I stood at the precipice of sanity in my head

And looking forward I saw the darkness like tar,

Swallowing me whole and reviving the dormant fire.

I.

“Lina,” I called out to the girl from the entrance of her room. She was facing the window, presumably looking out at the frosty grass hills of the little island. Snapping out of her daydreams, she turned her head to look at me, eyes wide and curious like a fawn’s. I gestured for her to come. 

“A boy is asking for you.”

She approached me, cautious yet excited.

“Is it Anwin?” she asked, her voice soft like sunlight at dawn. I did not know the boy’s name. “You should see for yourself.”

She looked up at me, hopeful, before passing by me and disappearing around the corner in the long hallway of our house, in the direction of the front door. I heard her speak to the boy then, with him answering her in his lower tones puberty bestowed onto him. A shuffling sound followed before I heard the door close, not loud, but a little ‘click’, as Lina carefully closed and locked it behind her.

Her movements in the house were never loud, always intentional, always mild and polite. It was fascinating how her silence contrasted with the chaos Regwulf would sometimes create, making her sounds resonate through the dark halls and rooms of our living space.

The boy, Anwin, seemed like a decent one, I supposed, overly polite with me, overly eager to see Lina, but with good intentions. I opened the door and looked down into those intensely blue eyes, so like the sharp blue of the sea surrounding our island, and knew this one would not ever harm her, at least not intentionally.

I closed the door to her room and went on the way to my study, but as I passed by the staircase leading to the second floor I halted, suddenly noticing a looming presence behind me. “Regwulf,” I said, before even turning around to face her. She stood slouched, piercing my being with her queer eyes. Slowly she lifted her hand, much like a ferryman of the dead, requesting payment for their services. But as the weak sunlight sneaking in from the windows hit her arm, I saw that she was merely holding an empty carton of eggs.

“We’re out…” she croaked, her voice sounding just like the wooden beams supporting the structure of the space we were in. I looked at the carton for a second, rearranging my day’s plans in my head.

“I will go get some, then.”

I took the carton from her hand, which was still raised in a position of request, and went towards the front entrance. Soon I was out of the house, following Lina’s footsteps in the crispy snow, waddled in a thick coat and with a bag slung over one shoulder.

The Seyherd House, our house, was a little way off the rest of Brasboliton, separated –along with a couple of other houses along the road to the Westgate– from the town by a thick stone wall with three entranceways. Or exits, depending on one’s perspective. The wind was ever present but mild, more so caressing my face rather than hitting it as it usually would in the spring season. But we’d only recently left winter, and the wind was evidently not picking up on that notion as of yet. It would soon enough.

The Westgate loomed, and soon I found myself walking through it, the streets of Brasboliton as quiet as ever. I wondered then where Lina and that boy were, and assumed they might’ve taken advantage of the mild weather of the day to go out to the hills. Or the shoreline, perhaps. The sea would be calm enough, though a spark of concern was lit in my head. I ignored it and went on my way towards the store.

The building was situated alongside the little square, central to the town. It stood facing the shrine in the very middle of the square, and yet, despite its prime location, the inside seemed to be absolutely deserted save for the cashier. I entered, and the little bell above my head jingled, waking the cashier from his inelegant napping with his head on top of the counter. He jolted up, registered my presence, then registered my identity, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before straightening up.

“Herleva, hello.”

I felt the warmth of the store gradually seep into my bones.

“Hello. I’d like some eggs.”

I took out the carton from my bag and put it in front of me and him on the counter.

“Out already?” he asked, but was on his feet to get the basket of eggs from the shelf behind him before even receiving an answer.

“You burn through it quickly with a growing girl desperately needing protein in her diet,” I said as he put the basket on the counter to start filling the carton with eggs. He tilted his head.

“I saw Lina walk by just a short while ago, how is she?”

He picked up eggs and inspected them, before humming in approval and putting them in the carton one by one.

“She is well. That boy, though–Anwin, I think? Whose kid is that? I don’t remember seeing him around much.”

He carefully put the fifth egg in the carton before replying.

“That’s Conrad’s. He’s very shy, unlike his father, so I don’t blame you for not recognising him.” He finished filling the carton and closed it, holding it out to me. I took it with one hand and gave him a coin with the other. Letting my gaze drift around the store, my eye fell on something sitting on a shelf in one corner of the store.

“Actually, can I have a packet of that?”

I pointed at it, and his gaze followed, before he lit up. “Oh, the new tea? This one’s quite good.”

He handed me a packet and I gave him two extra coins for it. The cashier seemed to remember something and spoke again as I was putting the groceries in my bag.

“I heard the Prince of The Penese Empire is in Penksey.”

I hummed.

“What for?”

“They say he’s looking for a wife,” he said, clearly as puzzled by this as I was.

“A wife? Why is he not in Leigh, then?” I voiced the question ghosting in both our heads.

“Who knows. I assumed it was just a tall tale, but my supplier swore he saw ‘im in the harbour the other day. Might just be on holiday.”

“All the icebergs of the world would have to melt before any nobleman voluntarily sets foot on Penksey ground. I don’t think that it’s that either,” I said.

The cashier agreed.

“Me neither. I just can’t come up with any other reason he’d come over, definitely not with the Emperor in such dire straits in terms of health. Guess he’s just queer.” 

I nodded, thinking it over. That would be the most reasonable explanation. I lifted the bag and walked towards the door.

“I suppose. See you,” I waved at him, the cashier returning the gesture as he went back to napping over the register, though I did not think he knew I caught him folding back over his arms.

Regwulf was waiting for me when I returned. I was met with timid eyes looking at me from a dark corner in the entrance hall as I took off my trodden snow-covered shoes.

“Did you get them?” she croaked, hopeful.

I took them from my bag and handed the entire carton to her.

“I also got new tea,” I said. “We can drink that with dinner.”

I saw a shadow of a nod at that. I hung up my coat and went to my study. As I passed her, I remembered to warn her.

“Save some for then.”

When I started walking up the stairs, I could hear the familiar cracking of eggshells followed by sluggish chewing.

The letter lay like an impending evil on my desk. It was unopened, and no sender was mentioned on the envelope, but there was no need for one to be mentioned either. Just from the unusual gritty texture of the paper alone did I know who sent it. I sat down and the steel cold from the house embraced me, tying me to the desk chair. I slid the blade I kept on my desk into the envelope and opened it, the paper hissing as it was cut.

The cheque was nothing new. I studied it for a moment, and noticed that the amount was slightly on the lower side, but not so low as to be a valid cause for concern. Cheques such as these came every other month or so; fatherly love. What was new was the actual letter that dropped out of the envelope along with the check. The size of the paper was excessive when taking into account what was written on it: “Come to Treringham’s port. I will be there until the first bloom. It is important.”

Fatherly love, I thought, again. He never signed his letters nor addressed me in them directly. I sighed, and felt weary as I looked out the window. The first bloom was about three weeks away, yet getting to Treringham would take a while, including the time it would take to organise the trip. Penksey would have been more convenient, but my father never went farther up north than Treringham. If I waited until the very last moment, he would certainly not be happy. I made a mental note to ask the skipper tomorrow. I put the cheque and the letter aside and opened the book that had been tempting me to continue reading the entire day, finally finding time for it now, and lost myself until it was time to prepare dinner.