Page 3

3

R elief crashed over Vivienne like a breaking wave. “Oh, thank the Gods.”

She sprinted up the pathway, her boots skidding slightly on the loose gravel as she reached the door with Lewis right behind her. Her fingers closed around the envelope, tugging it free from where it had been wedged between the wood and stone.

The wax seal felt cool beneath her fingertips, the embossed owl and eight-pointed star catching the moonlight. She traced the ridges, reassurance settling in her chest. Official. Unmistakable. Finally, some news.

Lewis nearly vibrated with impatience. “Well, open it already!”

She slid a finger beneath the seal, carefully breaking it apart, the faint snap of wax giving way in the quiet night. The parchment inside was thick, heavier than the letters her parents usually sent. A small pit formed in her stomach, but she shook it off, unfolding the letter as quickly as she dared without tearing it.

Her eyes darted across the first line. Then the second. Her brow furrowed.

This isn’t either of their handwriting.

Her breath hitched, fingers tightening around the paper.

“What does it say?” Lewis leaned over her shoulder, his voice edged with curiosity and concern.

Vivienne barely heard him. She tilted the letter toward the sky, angling it for better light, but the shadows swallowed the ink, rendering the words an unreadable blur.

“It’s too dark,” she murmured, frustration creeping into her tone. She shifted her stance, holding the parchment higher, letting the moon’s glow skim the surface.

The golden seal, the unfamiliar handwriting, the weight of the paper, it all pressed against her at once. Something about this felt off .

Miss Vivienne Banner,

Despite the diligent inquiries having been conducted across our lands and beyond, we are compelled to inform you, William and Liana Banner, your esteemed parents, have been missing for several months and are presumed dead.

We have received no communication, no word of their safety, nor any indication of their continued presence in this realm. Though their bodies have not been recovered, their absence and the evidence gathered by our scouts leave us with no other conclusion.

You are hereby summoned to the royal court at your earliest convenience, where further matters regarding your parents' estate and any remaining obligations related to your family's standing will be addressed. Please consider this correspondence as formal notification of the above decisions.

Regards,

Chancellor Montaghue

Royal Steward to His Majesty, King Berius

Eirenden Keep, Kingdom of Fendwyr

The words hit her like a blow to the stomach. Presumed dead.

The phrase echoed in her skull, relentless, beating like a drum. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else.

Her breath came shallow, ragged. A cold sweat prickled along her back, dampening the collar of her shirt. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt like sandpaper. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.

The ground seemed to tilt beneath her. Her fingers trembled as she reached for anything to hold onto, but her body felt disconnected, untethered. The edges of her vision darkened, the world shrinking, pulling away from her.

A sharp ringing filled her ears. Her stomach twisted violently.

Her knees gave out.

She barely registered the rush of air as she fell, just the distant, detached sensation of the ground rising up to meet her.

Then everything faded to black.

* * *

She came to slowly, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her like a damp wool blanket. A breath shuddered through her lips as she blinked against the blur of light and shadow. Whitewashed beams stretched overhead, their edges slightly warped in her vision. She recognized the powder blue walls, the scent of dried herbs hanging in the air.

Her home.

A quiet ticking filled the silence. Her gaze drifted toward the stone hearth, where a small clock sat on the mantle beside bunches of lavender and rosemary. A deep sink with a rare water pump gleamed in the dim light, its basin empty. Shelves lined the walls, some crammed with dishes and dried goods, others overflowing with books.

Across from her, an armchair sat occupied.

Lewis leaned back, a gardening almanac open in his lap. But he wasn’t reading. His foot tapped anxiously against the floor, his fingers clenched around the book’s cover.

Vivienne exhaled, her temples throbbing as she pushed herself upright.

The movement pulled Lewis’ attention immediately. “Viv,” he breathed, snapping the book shut and setting it aside.

Her gaze flicked to the letter on the dining table. The golden seal gleamed in the low light.

Presumed dead.

Her throat tightened. The words felt foreign, unreal. They pressed against her ribs like an iron weight, suffocating, crushing.

Lewis followed her gaze, his expression unreadable. He had seen the words, too. The cold, impersonal message that unraveled everything.

A hot sting pricked at her eyes.

"They're not coming back," she murmured. It wasn’t a question. Not an earth-shattering revelation. Just a fact.

Lewis rose from his chair, moving toward her with hesitant steps. “Viv…” His voice was barely above a whisper. He reached out to her, but his hands hovered, uncertain if touch would help or make things worse. “I’m so sorry.”

She turned to face him, her expression hollow. “Sorry?” Her voice cracked, sharp and brittle. “Sorry for what , Lewis? For them being lost? For them being—” The last word lodged in her throat.

He closed the distance between them, pulling her into a firm embrace.

Vivienne stiffened. Then, the dam inside her burst.

A ragged sob tore from her chest, her fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of his shirt. She pressed her face against his shoulder, her whole body trembling.

“They can’t be gone,” she choked, the words barely making it past her lips. “They can’t be…”

Then, another thought struck her like lightning. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes wide and frantic.

“Oh my gods—what will I tell Briar?” Her breath came in short, panicked gasps. “She already lost one set of parents. She can’t— she’s only twelve .”

Lewis’ grip on her tightened. He didn’t say anything, but she felt it in the way he held her—he understood. And he knew there was nothing he could do to make it right.

They stayed that way until her sobs faded into a hopeless silence. When she finally pulled away, her face was blotchy, her eyes swollen and red.

“I need to find out what happened,” she rasped. But as she stood on her own, the dizziness returned, making her sway.

Lewis caught her elbow and guided her back to the settee. “You should eat something.” He poured a glass of water, handing it to her along with a pastry from his satchel. Then he sat on the floor in front of her, watching her closely, as if making sure she didn’t disintegrate before his eyes.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, her voice small and broken. “But I have to do something. For me. And for Briar.”

Lewis hesitated. “Like what?”

She looked up, her expression hardening. “Like rescue them.”

Lewis blinked and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Viv, you work in a library, and I negotiate with orchids for a living. We are the least qualified people to stage a rescue mission.”

She scowled. “My parents have sailed around the world, and they work in a library.”

“Yes,” Lewis muttered, “on a royal navy ship with a full crew.”

Vivienne’s expression shifted as a new plan formed. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” Her voice steadied. “Lewis, they were on an expedition for the Crown . The King must already have a rescue team deployed.”

Lewis’ mouth opened and closed several times, but he didn’t respond.

“You said earlier we could speak to the King?”

He nodded. “You’d have to meet with the Chancellor first to get on the schedule.”

“Great. Let’s talk to the Chancellor.”

“At midnight?”

Vivienne blinked. “It’s midnight?!”

He huffed. “Yeah, you were out for a while.”

Vivienne took stock. She had fainted. She was still dizzy, but otherwise unharmed. Lewis must have caught her before she hit the ground. Her heart warmed at the thought. She couldn’t imagine receiving this news without her best friend to emotionally and literally catch her.

Vivienne turned her head toward him, exhaustion tugged at her limbs, but a smirk played at her lips. “Did you have to set me down on the least comfortable piece of furniture in the house?”

Lewis scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s not like I could just—” He waved a hand toward the narrow staircase.

Vivienne arched an eyebrow. “Put me in my bed ?” Her voice was light, teasing, her eyes glinting with amusement as she shoved her grief down.

Lewis froze, his mouth opening, then shutting again. A deep flush crept up his neck. “Well— trust me —I could have carried you up there,” he sputtered, “but it’s bad enough that we’re alone, in your home, at midnight . Are you trying to get me strung up in the market square?”

Vivienne chuckled, rolling her sore shoulders. “Maybe we leave a note for the Chancellor tonight…”

Lewis narrowed his eyes. “Should I take it as a bad sign that you completely ignored the part where I mentioned public execution ?”

She exhaled sharply, the humor fading from her face as her thoughts pulled back to the matter at hand. “I can’t just stay here and do nothing.” The words came out tight, frustration curling at the edges.

Lewis studied her for a moment and sighed. “I know , Viv. But unless your plan involves a rowboat there’s nothing we can do about it tonight . ”

Her shoulders slumped, and she pressed her palms into her lap, fingers gripping the fabric of her skirt. He was right.

“I promise,” Lewis said, softer now. He stood and rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ll go to the Chancellor first thing tomorrow.”

Vivienne nodded, the fight draining out of her.

Lewis lingered for a beat, as if debating whether to say more, then exhaled and turned toward the door. The cool night air rushed in as he stepped outside, and she watched as his silhouette faded into the darkness, his boots crunching lightly against the stone path toward the Crown dormitories.

Her chest ached. I wish he’d stay.

But she didn’t say it. Instead, she let the door close, sealing the thought away with it.

* * *

Get some sleep, he says. Sure. I’ll just climb into my warm, comfortable bed and not think about my parents being lost at sea. Vivienne rolled onto her side, then onto her back, then onto her side again. The mattress beneath her felt stiff, the blankets too heavy, the air in the room thick and suffocating. No position, no adjustment, could quiet the storm raging inside her mind. After hours of tossing and turning, her blinks grew slower, longer, and sleep dragged her under.

At first, the dream was soft, peaceful.

Her parents stood on the deck of their ship, The Nereid. The sea stretched calm and endless around them, waves lapping gently against the hull. Her father stood at the helm, guiding the vessel forward with steady hands. Her mother leaned against the railing, the wind catching in her dark hair.

Without warning, the light dimmed.

Clouds gathered, thick and black, swallowing the sun. The wind sharpened, howling like a ravenous beast. The waves swelled into mountainous peaks, their foamy crests crashing against the ship’s sides.

Her parents’ expressions shifted. First, concern. Then fear.

A bolt of lightning split the sky, its blinding light revealing a jagged outcrop of rocks, rising from the churning sea like the gaping jaws of a monster.

Vivienne’s chest tightened. No.

The ship lurched.

The hull groaned in protest as the current seized it, dragging it toward the rocks. No, no, no ? —

Her voice failed her. She tried to scream, to warn them, but no sound escaped her lips.

A sickening crunch rang out as wood splintered against stone. The Nereid buckled. The mast snapped like a twig, planks tearing free as waves devoured the ship piece by piece.

An explosion erupted from below deck, igniting the night in a blinding inferno. A plume of smoke billowed into the storm-blackened sky as the gunpowder stores ignited, reducing the ship to a floating pyre.

The flames engulfed her parents.

She reached out, desperation surging through her veins. Her hands passed through them, through the fire, through everything, as if she were a phantom.

Her father’s mouth opened in a silent scream. Her mother’s eyes locked onto hers, pleading, terrified, before the fire consumed them both.

The storm collapsed inward, plunging the world into darkness.

Vivienne bolted upright, gasping. Sweat slicked her skin, cold against the night air. The room was still, silent, but her heart pounded a loud, frantic drumbeat against her sternum.

She wiped at her face, her fingers coming away damp. They’re not gone. You had a nightmare. She whispered the words over and over, willing them to take root, willing them to make the fear dissipate. But the images refused to release their grip. The flames, the splintering wood, the helplessness pressed on her chest like an iron weight. Tears welled again. She buried her face in her hands, fingers tangling in her hair as silent sobs wracked her body.

Please, let them be safe. Please. She sent the prayer into the darkness, to any gods who might be listening, before sleep claimed her again.

* * *

Morning light slashed through the small window, an unwelcome intruder after a night of fitful sleep. Vivienne groaned, pressing her face deeper into the pillow, but the ache in her muscles made even that unbearable. Her joints protested as she shifted, and a dull sting lingered behind her eyes, whether from exhaustion or the remnants of last night’s tears, she couldn’t tell.

Judging by the angle of the sunlight spilling across the wooden floor, the day had crept far past breakfast. Closer to lunch than morning , she guessed.

Tick.

Her ears perked at the sound. Faint, almost imperceptible.

Vivienne lay still, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her.

Tick.

A small but deliberate sound against the windowpane.

She threw back the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting the wooden floor. A pebble struck the glass as she unlatched and pulled open the window. A final stone zipped past her, landing with a soft skitter beneath the bed frame.

He hasn't thrown pebbles at my window in years. "Lewis?" she called, squinting down at the familiar figure standing in the street below.

"Blume Concierge Wake-Up Calls, at your service," he announced, sketching an exaggerated bow. “You can’t be too grumpy with me. I let you sleep in until almost noon, and I didn’t knock.”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't deny the small twinge of appreciation. Lewis knew her well. Unlike her parents, who had always preferred to wake her with loud knocking, he understood subtlety was the better option.

"Come on,” he beckoned, waving her forward. "The Chancellor's office awaits."

Vivienne sighed and pulled on a simple purple linen dress, tying the tan bodice as she padded down the stairs. She stilled when she reached the kitchen. A small scrap of parchment sat next to the breadbasket, the slanted handwriting unmistakable. Mind your figure. Her mother’s words.

Vivienne’s jaw tightened. Her fingers floated over the note for a heartbeat longer than necessary. A new thought took root in her mind. What if this is one of the last things she ever wrote to me? The realization twisted something sharp and ugly in her stomach. But this? This wasn’t a note she wanted to keep. She crumpled the parchment in her fist and tossed it into the cold hearth before grabbing a thick slice of bread.

Outside, Lewis was waiting. "Is that your breakfast?" he asked, pointing to the piece of bread clenched between her teeth as she quickly braided her hair.

Vivienne shot him a knowing glare. He grinned, knowing full well she couldn't answer without dropping the slice.

She tugged the braid tight and pulled the bread from her mouth. "Not all of us have unlimited pastries in our satchels."

"Not unlimited," he corrected. "Strategic."

She narrowed her eyes. "Speaking of which, the pastry you gave me last night… how long had it been in your satchel?"

Lewis gave her a sidelong glance. "Trust me when I say… you do not want me to answer that."

Vivienne’s face twisted in disgust, but a laugh escaped anyway. For a moment, things almost felt normal. Almost.

Lewis smiled, but the look in his eyes was softer, careful. "You seem… a little better today,” he noted, studying her expression.

Vivienne inhaled slowly, holding her breath for a second before letting it out. "I'm not sure 'better' can be measured."

She clenched her jaw. If she let herself feel everything now, if she let the weight of her parents’ absence fully settle, she wouldn’t be able to move forward. And she had to move forward. Her parents had spent years teaching her the importance of being measured, methodical. Vivienne’s instincts had always leaned toward act now, think later . Today, she had to make an exception. Stay focused.

She squared her shoulders and glanced at Lewis. "We're walking toward the water. Shouldn’t we be going up to the castle?"

"Nope," Lewis said, pointing toward the city center. "The Chancellor keeps an office by the Market Square. To be 'one with the people.'" He made sarcastic air quotes, rolling his eyes.

As they walked further downhill, the city buzzed with its usual energy. The Market Square was alive with preparations for the Harvest Moon Festival. Ribbons and sheaves of wheat had been tied along the procession route, carts trundled toward the beaches carrying stacks of wood for the bonfires, and the long banquet tables had already been set in their usual places, waiting for the grand feast. Vivienne tried to take it all in, but her thoughts felt stretched, pulled tight between the present and the unknown.

Instead of moving into the square, Lewis veered down a narrow side street, too tight for wagons or carts. Halfway down, a bulky wooden sign hung perpendicular to the building, the golden letters gleaming in the midday sun. Lewis reached for the handle, and the green door squealed in protest as they stepped inside.