Chapter 60 — The Parlor Debate

  The evening meal had passed under a heavy hush, like the house itself was listening for words no one dared to say. The usual rhythm of clinking cutlery and the children’s chatter was missing. Even Lissette, who could fill a room with her voice, kept glancing between their parents as though waiting for something to break.

  When the final course was cleared away, Lady Seraphine placed her napkin on the table with deliberate care. “We will discuss this in the morning,” she said. Her tone was soft, but there was a finality to it—a closing of a door that none dared to push against. Everyone at the table understood precisely what it meant. Tomorrow would not be easy.

  …

  The next morning, after breakfast had been served and cleared, Lady Seraphine sent Garron to find her husband and her sons. The summons carried a weight that could not be ignored. They gathered in the parlor, the morning light falling through tall windows onto the rich green carpet, throwing long shadows over the polished wood furniture.

  Caelen slowly walked in by himself, but his hands gripped the support more than he wanted to before sitting down. Aldric, standing near the hearth, rested one arm on the mantle, glancing at his brother now and then with something between concern and curiosity. Lord Eldric leaned against the arm of a high-backed chair, arms folded, waiting.

  Lady Seraphine stood by the window, her back straight, her chin lifted in that way she had when she meant to protect her ground—and her children. She looked first at Caelen, then at her husband, as though locking both in place before she began.

  “Less than a month,” she said, repeating her son’s words from the day before. “Your birthday is in less than a month. You just took your first steps, Caelen.” Her voice was even, but there was a tightness to it, like a bowstring drawn and held. “You are getting ahead of yourself.”

  She moved toward him, skirts whispering against the carpet, and placed a hand on the back of his chair. “You cannot leave in less than a month… or even in a month. I will not have you disappear into the wilds when you’ve only just begun to walk again. I have waited too long, worried too many nights, to let you get sick or broken again.”

  Her tone softened slightly, but her eyes didn’t waver. “Do you understand me? This isn’t just about you being eager. This is about you being safe.”

  There was a pause. Caelen’s gaze shifted toward his father, who met it with that steady, unreadable expression that seemed to say, Your mother’s words carry more weight than mine in this room right now.

  Aldric straightened by the hearth, sensing that this was a moment that could go either way—agreement, or the spark that set the real argument alight.

  Caelen’s fingers tightened on the arms of his chair as he looked at his mother. His voice was still halting, words measured and deliberate.

  “The date… not mine,” he said. “Others… coming. Must be gone.”

  Lady Seraphine’s face shifted in an instant—no longer simply the protective mother, but the woman who had weathered court intrigue and border disputes. Her breath caught, though she kept her composure.

  How does he know? The thought struck her, sharp and cold. How does he know?

  Her eyes locked with her son’s. In that gaze, she read something far heavier than stubbornness. He was not just guessing. He was certain. And worse—she understood that certainty.

  Lord Eldric stepped forward, closing the space between them. His voice had the edge of command now.

  “Who is coming? What is coming?” His jaw tightened. “I must know everything. I will not allow this burden to be yours alone—these decisions must be made by all of us.”

  Lady Seraphine lowered herself into a nearby chair, smoothing her skirts with hands that trembled slightly. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, almost reluctant.

  “I do not know,” she admitted. “It was not… a prophecy. But I have had the same dream. For two nights.” She drew a steadying breath. “Someone is coming to the manor. Someone who is not what he seems… and who has white eyes.”

  The air in the parlor seemed to shift, as though the light itself had grown colder.

  Caelen began to nod slowly, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room. “Same dream,” he said softly.

  Lord Eldric’s face darkened. He muttered a low curse, one that carried the weight of battlefields and bad omens.

  “Dam Beaconfires!”

  Aldric, still standing near the hearth, glanced between them. His brows drew together, sensing the gravity in the room but not the whole meaning. “What…?” He hesitated. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t need to,” Lord Eldric said, though his eyes never left Seraphine’s. “Not yet. But something is coming, and it seems it’s already much closer than we thought.”

  The silence in the parlor broke with the sound of Lady Seraphine’s voice, firm and deliberate.

  “Then we must choose six of our houses—six of our estates—and send servants to prepare them. Guards as well. If danger comes, we’ll have choices ready.”

  Lord Eldric's head was already shaking before she’d finished. “No. If someone is hunting him, those will be the first places they look. And if we send dispatches now, word will spread before the ink on the orders is dry. The wrong ears will hear, and they’ll know exactly where to watch.”

  Seraphine’s eyes narrowed. “Then where will we send him?”

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  Caelen’s voice cut in, halting but certain. “Wilds. In the Hollows.”

  Her head snapped toward him, shock breaking through her composure. “The Hollows?!”

  “Not Upper,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Lower. Maybe… Lake of Lanterns. Or… near Litus.”

  Aldric leaned forward, frowning. “Litus? No. I love our uncle, but that city’s not safe. Too many foreigners—pirates, raiders—always moving through the docks.”

  Lord Eldric gave a slow nod. “Aye. Your uncle would die for you, but much of Litus is still lawless. There are streets even the city watch won’t enter.”

  “Not city,” Caelen replied, his tone deliberate. “Near city. Safe… but still wild.”

  Aldric crossed his arms, weighing the thought. “If you want safety, we could put you with one of the mounted columns. Let them camp in the woods and bivouac around you. You’d be guarded day and night.”

  Seraphine’s eyes lit faintly. “That could work—yes, that might be—”

  Caelen shook his head sharply. “Soulbind. No. Must walk. Move. No riding, carriages."

  The room fell quiet again, the crackle of the hearth filling the space between their thoughts.

  Lord Eldric rubbed at his thin beard, eyes narrowing as if trying to map the terrain in his head. Seraphine’s gaze drifted to her son, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Aldric glanced between them all, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  They were all doing the same thing—racking their brains, turning over every possibility, every stretch of road, every scrap of territory—trying to imagine a place where the boy could be hidden.

  Aldric had been watching his younger brother’s eyes as the debate swirled around him—how they never flicked away, how his jaw tightened just slightly every time someone suggested a location.

  It hit him all at once.

  “You’ve already thought this through,” Aldric said, his voice cutting clean through the overlapping protests.

  Both parents turned to look at him, brows raised.

  Aldric gestured toward Caelen. “He’s not just throwing places out. He’s testing us—seeing what we’ll approve, what we’ll reject. He already knows where he wants to go.”

  Lord Eldric’s gaze sharpened. “Is that true?”

  Caelen didn’t answer right away, only tapped the arm of his chair with two fingers—steady, measured beats. Then he looked up, meeting his father’s eyes.

  Aldric leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Well? What’s the plan, then? How do you want this to work?”

  The boy drew a slow breath, his words halting but certain. “Few people. Two guards. Quiet. Move… camp… gone before sun high.” He shifted his gaze to the floor, then back up. “No big roads. No towns. Hollows. Rivers. Hide… in plain sight.”

  Lady Seraphine’s lips pressed into a line, torn between horror at the thought of her son disappearing into the untamed lands and the grudging acknowledgment that he spoke with the conviction of someone who had already chosen his path.

  Aldric’s brows rose. “And food? Shelter? What about winter storms?”

  “Have,” Caelen said simply. “Plans. Lists. Tools.”

  Lord Eldric let out a long, slow exhale, his eyes never leaving his son’s face. “Then I think, my love,” he said to Seraphine, “the boy hasn’t been preparing to leave. He’s been preparing to survive.”

  Seraphine’s gaze darted to Caelen again, and for the first time, she seemed to see not a recovering invalid, but a mind already on the march.

  Caelen reached for the leather parchment case beside him and unwrapped the leather strap with deliberate care. Mirelle’s clean handwriting marked each section, diagrams and lists sketched in neat lines, but it was the boy’s own finger that traced the path as he began to speak.

  “First… week,” he said, his voice halting but measured. “Leave before dawn. North trail, then cut east by the old stone house. No main roads.” His eyes flicked to his father. “Easy to follow. Easy to watch. No good.”

  Lord Eldric leaned forward, elbows on his knees, saying nothing.

  Caelen tapped a mark on the parchment. “Camp one—by the bend in the Blackwater. Tree cover. Shallow ford. Two exits.”

  Aldric frowned, leaning in to study the map. “You’re already thinking in terms of escape routes.”

  “Always,” Caelen replied without hesitation.

  Seraphine shifted in her seat, but held her tongue.

  The boy’s hand moved down the map. “Next—three days, low hollows. Deer paths. Streams for water. Keep fire small.” He glanced at Aldric. “No smoke. No smell.”

  The older brother felt his soldier’s instincts prickling, the same way they did when studying enemy movements. “You’re avoiding any pattern,” he said slowly.

  “Pattern kills,” Caelen said, as if it were a lesson every child should know.

  Lord Eldric gave the faintest nod—approval, or at least acknowledgment.

  Caelen turned the parchment, showing a list written in Mirelle’s neat hand. “Food stores drop locations— enough for two weeks. Cubes, Jerky. Hard bread. Rendered fat. Forage… if safe. Tools—spade, pick, saw, sling, fishing line. Winter wraps.”

  Aldric raised an eyebrow. “A sling? That’s not much good against anything bigger than a rabbit.”

  Caelen’s lips twitched in something like a smirk. “Fast. Silent. Hits far.”

  Seraphine finally broke in. “And what of storms? Of cold? You can’t just vanish into the hollows in winter like some mountain trapper.”

  Caelen looked straight at her. “Can, will… caves, build shelters.” Then, softer, “Because must.”

  For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint scrape of the parchment as he rolled it back up.

  Aldric leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “You know… if you weren’t my little brother, I’d be volunteering to chase you down just to see if I could catch you.”

  Caelen’s smirk deepened. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Probably not,” Aldric admitted with a grudging grin. Then, to their parents, his tone turned serious again. “This isn’t a boy playing adventurer. This is someone laying out a reconnaissance plan. And it’s a good one.”

  Lord Eldric's gaze stayed locked on his younger son. “Then the question becomes—how do we support it without drawing eyes to it?”

  And that question hung in the air like a drawn bowstring, all of them knowing that once it was loosed, there would be no pulling it back. “Tell me about these food drops,” the lord of Avalon asked.

  Caelen tapped his fingers once on the arm of his chair, then pointed to a series of small circles Mirelle had marked in red ink—place names. “Important,” he said slowly. “Drop food… like for shepherds. In places on list.”

  Lord Eldric's gaze sharpened. “Caches,” he said quietly.

  Caelen nodded. “Check… every week, maybe more. Use as… correspondence spots too.”

  Aldric raised an eyebrow. “You mean dead drops—leave a sign if you’ve been there, pick up what’s left.”

  “Yes,” Caelen replied simply. His voice was calm, but there was a steel edge to it. “No trails. No camp long. Move, eat, read message. Gone.”

  Seraphine’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And what happens if someone else finds one of these ‘shepherd caches’ of yours?”

  “Won’t,” Caelen said. “Hidden. High. Or buried.” He shrugged, as if that were the end of it. “Only we know marks.”

  Aldric looked from his brother to his parents. “He’s not just planning to survive out there. He’s planning to keep talking to us without anyone knowing.”

  Lord Eldric settled back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “And that,” he said, “makes this even more dangerous… and even more clever.”