Chapter 32
Soon they found themselves on the third floor, midway down a broad hallway that was more modestly adorned than the ones below. Fishing a small silver key from a pocket, Caedmon unlocked an almost plain set of double doors and bade Alistar to follow.
The office was at least five times larger than Alistar’s bedroom. The walls were lined with shelves on all sides that were stuffed with books to the point of overflowing, containing works in all shapes and sizes, and in all states of condition. Most of the study was neat and orderly, though there were several sections where books had been hastily jammed into random shelves, with a good deal of volumes cluttering certain parts of the floor. The scent of dry, aged parchment filled Alistar’s nostrils, nostalgia in his eyes as he adjusted to the light of several lanterns that burned gently from their places upon hooks and hangers. A pair of large desks faced one another from opposite ends of the room, delicately carved from expensive mahogany, each with a comfortable chair to match. A handful of similar chairs sat off to the side in a loose clump.
"This room doesn’t see many visitors, so pardon the mess." Caedmon knelt down to gather some sheets of parchment at the base of the messier desk, which was on the right side of the study. It seemed that this was where he usually sat.
Without asking, Alistar sat onto a fine, cushioned chair, his heart as cold as the sweat on his back. This was no time to worry over manners. Madeline had said that the messenger had returned alone. If his mother wasn’t with him, it meant that the owner of the mine had refused to sell her, even with the ridiculous price that Caedmon had pitched. If they wouldn’t agree to five times the usual selling price, then how could Alistar possibly hope to work up enough money to appeal to them? If even Caedmon couldn’t buy his mother’s freedom, then how could he hope to free her, Kaila and Talon? Despair descended upon him, a familiar, detestable feeling that stabbed at him like a cold blade in the hands of an old friend.
Someone knocked and then entered the room, though Alistar kept his eyes on the fine rug that covered nearly the entire floor. When he looked up a few moments later, he saw a young man standing before Caedmon, who sat crossly behind his desk with hands balled up into fists. Behind the man’s fury, Alistar saw a mirror of himself. His uncle was hurting, and he couldn’t hide it.
The two men exchanged a few words and then the young man began his report. Alistar, whose gaze had grown downcast once more, slowly turned his head in their direction as if it rested upon rusted hinges. The messenger wore fine clothes, though they were torn and dirty from his travels, his modest features marked by several bruises and patches of inflamed skin. Most glaring was the discolouration around his right eye, which was almost completely swollen shut.
"I’m deeply sorry, my lord," frowned the man, whose face was hidden by a tousled shock of brown hair. His voice was heavy with shame. "As you instructed, I took the fastest horse in the stables and hired the swiftest escorts. We made good time, considering the absence of rest stops, but the one in charge of the mines made us wait outside for days. When I finally spoke to the man, he was anything but reasonable." The young man paused to clear his throat, suddenly hesitant. "They refused to send word to the count about your offer. They simply stole the money you had prepared, and then forced me to leave when—"
"What of Laisha?" Caedmon cut in. "What did you learn of her situation?"
"Erm," the young man looked away. "The man in charge—one of the count’s sons, I took it—told me that she had passed away sometime during the week before last." He dropped to one knee so quickly that his kneecap might have cracked, judging from the sound it made when it hit the floor. "My deepest apologies! I failed to bring back your sister, and I lost the fortune you entrusted me with!"