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Chapter 15: The First Warning

Author: eeverith
last update publish date: 2026-10-29 08:30:29

The letter was slipped under Mara Albrecht's door on the night of the first thaw, and she knew what it was before she touched it.

There is a particular sound a folded paper makes on a bare floor, a small dry guilty whisper, and Mara had been listening for it, without admitting she was listening, for eleven weeks. She was seated on the edge of her bed with her shawl round her shoulders, mending by the last of the can

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  • Where The Lowborn Kneels   Chapter 34: The Stag in the Fog

    The moor was cloaked in thick white fog during the early morning.Before the hunters had even mounted their horses, the fog had rolled in from the river. The soft grey mist surrounded everything. The heather. The stones. The thin black ridge of the east. When the horns sounded, you couldn’t even see your own stirrup. The horses whinnied and fidgeted. The hounds whined at their leashes. The Duke, his cheeks flushed with colour and a bright smile upon his face, declared it was a fine day for a hunt and the Commander would have to be very lucky.Denovan seemed not to hear.He sat atop his white stallion at the edge of the group, dressed in the same colour as the fog. He sat patiently, his face impassive as the grey mist swirled and dispersed.Evangeline didn’t g

  • Where The Lowborn Kneels   Chapter 33: The White Commander’s Bet

    Denovan Windemere had visited Vareth Hall on seven occasions in five years. Each time, he had looked at the Duke’s daughter once.The look had never been passionate or lecherous. Denovan had never looked at Evangeline with longing or with the calculating glint of a courtier. He’d always looked at her with the cool, professional eye of a man appraising property. The first time she had ever seen this look in his eyes was on the night of her return at the Orangery. As he had risen from the Duke’s table at the end of dinner, he had given her a perfectly executed courtier’s bow, taking her hand and saying: "My Lady Evangeline. Just as I remember."Now he was thirty-two. His brown hair hadn’t thinned and his pale blue eyes remained cool. He was always dressed in white: white coat, breeches, gloves. He had a reputation of being extremely

  • Where The Lowborn Kneels    Chapter 32: The Heiress Reappears

    She reappeared into the world during the spring of her twenty-second year. Everyone was overjoyed.They had missed her. They had never forgotten her. For five years she had been a rumour. An occasional sighting at a temple festival. A shadowy figure in the DeNova carriage. A name on the bottom of a long list of politely declined invites. The ladies of court had whispered that the Duke’s daughter had never fully recovered from the fire. That she had become a recluse. That she was fragile. Some had hinted at much worse.However, on the first week of April she appeared at the Spring Ball of the Duchess of Hale.Her dress was a deep forest colour. It was tight around the waist and flowed in a long, soft train behind her. Her auburn hair was longer and heavier. The deep copper colour caught the candlelight as if it was a bank of flames. It was pulled back into a simple chignon at the nape of her neck. She wore no jewellery except a fine gold chain. She was tall, slim and poised. She glided

  • Where The Lowborn Kneels   Chapter 31: Five Years of Quiet Rot

    A kingdom doesn’t fall in one go. It just slowly rots from the edges in. By the time you can smell it in the dining room, it’s too late.Myraval fell ill during the five years after the fire at Vareth Hall.The Emperor Octavian IV; the once mighty ‘Lamp of the Seven Provinces’, who had ruled for thirty one years, had aged and become paranoid. His thick, dark walnut hair turned completely white in the space of a winter. He no longer rode out nor held public audiences. He secluded himself in the inner galleries of the Palace of Lamps, behind three doors, and a double line of the White Battalion. All of his decrees were passed through unelected Ministers.They were harsh.New taxes on salt, grain and even whispers of a new ‘tax to be counted’ tax. The Tollhouse at Marrow Cross doubled in size. Arrears courts were in session everyday. In the provinces, those who couldn’t pay simply disappeared from their village overnight.Riots broke out in the Weavers’ Quarter during the second winter.

  • Where The Lowborn Kneels   Chapter 30: An Unforgivable Decision

    The worst decisions are made in the quietest times.The decision had to be made just after two in the morning. It was a Wednesday. Seraphina sat at the small table in the laundromat, illuminated by one lone lamp and a cold mug of black coffee. There was no storm raging outside. There was no thunder or dramatic action. Just the occasional bump of a late dryer, the scent of dust and the ticking of an old clock above the radiator. It was the most mundane time of the night. She would soon realise that it was actually very calm.She had her plan set out on the table in front of her.On the left she had written down everything Desmond Crowe would do in forty hours if she gave him nothing. He would report the theft. A bail jumping woman in possession of stolen goods. The photo would be matched to the woman in the glasshouse. This would be matched to the stamped extract and the false name on the county log. They wouldn’t need to build a case as they already had. All they needed was one final

  • Where The Lowborn Kneels   Chapter 29: Mara’s Empty Room

    Old Garrick walked to the Red Quarter on the first Sunday in May. He had a charred coat in his arms. And a lie on his tongue.He hadn’t wanted to come. He was seventy years old and his knees ached in the damp. He wasn’t keen on walking all that way from Vareth Hall to the tanners gate. But he had been lying awake in the tack room for three weeks with an empty cot next to him. He had come to the conclusion that it would be best if a mother heard it from someone who had known her son.So he would say he was sure the lad was alive. He would write. He didn’t believe it. But he had known Mara Albrecht’s name for a month now. He had buried his wife and son. He knew how it felt to wait.He asked for directions to find Alder Street. He smelt his way to the dye shop. Then he climbed the outside stairs

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