Chapter 12

Tabitha’s room was immaculate.

The large canopy bed looked as if it hadn’t been slept in for years, the sheets and covers perfectly made, the pillows arranged just as he remembered them. Her room was well lit by large windows, the shades pulled open, letting the light of Primaris in.

The opulent furnishings and decorations were well suited to the estate, some of them having been part of their family’s collection for generations.

Wil had materialized in the center of the sitting room, his feet sinking into the thick rug that covered the space. The large fireplace beside him was cold, the ashes removed months ago once spring had arrived. Looking around, Wil took in his surroundings.

It was obvious that if Tabitha spent any time here, it was infrequent stays while visiting her father. The room had a sterile, unlived in feel to it, with nothing personal of hers to claim it. Walking slowly, he ran his finger across a desk, seeing the lack of dust.

“The servants are keeping it clean, in case she returns and decides to stay. But she obviously is living somewhere else.” Wil muttered to himself, opening a wardrobe, and assessing the insides. A few dresses, formal wear, but nothing for everyday use. She kept the bulk of her clothing elsewhere.

“Likely the Capital. She should be graduated from the Academy by now…did she move into the manor house there?” Wil mused, closing the oak wardrobe again. If he couldn’t find clues here, he would risk a trip to the manor.

Moving to the desk, he flipped through the drawers, finding nothing but stacks of empty parchments, sealed ink bottles and new quills. Tabitha had a bookshelf filled with history books, travel journals from famous explorers, and a few romance novels.

That stood out to him. Tabitha hated romance novels, he remembered her shredding them whenever they were gifted to her.

Picking up the few that were on the shelf, he placed them on the empty desk. Opening the cover of the top book, he immediately saw writing on the front cover.

To my Darling Tabi,

Happy Birthday.

Prince Leander.

Wil blinked in surprise, looking at the others. They each carried a similar inscription, another for a birthday, and a third for an anniversary. The prince had gifted her romance books for special occasions.

“He evidently doesn’t know her at all…or the true Tabitha. Curious.” Wil whispered, closing the books, and placing them back on the shelf. Rooting through the others, he saw nothing of importance. They were on a variety of topics, likely related to her studies at the Academy.

He was about to finish his inspection of Tabitha’s room, when he came upon a stack of letters, bound together with twine in one of the writing desk’s drawers. Carefully removing it, he read through them quickly.

Each were addressed to Tabitha from Margaret Herrington, once Ashworth, the young noblewoman. He had met her years before in East Haven. The woman was a gossip, and from her letters, it seemed she hadn’t grown out of it yet. The pages were filled with flowery demands for more information about Tabitha’s relationship with the Leander, and requests for meetings.

As the letter continued, it seemed the two had somewhat regular correspondence. A particular line caught his attention.

Tabitha, darling, or friends are quite keen to meet with you once more. We would love to host you at our estate. Could you find time to sneak away? It’s a matter most urgent.

“This is something to follow up on.” Wil said to himself, making a note to pay Margaret a visit. When he had been at the Academy, Tabitha and Margaret would be as alike as water and oil. What could possible have drawn the pair together? And who were these friends?

Tabitha had no friends, and Wil doubted seven years would have changed that.

Rebinding the letters, he tucked them away into the drawer. With a final look around the room, he disappeared in a misty fog.

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His father’s study had always been an intimidating place, not for what it contained, walls lined with bookshelves, a large desk, comfortable chair, and a massive fireplace to drive away what little chill Southern Illyria experienced in winter.

It was the meaning of the room that affected Wil. Even now, as a grown man who was much stronger than his father, he still experienced a sense of nervous as he walked the empty study. The room was organized and clean, although Tiberius Brookmoor only let his most trusted servants enter without his presence.

Stacks of ledgers and books covered the desk, arranged by category and type. Financial records for the estate, correspondents with the other lords and the Emperor, even a few books on Illyrian law. Wil ran his hand along the spines, frowning as he wondered where to start.

Ignoring the books, he flipped through the ledgers, looking for something obvious. His father’s handwriting was clear and precise in the margins, although Wil had little idea of the meaning.

“The estate has been doing well.” Wil muttered, running a finger along a line of recent income. “But what are these large expenditures? The wedding? But these are massive numbers…”Wil pondered, flipping back and forth in his attempt to understand.

“Father has been bringing in coins from multiple sources. Taxes, goods grown on the estate, but several are simply listed as ‘investments’, and the amounts don’t linger in the Brookmoor accounts, they flow to a dozen other expenditures.” Wil tried to parse out what he was looking at, but he didn’t have the mind for numbers.

He would need Annabelle to review these, though he loathed getting her involved. Grabbing a few of the ledger books, he tucked them into his bag. His father would notice immediately if he returned early, but it was likely he would have known Wil was snooping regardless. The man had his ways of knowing when someone entered his study, small tricks to alert him.

Since he couldn’t hide it anyway, he may as well leap in with both feet. If caught, he could claim that he was curious about his inheritance or some nonsense.

“Sorry Markus.” Wil mumbled, knowing his brother would not be pleased with his lack of finesse.

Leaving the desk, he browsed the bookshelves, looking for anything that may stand out or give a hint of his father’s plans. Finding nothing, Wil turned his attention to the rest of the room. There was nothing, no loose papers, or notes, even his correspondents were missing.

His father had left the room bare. Aside from the ledgers, which he doubted contained anything incriminating, there was nothing.

In a last effort to find something, he closed his eyes, stretching out with his senses, looking for anything odd or magical. His father did have a collection of magical items, but they were usually on his person, or locked in the family vault. Not expecting to find anything, he was surprised when his senses touched something magical.

Spinning towards it, he opened his eyes, facing a painting his father had commissioned years ago. It was of the estate, incredibly detailed, with both suns in the sky, Primaris setting while Secundus rose. He remembered the artist who had painted it, an older woman from the Capital.

Curious, Wil reached out, attempting to get a feel of where the magic was located. The painting was on a hinge, easily opening, revealing a safe in the wall. The steel box was covered in magical runes and glyphs, pulsating with mana.

Wil recognized the rune for ‘Blood’ and another that had something to do with an incantation, but his knowledge in warding was still too lacking, despite his years of study to improve.

“I might be able to have Quentin decipher the ledgers and return them before Father comes home. But he’ll notice if I tamper with this…” Wil thought, staring at the wall safe. He tapped his hand against his scabbarded sword, weighing the pros and cons. With a sigh, he slowly returned the painting to how he had found it.

“If my other leads don’t pan out, or I begin to uncover something more nefarious than his thirst for power, I’ll return. For now, I hope Annabelle can discover something…I’ll have to pay Margaret a visit as well.”

With a thought, he disappeared, the magic of Teleportation carrying him across the miles to Elbing.