Chapter 4: Six Requests

By the second morning after Elara’s banishment, Adrian Vale had been asked for the wardhouse keys four times.

The first request came during breakfast.

He waved the servant away without looking up from the visiting delegation’s itinerary.

The second came while he was speaking with the stablemaster.

The third interrupted a meeting.

By the fourth, he was angry.

“Why does everyone keep asking me?”

The steward stood in the study doorway, holding a stack of supply slips.

“Because the Alpha placed the keys in your keeping.”

Adrian looked toward the desk.

The iron ring lay beside an unopened letter. Someone had cleaned the mud from it.

He remembered Elara setting it at their father’s feet.

Appoint someone else before sunset.

She had always known how to make ordinary things sound like accusations.

He picked up the keys.

“What needs doing?”

The steward hesitated.

“The morning inspection, for a start.”

“Send someone.”

“Who, sir?”

Adrian nearly said Elara.

The name rose so easily that he had to turn the movement into a cough.

“One of the groundsmen.”

“They don’t read the ward marks.”

“Then find someone who does.”

“Yes, sir.”

The steward did not leave.

“What?”

“The winter salt delivery is waiting at the lower passage. We need the wardkeeper’s approval before it enters storage.”

“Why?”

“To check for iron contamination.”

“And no one else can do that?”

“I’ve never asked anyone else.”

Adrian stood.

“I’ll see to it.”

He had patrol routes to review, an engagement delegation arriving in two days, and a father who expected the household to function without further embarrassment.

He did not have a morning to waste on salt.

---

Celeste was choosing flowers when he passed the drawing room.

White winter roses stood in three glass vases. Mother sat beside the window, examining ribbon samples.

“Adrian.”

He paused.

Celeste held up two lengths of silk.

“Which one?”

“They look the same.”

“This one is pearl. That one is ivory.”

“Then ivory.”

She smiled, but it faded when she noticed the keys.

“Are those hers?”

“Yes.”

Mother set down the ribbon.

“Has anyone heard from her?”

Adrian glanced toward the hall.

“Not yet.”

“She didn’t stay in the village.”

“How do you know?”

“Mrs. Bell sent a note.”

His irritation returned.

Of course Elara had gone to the baker.

Mother had spent years trying to teach her that family disagreements should remain private.

“What did she say?”

Mother folded her hands.

“Only that Elara asked for work.”

For a moment, he pictured his sister standing in the bakery in her old cloak.

He pushed the image aside.

He had told her to stay nearby. He had offered to speak to Father.

If she chose to turn a temporary separation into a performance, he could not stop her.

“Someone will have taken her in.”

“Should we send a carriage?”

Before Adrian could answer, Celeste lowered the ribbons.

“If she wanted to come back, wouldn’t she have apologized?”

Mother looked at her.

Celeste’s fingers tightened.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t understand why she hates me so much.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Mother said immediately.

Adrian shifted the keys into his other hand.

“Let’s give her time.”

He left before either of them could ask how much.

---

The wardhouse smelled of cold ashes, oil, and dried herbs.

Adrian had expected a cluttered shed.

Instead, he found shelves arranged by size, hooks labeled in Elara’s small handwriting, and a workbench scrubbed almost pale.

A kettle sat beside the hearth.

One cup.

There was no second chair.

He put the keys on the bench and looked around.

He could not remember the last time he had come inside.

Usually, he called through the doorway.

Elara would emerge with whatever he needed.

A ledger. A repaired clasp. An explanation he rarely had time to hear.

He opened the nearest cupboard.

Coils of binding cord.

The next held brushes and copper instruments.

A narrow cabinet stood locked against the far wall.

He tried three keys before finding the right one.

Inside lay tools wrapped individually in faded cloth. Beneath them sat an old leather journal.

He closed it again.

The salt could wait.

On the desk beneath the window, three current ledgers stood upright between two stones.

Blue.

Black.

Red.

Read the red ledger first.

He pulled it free.

The first page contained a boundary map.

The following pages held inspection dates, measurements, weather notes, and work completed.

He read half a page before the terms blurred together.

Subsurface displacement.

Binding tension.

Drainage pressure.

He turned to the most recent entry.

Eastern foundation requires replacement before sustained frost. Temporary supports remain sound under current conditions. Increased traffic inadvisable.

Adrian frowned.

A knock sounded at the open door.

Captain Hale stood outside.

“We have a problem at the eastern passage.”

---

The eastern marker had gone cold.

Adrian stood beside it while Hale described the morning patrol’s findings.

“No break in the line yet. But the passage seal took two attempts to close.”

Adrian touched the stone.

Nothing.

He remembered passing Elara beside this marker several weeks earlier. She had been kneeling in the mud with a measuring rod.

He had asked her to move her equipment before Celeste’s guests arrived.

“What does cold mean?”

Hale looked at him.

“The ward isn’t drawing properly.”

“Can you repair it?”

“I can hold a defensive line around it.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“No, sir.”

Adrian crouched.

A narrow cut ran through the ground behind the marker. Water stood in it beneath a mat of fallen leaves.

He pulled several free.

Cold mud soaked his cuff.

Under the stone, something clicked.

Both men stepped back.

A hair-thin amber line appeared near the base.

Then it vanished.

Hale’s expression tightened.

“We should close the passage.”

“Do it.”

The captain signaled to his patrol.

Adrian rose, staring at the mud on his hand.

“How long has this foundation been damaged?”

“Elara could tell you.”

The answer came without hesitation.

Then Hale seemed to remember.

He straightened.

“I mean, it should be in her records.”

---

Adrian carried the red ledger into his father’s study.

Garrick was signing a letter.

“Have the eastern passage closed to guests,” Adrian said. “There’s a foundation problem.”

His father did not look up.

“Then have it repaired.”

“I’m finding someone.”

“Where’s the estate mason?”

“He can rebuild the footing. He doesn’t know how to lift the marker without breaking the binding.”

Garrick set down his pen.

“Elara managed it.”

“Elara knew the system.”

“She learned.”

Adrian placed the ledger on the desk.

“She wrote that the foundation needed replacing.”

“Then she should have replaced it.”

He looked at his father.

The answer was so simple that, for a moment, he wanted to accept it.

Instead, he opened the ledger.

“She requested materials.”

“From whom?”

“Us.”

Garrick’s gaze dropped to the page.

Adrian had marked six entries.

The first was dated eleven weeks earlier.

Replacement stone and lower binding ring requested.

The second recorded a follow-up.

The third noted that the supplier required advance payment.

Beside the fourth, Elara had written that the temporary reinforcement would not withstand the winter.

The fifth bore Adrian’s initials.

He remembered it then.

She had found him outside the training yard carrying a folded requisition.

He had been late.

Leave it with the steward.

She had said the steward needed his approval.

So he had signed something.

Or initialed it.

He could no longer remember which.

The sixth entry was underlined.

Funds reassigned. Replacement deferred. Temporary stabilization completed. Review after next heavy rainfall.

Garrick pushed the book back.

“This is precisely why she was responsible for maintaining the wards. To manage such matters.”

“She did manage it. Temporarily.”

“Watch your tone.”

Adrian closed his mouth.

His father reached for the unfinished letter.

“Get an estimate from a professional. We have more pressing concerns than your sister’s housekeeping.”

---

The steward found the account in less than ten minutes.

He laid it beside the ward ledger.

Adrian read the figure twice.

“That was the full amount?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did it go?”

The steward’s expression became carefully blank.

“The engagement preparations.”

Adrian looked up.

“Which preparations?”

“The reception pavilion. The imported flowers. The additional silver service.”

Outside the study, someone laughed.

A servant hurried past carrying a vase of white roses.

Adrian stared at the open account.

There was his approval.

His full signature this time.

The steward spoke quietly.

“Miss Elara said she could reinforce the foundation while we waited.”

“How long?”

“She asked for the funds to be restored before the winter rains.”

Adrian remembered answering her.

After the engagement.

He had not even looked up.

He sank into the chair.

For years, requests from Elara had arrived already accompanied by solutions.

Something was damaged, but she had secured it.

Something was missing, but she had found a substitute.

Something needed money, but she could make do until next month.

He had begun hearing only the last part.

The steward waited.

“Write to the nearest wardkeeper,” Adrian said. “Offer an emergency rate.”

“I have already made inquiries.”

“And?”

“The closest qualified practitioner is in Blackthorn. Their household says he is occupied with extensive repairs.”

“Then ask for the next available.”

“A week, possibly longer.”

Adrian looked at the red ledger.

“What are we supposed to do until then?”

The steward did not answer.

---

That evening, Adrian took a lamp back to the wardhouse.

He meant to find instructions.

Instead, he found a life arranged around interruptions.

A half-mended glove lay beneath the desk.

His glove.

A plate sat on the windowsill with the dried edge of an untouched meal stuck to it.

Beside it was a list.

North drainage.

Binding inventory.

Mother’s conservatory latch.

Celeste’s riding charm.

Adrian’s gloves.

He sat in the single chair.

For a long time, he listened to the quiet.

Then he opened the red ledger again.

At the back, beneath a page of measurements, Elara had written instructions in darker ink.

In the event of wardkeeper incapacity—

Adrian stopped.

He read on.

Restricted crossings. Inspection order. Warning signs that required immediate evacuation of the eastern road.

There were names of suppliers.

Locations of spare materials.

Even a note explaining which kettle hook smoked in a north wind.

She had prepared for someone to take over.

He turned back to the foundation report.

Six requests.

Six chances to listen.

A bell sounded outside.

Once.

Then again.

Adrian stood so quickly the chair struck the wall.

Through the window, he saw a patrolman running toward the house.

From somewhere beyond the trees came a third bell.

The eastern passage.

Adrian grabbed the keys and ran.