CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We arrived in style, having chartered the most expensive carriage we could find to take us into the countryside.
A frivolous expense, but one that sent the right message.
Rogam needed to believe we were wealthy, with money to burn.
The kind of money that warranted showing us his more…
expensive wares. That might convince him to reveal Eterna’s existence.
The manor resided on a sprawling coastal estate, right up against the Baslan Ocean.
If he’d built it any closer to the ocean’s sandy shores, it would be floating on the water.
Large glass windows populated the exterior of the building.
They must have cost Rogam a fortune to install.
I could almost forgive his overindulgence—the scenery was too breathtaking to hide behind solid walls.
Observing the ocean was hypnotic. Captivating.
Terrifying. Awe-inspiring. Pulling me under its spell.
I couldn’t drag my gaze away, thoroughly mesmerized by the rhythmic push and pull of the waves.
Our carriage pulled forward in line, approaching the front of the manor—a grandiose set of double doors, flanked on either side by marble columns.
I savored one final glimpse of the ocean before it was totally obscured from view by the towering estate.
A young couple disembarked from the carriage in front of us.
I craned my neck, peering out the window, so that I could watch them waltz confidently inside, though they appeared slightly unsteady on their feet.
A bit tipsy, perhaps? They were greeted at the front door by a tall, elegantly dressed man with impeccable posture, presumably Rogam’s butler sent to welcome the arriving guests.
I ran my hands down the smooth silk of my gown, relieved to see we were dressed appropriately.
The young couple entering the manor was clothed from head to toe in finery.
Our carriage, next in line, rolled to a stop.
I looked down, trying my best to steady my shaking hands.
Corvin stepped out of the carriage first, offering me his hand.
I took it, feeling much calmer the moment our fingers intertwined.
We stared at one another for a heartbeat, eyes filled with the same steely resolve…
and with the same growing affection? We didn’t speak, but with a gentle squeeze of my hand, Corvin said it all nonetheless—we’re in this together.
The heel of my silver sandals clacked against the cobblestone road as we walked toward the manor’s entrance, hand in hand.
Approaching the belly of the beast.
The butler greeted us with a stiff bow, a consummate professional.
“Rogam welcomes you to his latest evening soirée. The dining hall is straight back and off to the left—the staff will guide you.” His next words were directed toward Corvin.
“May I take your coat, sir?” Corvin pulled his feathered cloak tighter against himself.
“I’m finding the coastal air to be rather cold.
I’d rather keep it on.” The butler nodded politely.
“Of course. Please feel free to head inside.” He didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at Corvin’s decision.
Not surprising given who employs him. He was probably paid a handsome sum to ignore the unusual, to never ask a follow-up question or scrutinize the goings-on around the manor too closely.
Sure enough, as we stepped inside, another member of Rogam’s staff materialized at the door, beckoning us onward.
We followed the serving woman down the hall, bypassing the foyer’s stunning double staircase, composed of two symmetrical sets of steps on the left and right side of the room, winding up to the floor above.
Entirely excessive since they both ultimately led to the same destination.
The hallway was lined with various artifacts and idiosyncrasies, all contained within glass display cases.
A calculated move, no doubt, since the purpose of Rogam’s dinner parties was to entice his guests into making a purchase.
I had no idea why he even bothered. Surely, he already possessed everything money could buy.
My heart clenched painfully, thinking about Eterna, imprisoned somewhere within the manor.
For all his wealth, I failed to believe even Rogam would be audacious enough to display her publicly.
She was likely being kept inside some cold, unforgiving dungeon below.
Still, I listened for a phoenix’s melodic call each time we passed by another closed door.
Could she be in that one? Or that one? Locked away just beyond our reach?
The hallway curved to the left, and we were ushered into a large dining room.
A long mahogany table filled the entire width of the room, already laden with a spectacular array of food.
Corvin need not have worried about Rogam serving me mushrooms, because there were a multitude of dishes to choose from.
A meal plentiful enough to cater to every possible taste.
An ornate crystal chandelier hung above the table.
Likewise, the dishware and goblets at each place setting were made from delicately crafted crystal.
My mouth started to water as the delicious aroma of freshly cooked food wafted toward me.
I surveyed Rogam’s other guests; evidently, we were among the last to arrive.
Would Rogam turn away anyone else, now that each chair was accounted for, or was this simply one of several dining rooms he had prepared for a dinner party which required no official invitation?
Six people sat around the sides of the table already.
A few servants stood pressed against the walls as well, strategically placed around the room, clutching carafes of wine.
I spotted the couple from earlier, plates heaped to the brim with food.
The woman summoned one of the servants, demanding they fill her goblet.
A man sat at the far end of the table, hood pulled down over his face, not eating.
His disinterest in the food made a sharp contrast to the gentleman closest to the door, who was digging into his plate with gusto.
“I’m Rogam’s neighbor. Or as close as he’s got to one!
His estate spans quite the acreage, you know.
I just come for the food!” he told the young couple.
He laughed jovially to himself, piling yet another dish onto his plate as soon as the staff placed it on the table.
One of the guests was dressed rather simply, more like a maid than a noblewoman.
Her choice of seatmate made her plain attire all the more obvious, because he was dressed in a white-and-gold embroidered smock.
Royal colors. Possibly employed by Queen Elasha in some capacity.
A curious collection of people. Each one contradicting the last. Then again, I expected nothing less from such an affair.
The serving woman didn’t formally announce our arrival.
Nor did anyone ask our names as we claimed the remaining seats.
It wasn’t that kind of party.
The dining room doors were left open. There was another open room visible, located across the hallway from us.
I stole a quick glance to my right, peering past its doorway.
It appeared to be a study—tall bookshelves lined the walls.
A selection of comfortable-looking chairs was positioned near a roaring fireplace at the forefront of the room, though I couldn’t see far into its depths from my current vantage point.
I turned my attention back to the food in front of me, reaching toward the nearest serving dish, spooning a generous portion of some mixed vegetables slathered in a rich, creamy sauce onto one side of my plate.
I watched the woman across from me, taking mental notes so I could mimic her demeanor.
Like the slightly haughty tilt to her chin.
I wasn’t particularly thirsty, but I beckoned one of the staff to fill my goblet all the same, crooking my finger using the same entitled gesture.
Someone rushed to comply with my request. I took a long sip of wine, hiding a grimace when its bitter flavor hit my taste buds, which were largely unaccustomed to drinking alcohol.
It took some effort, but I managed not to let my aversion to the drink show too much.
Corvin sat to my left, engaged in pleasant small talk with his seatmate.
Curious, I eavesdropped on their conversation.
The plainly dressed woman leaned over, cheerfully confiding in Corvin, “Lady Farnwick is incredibly generous. She sends me to buy a new casket of wine from Rogam, all so I can partake in the meal. I absolutely adore the roast lamb he serves.”
Feeling much too cautious to try and break into the conversation, I ate in silence, wary of making a potential misstep. I’d only eaten a few bites when a tall man filled the doorway, placing his hands on the seat at the head of the table.
Our host in the flesh—Rogam Vunzaver. He was a handsome man, his skin a deep russet-brown, with medium-length white hair and a nicely trimmed goatee.
It wasn’t too surprising he dyed his hair white, despite being middle-aged, given the color’s association with the Kothian noble class.
A sign of respectability. An homage to the banshee warriors.
I imagined a veneer of respectability was particularly important to men like Rogam. Men with something to hide.