After a few rounds of conversation, they parted ways and each spent the morning gathering much-needed information in their own ways.
Edmund went to observe the guests and nobles that were currently in residence, while Arthur would attempt to blend in with the servants in case they were lucky and it was some unfortunate maid he had stumbled upon. He was also to keep an ear out in case there was someone in the Castle that was not on the official guest list. The ‘scene of the crime’, as Arthur had taken to jokingly call it, was not in a part of the Castle accessible to just anyone. They would meet up in the outer Bailey of the castle after luncheon and try their luck with the knights. Arthur was adamant that the guards would know the details of all the women who lived within the walls of the Castle. Thinking of how his own troops behaved, Edmund had to admit that he was most likely correct.
The wing of the Castle that held both his room and the fateful chamber was reserved for the master’s family, with a few rooms reserved for distinguished guests. The Steward had taken pains at their arrival to inform him that apart from Edmund, there were no other guests outside the immediate family assigned rooms in the wing.
They certainly weren’t subtle in their scheming. The placement of his room not only gave a subtle indication to others that there was an understanding between the families, but it also meant no witnesses would interfere with their tricks. Which was why he had insisted on Arthur sleeping in the small servant’s room attached to the main bedchamber, rather than retiring to his own room. Yet, both the Thorne’s plans and his own precautions had failed. There must have been a variable none of them had expected.
From what Edmund remembered from the banquet last night, before things got hazy, there were a number of other guests currently in residence. From the brief introductions made, it seemed to be some local vassals of the Marquisate, a few nobles from the Capital known for their loose tongues, and even a few Hallowfeld connections for good measure. Looking back, their scheme should have been obvious just from the guest list. Even without drugging him, any small mistake that Edmund made could see him embroiled in an uproar that would make its way to the Capital as fast as the guests' carriages could carry it. Then the pressure to announce an engagement would be almost unbearable.
“Heh…” With a snort, he made his way down to the main reception room on the ground floor. He remembered that there had been talk of the guests gathering there this morning after breakfast, before heading off to their respective activities for the day. If what he remembered was correct, then the visitors from the Capital would be heading out for some local sightseeing and recreational activities, while the vassals and the Hallowfeld connections would be meeting with the Marquis on some vague estate business, though there had been a lot of pointed looks exchanged when it was mentioned.
This morning would be the best time to catch them all gathered together in one place. While his memory didn’t immediately call to mind any of them having tresses that matched the vibrant strands he had collected, that didn’t mean he hadn’t overlooked someone. The possibility of that person being a guest who had chosen not to attend the banquet for some reason also existed. With any luck, he would be able to find his elusive shadow in the reception room. Then, depending on who they were, he would have to plan what steps to take next.
A few hours later…
Edmund approached the training grounds tucked into the shade of the outer Bailey and scanned the groups of sparring knights looking for a familiar shaggy blond head.
Unfortunately, after a morning spent drinking several cups of tepid tea, he was still no closer to finding the woman. He was, however, convinced that marrying the Thorne heir would be the worst mistake he could make in his life. Having any tie to the Hallowfeld bloodline would be pure folly. If he were stupid enough to make that alliance, when they slit his throat, it could be considered suicide.
Their hosts were notably absent this morning, but from the lack of surprise of those present, it would seem that the Thornes were known to leave guests to their own devices in the mornings. That worked to Edmund’s advantage. It made things easier that he didn’t have to waste energy fending off the Marchioness and her daughter. Instead, he put on a mask of calm, but let small bits of concern show through, trying to lure in those who would be expecting him to be disturbed after a night under the drug's effects.
With the woman’s identity still unknown, and the architects of last night’s scheme absent and unable to directly monitor the situation, any possible accomplices might reveal themselves. The nobles visiting from the Capital, a Baron and a couple of Viscounts whom he knew only by reputation, were crossed off his list pretty quickly. They approached him readily enough, but other than approaching him to engage in the usual polite banter and light gossip, they showed no other deeper interest in him. He hadn’t expected them to be involved, so after politely turning down their invitation to join their excursion to the local market, he turned his attention to more likely targets.
The Vassals were the group he least suspected, really, as they would gain more from young Lady Thorne marrying one of their sons instead of an outsider. Since the Marquis still had no male heir, whoever married the Marquis’s only daughter would follow in his footsteps and inherit the title from their wife. The title had already passed out of the Thorne’s hands once, and to a Hallowfeld at that, so for it to now pass to a Northerner would be unthinkable to them. There was also the real threat that the Marquis might still have a son of his own and attempt to pass the title to an heir without a drop of Thorne blood and no chance at all of becoming a Spirit Master.
Which explained why the few Southern Ladies gathered here were eyeing him with barely veiled dislike. The disgruntled acceptance in their Lord's eyes, however, told Edmund that the Marquis had made his wishes known to his most loyal vassals. Most likely, they were here to observe and make sure that any marriage talks would include a guarantee that any future offspring who harbored the potential to become a Spirit Master would be returned to the South to inherit the Marquisate. Although they were all also accompanied by their sons, it seemed they hadn’t given up all hope. They didn’t approach him at all, and instead, the few attempts he made to strike up conversations were met with obvious reluctance. With a mental toast, he wished them luck and turned his attention to the obvious suspects.
Surprisingly, the members of the Hallowfeld family who had come to visit had also brought their sons. Three different couples who had introduced themselves as various degrees of cousin to the Marquis and his daughter were accompanied by young men, all between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five. They all approached him directly, and the speculative look in their eyes told him that they were well aware of their kinsman’s ambitions, though not that they had most likely been thwarted. This attempt at least.
He almost rolled his eyes when one of the Ladies had twittered behind her fan and commented that he did not appear to have gotten much rest the night before. He didn’t miss the speculative gleam in the other’s eyes as they assessed him. Or the overly friendly manner with which the young men then approached him. It seemed they were taking their future as in-laws as a given and were rushing forward to establish a connection with this soon-to-be cousin. They were so obviously scheming that it was slightly embarrassing.
Though why the young men themselves were being so overly friendly with him left him a little puzzled. He could also speculate that their parents had brought them along, hoping to present these young men as possible alternatives should he not step into the traps laid out for him, but something about the situation seemed off. While they might accept establishing relations with the powerful North as a consolation prize, there should at least be some ambition towards the opportunity to rule the South. Yet these young men didn’t treat him like a rival at all. They did, however, show a level of wariness and competition towards each other.
What was even stranger was the way that the sons of the Southern Lords were acting. While they paid him the barest courtesy and did not outright ignore his presence, their hostility towards the young Hallowfeld men was blatant. They used the veil of polite conversation to confront them at every turn until the two sides retreated to their respective corners. It was as if there was indeed some kind of competition, just not one that included him.
Truthfully, the morning had left him with quite a few questions and woefully few answers. He hoped that Arthur had more luck in his inquiries.
All the guests he remembered from the evening before were present when he had entered the receiving room, and no new faces presented themselves. After a few veiled questions, he was able to confirm that there were no other official visitors to the Castle that he had not yet met. So, currently, strange behaviors aside, they could count the guests as a dead end until any new information presented itself.
Edmund stopped for a few minutes to watch the groups of knights sparring I the rough rings marked out around the training ground. He shook his head and sighed. A cursory glance would tell any of his men that these were not in their class. The South would pose no military threat if these were the extent of their capabilities. No wonder they were desperate to ally with the martial stronghold of the North. He almost felt bad for them.He spotted a familiar shaggy blond head facing off against a lean-framed Southern knight in one of the sparring rings at the edge of the grounds. He crossed over and leaned against a nearby tree, just behind the crowd that had gathered to watch.
“C’mon, Stanis! You’ve got this! Don’t let the North think the South is weak!” Various voices tossed out good-natured encouragements to the brown haired knight squaring off against Arthur. The man seemed to be younger than the average, and took the shouting of his peers with a slight blush and polite smile. As he dodged and feinted, his sword clashing with the larger knight’s, Edmund had to admit that he was better than the majority of others he had observed earlier. It was obvious to Edmund that Arthur was going easy on him, treating it more like a workout than a test of skills, while leading the match slowly towards a diplomatic draw.
A few minutes later, it was over, after a satisfactory resolution and some cheerful ribbing back and forth, Arthur dropped down to sit at the base of the tree next to his friend.
“Please take a seat, Your Grace.” His friend’s polite, almost deferential tone almost had a snort escaping. Until he continued in a voice low enough for only Edmund to hear. “If you keep hovering like a bad omen dressed all in black like that, they’ll keep staring, and then we won’t be able to speak freely.”
Glancing around again, he noticed that the knights did indeed keep shooting them overly curious glances. It was obvious that they were not used to nobles visiting the training grounds. It seemed the Marquis didn’t train with his men.
Dropping down next to his friend, he responded quietly. “There, happy?”
“Extremely, Your Grace.” A soft chuckle accompanied his friend's words. “I’m going to assume, from your pleasant attitude, that you didn’t find our elusive potential Duchess amongst the guests?” Edmund merely grunted in response. He was glad his friend could find humor in the situation.
“Well, unfortunately, I didn’t have much success either. No red-haired temptress walked up and introduced herself to me. Unfortunately.” He dodged the half-hearted punch Edmund threw at him. The truth is, they had both expected this outcome. It was always going to be a search for a needle in a haystack. A needle that the residents of the Castle would desperately try to hide once they realized its existence.
“However, I do have to tell you that this place is strange.”
“Arthur, the South is strange.” Arthur shot him a rare, serious look.
“No, Edmund, it’s really strange. All the servants are convinced that it’s haunted.” His friend took a breath and then continued. “Things go missing, people trip over air, candles blow out suddenly, and light themselves. The staff seem to have become used to it, though some are still known to run screaming sometimes.”
“Well, this is the home of the Spirit Masters. I would assume strange things have been happening for generations. The experienced staff should have methods to put new staff at ease, or weed them out if they can’t take it.” Edmund shrugged.
“That’s what's strange to me. There is no experienced staff.” Arthur folded his hands behind his head and leaned back against the tree trunk. “Or at least no staff with experience past fourteen years ago.”
“You have to be kidding.” Edmund looked at his friend with incredulity. It was impossible for there to be no legacy staff in a landmark estate like Verdant Shade Castle. Just like the Keep, the Castle had stood for centuries. The place should be crawling with old family retainers. To have none meant only one thing- someone had systemically replaced them all.
Considering the size of the Castle and the number of staff involved, that would be a herculean task. Which begged the question- why?“Well, I should say- no staff members except for one.” At this point, the reclined knight openly smirked at his friend. “Who also happens to be the one who provides all the incoming staff with physical examinations when they first arrive, and thus has met all the current staff here in the Castle. The family physician.”
After a brief moment of contemplation, Edmund clapped his friend on the shoulder. Finally, they at least had a direction. His voice sounded almost pleasant as he asked, “So which one of us is getting injured- you or me?”
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