Twenty-Eight - Felix
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Isa was actingstrange. It started that morning when she complained of a headache and declared she would read more Demeret while she took a break from listening for magic. Having experienced a backlash headache after my failed attempt at truth-telling, and with a similar headache brewing after staring at the magic on the scrolls for the same amount of time as Isa, I knew that reading would not help.
Which might have explained why she opted to eat by herself, taking a true break. But then she stayed in the spire room instead of insisting we map more of the archives.
I took the hint and didn’t bother her. I retreated to my private study and tried to puzzle out more secrets about the node, hoping that there was something I had overlooked in my ancestors’ journals. A reference to the aspekts of binding. A hint at why Sebastien couldn’t reverse his father’s Truths. Anything.
I was making my way through the very sparse accounts of Daniel, Third Duke of Truthhold, when I felt the node brush against my awareness. I strummed the strand of power and sensed a stranger climbing up the hill. He wasn’t anyone I had ever tracked on castle grounds before, but that was all I knew. To learn more, I’d have to rely on mundane means of observation.
I rushed out of my suite and downstairs. With a flick of my paw, I locked the front doors, then slipped out the back, locking that door behind me. A quick check showed me that Isa was still in her spire room. I considered locking her in there, the best I could manage as a warning, but she’d probably spell open the lock and rush out rather than see it as a request for her to stay hidden.
Roses covered the area surrounding the castle. Not only the briars that blanketed the stone building, but also neatly trimmed bushes in square beds with neat stone borders. I could dart from bush to bush easily, sneaking up on my quarry without him noticing. Marc wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone about the curse, but he still could have given anyone he sent instructions on how to react if they saw a cat.
When the trespasser came into view, however, I remembered that Marc wasn’t the only person who might be interested in Rose Castle and its inhabitants. The man looked to be in his forties, with brown hair, and wearing a forest green constable’s uniform. One of Isa’s colleagues.
I debated unlocking the front door. If this was one of the men who had supported her and pushed for her to get a promotion, he was here out of worry.
I left the door locked. Talking to Isa wouldn’t banish his worry. It would only cause problems as the contract kept her from answering questions fully. And this constable looked like he had questions.
I watched him approach the front doors. He pulled a sealed letter from his pocket, then hesitated. After a few heartbeats, he shoved the letter back in his jacket pocket and tried to open the door. He didn’t knock, and when neither door budged, he moved over to the closest window.
The man behaved more like a burglar than a constable.
He pressed against the window, peeking inside before trying to shove it open. Then he moved onto the next and the next. I followed him around the entire castle. He tried every window and door on the ground level, becoming increasingly red in the face. The most disturbing part was the fact that he never made a sound.
Finally, when he reached the front door again, he let out a frustrated growl. He marched down the main path to the nearest ornamental rose bush, leaned down and palmed the largest stone bordering the bed. I knew what was about to happen and almost betrayed myself by laughing.
I had forgotten about the enchantment that my visitor was about to discover. Perhaps it would stick in his mind better, since he had chosen a rock the size of his fist. I had only made the mistake of throwing a pebble at a window when I was a boy.
Standing only a few feet away, he hurled the stone at the glass. Rose Castle protected itself, sending the rock flying back the way it had come at twice the original speed. It hit the constable in the gut and sent him sprawling. His jacket fell open, and I spotted the letter again.
I had seen enough. With a twitch of my paw, I summoned the letter from his pocket. Pulling on a second strand of power sent the man flying back to the bottom of the hill. I felt him attempt to cross back onto castle lands, but the power of the node, directed by my will, repelled him over and over.
The letter was addressed to me, not Isa, and my name was written in the familiar hand of my butler. Had Berklay sent the constable to find out what was going on? I would have expected him to use a more subtle approach—he understood how important secrecy was to me.
Flipping the letter over, I broke the seal and fought to unfold the paper. Then I read the news Marc had conveniently forgotten to deliver after his last trip to Leort.