not take nearly as long this time.

There was a single Karr at the gate. A hulking man -or woman, it was always hard to say with the Karr- who was somehow taller than every other Karr I had ever seen. Unlike every other Karr, this one had six arms instead of four. He looked at us, then slowly walked over to our carriage. He looked at my father, said nothing, and turned back to the gate and opened it. With his hands. The massive gates swung slowly inward, and before us lay a single paved road that led deeper into the grounds.

"And who is he?" I asked my father, peering out of the carriage at the Karr. I had never seen him before, and given his size, that was almost hard to believe. Standing beside our carriage, he had very nearly been taller than it.

"He is the First Sword of House Wardell," my father said. "A good man. His name is Au Ra."

Our carriage began to move toward the gate. Au Ra did not look anywhere but straight ahead as we rolled past him.

"And just why is the First Sword of House Wardell standing outside his own gate?" I looked, and saw no one else. House Wardell kept mostly Karr guards, and the Karr had many talents. Going unseen was not one of them.

"That," my father said, "is a true mystery."

We had set out early. Early enough that the sun had barely cleared the Great Wall when we left our own manor, and it was not yet afternoon now. Estovan had chosen to ride up front beside the driver. To watch the road, he had said. I suspected he simply meant to leave the carriage to the three of us.

Sere lay with her head on my thigh, her notepad propped against her raised knees. I could not see what she was drawing from this angle. My hands were working through her hair one tangle at a time. There were always more of them, no matter how many I undid.

The grounds beyond the gate were plain. That much, at least, was familiar. House Veyne kept its grounds plain too. But our fields were trimmed and maintained ceaselessly. Here the grass had grown long and wild everywhere I looked. If I stepped out of the carriage, some of it might have come up to my chest.

The carriage bumped over something. Our roads were smooth. "It shouldn't be like this," I heard my father mutter. He was staring out the window too, right as our carriage bumped over something else. "To have a Ducal Manor in this state is strange."

"It wasn't like this before?" I asked, though I knew the answer well enough from what he'd said.

My father looked at me and slowly shook his head. "House Wardell always believed in function over form. Even more than we do." He looked back out the window, at all that overgrown grass. I saw a lone maid picking at a bed of flowers. There were more weeds than flowers. The woman had her work cut out for her. "But now there is little form and even less function. The Corin I knew would never let his home look like this."

Our carriage moved on in silence. I slowly worked more tangles out of Sere's hair. There were always more of them every time I checked. I did not know how she managed it. Maybe she had a secret second Gift she had never told me about.

Eventually, we saw the manor.

It was built of dark stone, and it was plain. No banners. No gilding. The only grandeur weas two massive pillars flanking the bottom of a wide staircase. The stairs climbed between them toward the entrance above. And at the bottom of those stairs waited two people.

The carriage rolled to a stop.

Estovan walked to our side and opened the door. He held out an arm for my father first. My father took it, though I saw the reluctance before he did. He steadied himself on his walking stick, and Estovan withdrew. Sere raised her head from my lap, and I hopped out. I was already prepared. I whirled around right as Sere readied herself to jump on me.

"Oh no you don't," I said, and grabbed her before she could, stepping back and setting her down on her feet.

Sere stuck her lower lip out. She was pouting. Did she want to tackle me that badly?

"My Lord. My Lady." A woman's voice. I turned and regarded the maid who had spoken. She was short and freckled, barely taller than I was. She curtsied deeply, until almost all of her reached the floor. "Thank you for coming." She looked up at my father. "I see that you are in good health. It is a relief. My master was most distraught when he learned of what happened at the Auction House."

"Come now, Prele," my father said. "You can rise." He turned and regarded the other person standing beside the maid. The only other person.

It was a boy. One I had seen before. Had seen only two days ago, in fact.

He had his father's face, or at least the beginnings of it. The same dark hair, the same sharp face. This was Tristan Wardell, Duke Wardell's first son, and the heir of House Wardell. One of the two boys who had walked past me at Violet's investiture. One of the two I had expected to come up and talk to me, but never did.

"My Lord," the boy said, and inclined his head. "My Lady," he said again, this time looking at me. I got the distinct impression that he hadn't seen either of us. Rather, he had seen past us both. Even his voice sounded distant. Rote. As if he were somewhere else entirely. He tipped his head again for Estovan. He only came out of some of his daze when he noticed Sere. He squinted, and he actually saw her. "My... Lady?"

This had happened quite a few times now. Everyone always assumed Sere was a noble, for some reason. Even when she was dressed in the black and blue tunic. Was it so alien a concept, that I might have a friend without noble blood? Apparently so.

My father stepped forward. Quickly, for a man who had to use a walking stick. He put one hand on the boy's shoulder. "You look well, Tristan. You should have come and greeted me at the Investiture, but it's no matter," my father said lightly. And then his voice turned warm. "You were a head shorter when I saw you last, and now you've started to come into yourself. I see you're becoming a man. I imagine Brennan is little different." Brennan was the name of Duke Wardell's other son.

Tristan Wardell straightened under my father's touch, and he looked up at him with wide eyes. I had seen that look before. It was exactly the way Sere had looked at Aziah. Strange, to see it aimed at my father now.

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"You are too kind," the boy said, and there was the slightest stammer in it.

My father patted his shoulder once and looked around. "Now, Tristan. Where is your father?"

I had been wondering the same thing. Even when we had gone to Duke Thalos, his wife had been there to greet us, if the man himself had not. To have only the son waiting for us was odd.

"Ah, well." The boy glanced over at the maid, who gave him a small nod. "My father is inside. He- he wishes me to host you privately, for a time." He took a step back and gestured up the stairs. "If you would all follow me?"

My father and I shared a look. I shrugged.

"Lead the way then, Tristan," my father said. And then we were following.

The halls beyond the doors were bare. That was about what I had expected. What I had not expected was just how…quiet the place was. In all our walking, I counted exactly two maids, and both of them bowed and vanished as quickly as they had appeared. I saw no guards at all. Even Indri Manor had guards. And House Wardell was a martial house, not like House Veyne, perhaps, but a martial house all the same. There should have been guards and many of them.

Tristan led us to a small sitting room, and it was as spartan as everything else. A low table, a few couches, and a single window letting in the late morning light. To the room's credit, when I sat, the couch turned out to be far more comfortable than I had assumed. My father and I took the same one, Sere settling in at my other side. The boy sat down across from us, alone.

It was all rather strange. I had visited every ducal manor in this city by now, and this one place was the strangest of all of them. It felt more like a tomb than a place where people actually lived. Even the air felt oddly still, as if it did not want to move either.

Sere tilted her notepad toward me. She had been drawing on the walk. It was a quick sketch, just a few spare lines. Just enough to put the barest hint of the manor on the paper. And above the manor she had drawn a massive black cloud, almost bigger than the building itself. She had even added a few bolts of lightning. It did not take any great genius to know what she meant.

"I know," I murmured.

Weight shifted on the couch, and I caught my father looking at the drawing too. He had one eyebrow raised. Then he turned back to Tristan Wardell, who had done an admirable job of doing nothing but stare at his own hands ever since we had sat down. As far as noble hosts were concerned, he was being a poor one.

So my father talked. He engaged Tristan in idle conversation. About his training, which a Wardell apparently began at six years old. About his studies, and which of his tutors he liked least. About his brother, and whether the two of them still sparred, and who had been winning lately. The boy hardly spoke at all at the start, but within ten minutes he was answering questions fully, in more words than one.

"And the qualifiers?" my father asked at one point. "They begin in only a few days, do they not? A Wardell of your age- Well, I assume you've put your name in."

The boy winced, and then he hid it. Or he tried to hide it, anyway. "I had meant to," Tristan said. His gaze had drifted somewhere past my father's shoulder. "Perhaps... perhaps not this year."

A martial house's heir, at exactly the right age, passing on the King's Tournament. My father only nodded, and moved on to some story about the boy's grandfather.

I did not pay attention to much of the rest. After all, this was not why I was here. Occasionally, my father would mention me. He always mentioned me proudly, recounting one achievement or another he had not been there for as if he'd watched it from only a few feet away. It was- it was strange. Sere continued her idle doodling, and I could not help but wonder whether Duke Wardell would show up at all. At this point, I would have accepted talking to Lady Wardell instead, wherever she was.

Eventually, a door opened somewhere in the back right of the room.

Duke Wardell stepped out, and he looked... disheveled was the only word. I had seen him at Violet's Investiture, and there he had hidden the bags under his eyes well enough. At the time, I had thought his powder simply poorly applied. Perhaps it had only been asked to hide too much. He did not bother with any of it now. Even the clothes he wore looked wrinkled, as if he had been wearing them for some time. And perhaps he had.

He took one look at us and stepped forward. My father rose, pushing himself up off of his walking stick. Sere and I followed.

"It's good to see you, friend," my father said. He stepped forward and took Duke Wardell by the arm.

"And you," Duke Wardell said, returning the gesture.

He went and sat by his son. A maid came through the same door he had entered from, carrying a large tray. Sere perked up next to me almost immediately. Well, at least someone here was excited. The maid set the tray before us, poured our tea, and then left.

"You came earlier than expected," Duke Wardell said, reaching for his cup. He stirred it with a spoon, almost absently. Then he looked up. First at my father, then at me.

It was my father who spoke. I had asked him to, since he knew the man well. Far better than I did. He leaned forward on his cane. "We need your help, Corin," he said. "And we need it soon."

Sere had already reached for the sweets. The maid had brought us a full plate of tarts, and Sere had taken the full plate. She had not touched anything else. I hoped that would not be taken for an insult.

Duke Wardell met my father's gaze and raised an eyebrow. My father was going to explain things to him, about the monsters that would soon be at our gates, and then we would get the help we needed. That was the intention. My father opened his mouth to tell him.

Duke Wardell cut him off. "I can't help you," he said. "You have come all this way, and I have no doubt that it's important, but I cannot help you. If that is all, then I would rather you all just leave."

I noticed his eyes only then. They were red. They had not been red the last time I had seen him.

"Father-" Tristan Wardell put a hand on his father's shoulder.

The Duke paused, and looked at us again. "I do not mean to be curt, but I do mean to be honest." He set down his cup without having taken a single sip. "Whatever it is, I cannot help you with it. Or rather, I would do more harm than good, I think."

I looked at my father uncertainly. Because I did not know what I was looking at. It didn't seem like he was brushing us off because we were being pests. While I had never expected him to refuse us, if it did ever happen, I had assumed it would happen after he heard us out at least.

"Corin, this is not something we can turn away from," my father said, not unkindly. "I do not know what ails you, but-" He stopped.

He looked around the room once more. "Where is Tress?" he asked softly.

There was only silence. My father looked at Duke Wardell, and Duke Wardell looked back at him. Both men's expressions were the same blankness. It was a duel, one fought not with swords. Then Duke Wardell's lower lip trembled, and he put his head in his hands, and he shook. His son put a hand on his father's back, but his glare he saved for us. Even for my father.

Eventually, Duke Wardell spoke again. "This is not to leave this manor," he muttered. "If it does- I will-"

"It will not, my friend," my father said, softer still.

I understood something of what was happening now. Even if I wished I did not.

Corin Wardell slowly nodded. "Follow me, then." He rose unsteadily to his feet, and then he was walking. His son hurried to join him.

My father turned to me when they were some distance ahead. "I am sorry," he said. "I fear we may have come here for naught after all."

I could only nod. He rose, and I rose with him. Sere rose with me, and we followed. In silence. There were only a handful of maids in the halls we moved through. No guards at all. I could understand why, now. The more servants, the more people who could talk. It was no wonder at all that only the First Sword of House Wardell stood outside its gates.

Somewhere along that walk, Vaelin stirred. He pressed against my mind. My hand twitched. I balled my fist.

What is it, Vaelin?

The Godblade did not answer. The urge to pull him out was still there. Nobody spoke. And after our long walk, we stepped in front of a door. An open door.

Sere looked inside and stopped. Her right hand had drifted up to her left arm. She took a step back, and then another, until she was behind me. "Sere?" I asked.

She only shook her head without looking at me. I turned from her to the room. I stepped inside. My right hand wrenched so violently that half my body turned with it. Vaelin was screaming to be let out.

The room was large, and nearly empty. At its center, on a chair drawn close to a bedside, sat a boy. Brennan Wardell. The other boy from the investiture. He did not turn when we entered. I do not think he even heard us.

He sat before a white bed. And on the bed lay a woman. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was shallow, and it rasped every time her chest moved. I had seen her before in portraits. Tress Wardell. The Lady of House Wardell.

And on her face, crawling across her skin, were black lines. The kind I had once seen on a Goddess, at the top of a mountain.