The summons ca at the worst possible mont, they always did. Veyr’s fingers froze above the chessboard, one move away from checkmate, as the page cleared his throat from the doorway.
"Lord Veyr," the boy said, his voice cracking on the title. "Your father requests your imdiate presence in the west study."
Veyr glanced at the board, calculating. One move to victory, but Father’s summons ant the ga would go unfinished. He sighed and straightened, offering an apologetic smile to his opponent, an elderly scholar whose na he’d already forgotten.
"It seems we’ll have to continue this another ti," he said, rising with deliberate grace that concealed his slight limp. The old injury only bothered him when he sat too long, a flaw he’d beco adept at hiding.
The scholar nodded, seemingly relieved at the reprieve from imminent defeat. "Of course, my lord. Another ti."
Veyr followed the page through corridors he’d known since childhood, each tapestry and stone as familiar as his own reflection.
The afternoon light slanted through tall windows, catching dust motes that danced in the air like tiny stars. He adjusted his copper-trimd cuffs, a nervous habit he’d never quite overco, and tried to guess what crisis demanded his attention this ti.
The page stopped at the west study door, bowed, and scurried away like a mouse escaping a hawk’s shadow. Veyr straightened his spine, smoothed his expression into sothing suitably neutral, and knocked once before entering.
Lord Callen Dathen Velrane stood by the window, his ash-silver hair catching the light, his tall fra silhouetted against the glass.
He didn’t turn when Veyr entered, a calculated slight that spoke volus. At the edge of the room, Ayren lounged in a chair, seemingly engrossed in a ledger but undoubtedly absorbing every word about to be spoken.
"You summoned , Father?" Veyr kept his voice even, betraying none of the tension coiling in his stomach.
Lord Callen turned then, his face set in lines of weathered stone. "Lord Halworth will be arriving within the hour. He demands satisfaction for his son’s... injuries."
’Ah. So this is about that. Jerric Halworth and his bloodied face. Soren’s handiwork.’
"I see," Veyr said, mind already racing through possible approaches. "And you wish to handle this matter?"
"You brought Thorne into our house." His father’s voice cut like a winter wind. "You will clean his ss."
The words landed exactly as intended, a reminder of responsibility, of consequences. Veyr felt his cheeks warm but kept his expression carefully neutral. "Of course, Father. I’ll speak with Lord Halworth."
"You’ll do more than speak," Lord Callen replied, turning back to the window. "You’ll resolve this without weakening our position. Halworth is a minor house, but one we can ill afford to alienate."
Veyr nodded, though his father couldn’t see it. "I understand."
"Do you?" His father’s voice softened dangerously. "This is your test, Veyr. Handle it properly."
From his corner, Ayren finally looked up, violet eyes gleaming with amusent. "Don’t worry, Father. My brother has always excelled at... smoothing ruffled feathers."
The subtle mockery stung, but Veyr ignored it. He had more important concerns than Ayren’s barbs. "I won’t disappoint you."
Lord Callen made a noncommittal sound that might have been acknowledgnt. "See that you don’t. I’ll be monitoring the situation, but this is your responsibility." He waved a hand in dismissal. "Prepare yourself. Halworth has never been known for his restraint."
Veyr bowed slightly and backed toward the door, mind already assembling strategies like pieces on a chessboard. As he turned to leave, he caught Ayren’s smirk, anticipatory, as if watching the opening moves of an interesting ga.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that felt oddly final.
–
Lord Erion Halworth arrived exactly as Veyr had expected, with maximum noise and minimum grace. His voice echoed through the entrance hall before he’d fully crossed the threshold, demanding imdiate attention from servants who’d been warned to expect the storm.
"Where is Lord Velrane? I demand to see him at once!" The words bounced off marble and stone, amplified by the vaulted ceiling.
Veyr descended the grand staircase with asured steps, his face composed into a mask of polite concern. He’d changed into formal attire, House Velrane’s colors of copper and slate, tailored to emphasize his slender height while disguising his slight limp. Every detail mattered in these encounters.
Lord Halworth stood in the center of the hall, a stocky man with ruddy features and an impressive gray beard that did little to disguise his double chin.
His traveling cloak, an ostentatious affair trimd with more fur than the season warranted, was clasped with a silver pin bearing his house crest. His eyes, small and sharp beneath bushy brows, fixed on Veyr with imdiate displeasure.
"Lord Halworth," Veyr greeted him, extending both hands in formal welco. "My father sends his regrets that urgent matters prevent him from greeting you personally. I am to receive you in his stead."
Halworth’s face darkened further. "The boy? They send the boy to address this outrage?" He made no move to accept Veyr’s outstretched hands.
Veyr let his hands fall smoothly to his sides, maintaining his pleasant expression despite the deliberate slight. "I assure you, my lord, I speak with my father’s full authority in this matter." He gestured toward a side door. "Please, let us discuss your concerns in more comfortable surroundings. Refreshnts await us."
For a mont, Halworth looked ready to refuse even this courtesy. Then, with a visible effort at restraint, he nodded curtly. "Very well. Lead on."
Veyr guided him to the Blue Room, chosen specifically for this encounter. Not so grand as to suggest Halworth warranted special treatnt, but comfortable enough to avoid insult.
The windows overlooked the winter garden, providing a pleasant view while allowing Veyr to seat his guest with the afternoon sun in his eyes. Small advantages, but potentially useful.
A servant appeared silently with wine and delicate pastries, then vanished at Veyr’s subtle nod. Halworth accepted a goblet but left it untouched, his impatience visible in every tense line of his body.
"I didn’t co for pleasantries," he said bluntly. "I ca about my son."
Veyr settled into his chair, arranging his features into an expression of appropriate concern. "Yes, a most unfortunate incident. How is Jerric recovering?"
"Recovering?" Halworth’s voice rose sharply. "That gutter rat nearly killed him! His face is barely recognizable. The healers say so of the damage may be permanent."
"A regrettable situation," Veyr agreed, taking a small sip of wine. "Violence between recruits is strictly forbidden, of course. Thorne has already been disciplined severely for his actions."
"Disciplined?" Halworth slamd his untouched goblet onto the table, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "That’s not enough! I demand real punishnt, public flogging, at minimum. Better yet, expulsion. Send that street filth back to whatever gutter you found him in."
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