In Which Lorn Meets the Nearest and Most Willing

July 17, 1176

Lorn had braced himself for a dull day. Leara had gone to call at the castle and she'd taken the children with her. She'd invited him to come along as well, but he'd seen quite a bit of the king that week and there was only so much of him he could take at once--not to mention, the added annoyance of the queen. Rona too was out and about, spending a few days in Tetranshire to help newlywed Hilla with the decorating of the new castle, and of course Aspen had gone along with her. Seeing as Leara would almost certainly be spending the night at her girlhood home, Aydelle had left shortly after breakfast, and while Lorn liked Aldhein, the steward wasn't too fond of idle conversation.

That left only the lower-ranking servants, but what was there to discuss with them? Most of them were pleasant, no doubt, but he didn't think any of them would believe he just wanted to socialize; they'd suspect that either they'd done something wrong or he was trying to proposition them, which was about the last thing he cared to put a good servant through.

So, he had spent most of his morning with his records--going over the documents, desperate to find some mistake that needed correcting and cursing himself upon finding none. Damn his caution and Aldhein's scrutiny! Was there anything left to do? Organize the records perhaps? No need for that either.

Needless to say, he'd been only too relieved when Aldhein had pulled him away from the table to meet with some unannounced subject.

And--unless trying to decode the ancient runes of his own writing had done a number on his vision--it wasn't a subject he recognized.

"Your grace."

From the looks of him, he was a middle-aged clergyman, and not necessarily one in the best of health--not with his scraggly graying beard and the bags beneath his lashes and the oversized robe dwarfing his bony frame--but his golden eyes were alert and unyielding. In an odd way, Lorn was almost reminded of Leara's stepbrother Searle, cold and vigilant and uncannily clever, but a key distinction lay between the two and if anything that made Lorn even more uncomfortable. He was not a horrible judge of character; having been a duke at ten, he'd never been allowed to be. Searle was what he was, but if one took the time to peel back the layers of sarcasm and insensitivity, there was a core--a human core, a man's core, the sickly essence of a forlorn little boy who'd practically raised himself to a bitter adulthood.

Lorn didn't even know this man's name and couldn't guess how many layers he had or what lay beneath them, but some nagging feeling in his gut told him he was better of not knowing. No one had ever inspired such an instinct in him, not even Searle. Not even Deian.

"Brother Remiel. I've come from the monastery at Aquino." He spoke gruffly and hurriedly, like a man who had little use for his own voice and cared little for the sound of it. Lorn couldn't blame him for the latter. "I'll warn you right now about my manners. I'm a regular clergyman; I was trained in many things, but social interaction was not one of them. The boy's the only company I have most of the time."

"The boy?"

Brother Remiel jerked his head to the side and glared over Lorn's shoulder. Lorn followed his gaze; sure enough, there was a youth seated on the couch, so inconspicuous to have escaped notice despite his ashen coloring. Rude of him not to introduce himself, or at least smile as Remiel did that for him--or so Lorn thought until he noticed the boy's blind eyes. "A ward of yours?"

"You could say that." Hinting at impatience, Brother Remiel gave a dismissive wave and glanced instead toward the door. "Anyway, I'm in the area for some research that will doubtlessly be several years in the works. Meanwhile, I heard you lost your parish priest recently. Rome isn't keen to replace him, it seems?"

So he was after the job. Unluckily for Lorn, the position desperately needed filling. "Naroni isn't exactly known for its piety."

"Quite the opposite, so they say." He shook his head, a disapproving frown on his lips. Quartus, rest his soul, had not been much of a priest, and this man was no Quartus. That didn't mean he'd be better. "Regardless, I am here. I may not be the best man for the job, but I am the nearest and the most willing--and after months without a parish priest, you can't afford to be picky. All I ask is minimal funding for my research and I'll shepherd the flock as you see fit."

Lorn glanced over at Aldhein, who was staring Brother Remiel up and down with that jaded scorn he'd always reserved for churchmen. He noticed Lorn's look and sighed. "If he's going to be here for the research anyway, you might as well have the right to keep tabs on it. I don't think I'd trust him not to try something suspicious."

Remiel sniffed. "I can hear you."

"I figured." Aldhein's already thin eyes narrowed before flicking toward the boy on the couch. "What's with you, kid? Are you an assistant or a servant or what? You're not his catamite, are you?"

"He most certainly is not." A brief scowl crossed Brother Remiel's face, but it was quick to melt into a smug sort of satisfaction. Blasphemous a thought it might have been, it was probably a good thing that Aldhein's attendance at mass was at best inconsistent. "But you are wasting your breath, sir. He'll never answer anything you ask him. He never says a word."

"A blind boy who can't speak?" Aldhein almost sounded amused, or as close to amused as Aldhein ever got. "My God. Why do you bother keeping him around?"

"He's useful."

Lorn shot another look Aldhein's way. The steward was unconvinced; at least Lorn supposed he had some interesting theories to hear about when Brother Remiel left. "What for? You already denied his being your catamite."

"That is none of your concern."

The finality of his voice promised not to answer to any further questions. Lorn's eyes traveled to the boy once more, quiet and unresponsive as he'd been the whole, his pallid face almost translucent in the candlelight.

Odd. Lorn could have sworn the candles had been unlit.

NEXT CHAPTER: