Heavy iron gates stood before him.
They felt cold under his fingers.
He waited outside.
Burdened by the weight of the city, which forgot itself by sunrise.
As instructed.
Another pawn placed on the board.
Time passed.
The chill of the morning on his skin had melted away into afternoon warmth. The sun baked the stone pavement till it shone, the heat rising up through the thin soles of his newly-acquired boots.
Behind the iron bars, the manor towered above the lower districts with defiance.
A two-story estate.
Pale stone walls rose without interruption in perfect vertical lines. Oak framed broad windows so clear they seemed almost otherworldly—the green distortions and bubbles present in the glass of the slums absent here. Dark fountains stood at the heart of each courtyard. They sprayed endlessly into the air, drowning out the muddy sounds of the city beyond.
Other buildings stood farther back behind the main manor.
Stables.
Storehouses.
Servants' quarters.
Gravel pathways wound between them.
Everything seemed deliberate.
Even the silence.
Neatly-trimmed hedges divided blooming flower beds from perfectly aligned quartz walkways. The guards stationed close to the entrance barely acknowledged him. To them, he was only another courier.
He shifted his weight.
New leather boots pressed uncomfortably against the skin of his feet.
They felt strange, unwelcome.
Iron gates swung open slowly, screeching protests. Birds fled the stones in alarm.
Yumi emerged.
Without the shadows cast by the brim of her hat, her features were visible to him for the first time. Blonde hair framed her youthful face. Clear blue eyes regarded him sharply.
Around his age.
"You waited?"
"Yes."
Her lips curled faintly into a smile.
"Very few wait. And fewer still obey orders."
She stepped aside, waving towards the courtyard with an elegant movement of her hand.
"These gates are never easy the first time. After you pass through, however."
He crossed the threshold.
Immediately, the smells of the gutters vanished. Gone was the rotten stench of river water and decaying food. Fresh air greeted him, carrying the fragrance of flowers drifting from terraces above. Gravel crunched beneath his boots. Water poured endlessly from the fountains.
Everything seemed aligned.
Ordered.
He stopped.
Flawless windows.
Pristine pathways.
No hint of filth.
His fingers clenched into fists without noise.
Yumi noticed where his eyes lingered. Soft laughter escaped her lips.
"Mother used to grumble more about maintenance than pleasure in this house. Gardeners do the same."
Together, they walked the winding path to the massive manor house.
She pushed the great oak doors inward.
Warmth enveloped him.
Above the eastern fireplace hung the mounted head of a stag. Long antlers cast shadows over the room. Polished wooden floors reflected the play of firelight. An oval walnut table occupied the center of the guest hall, its surface so smooth the flames danced upon it.
Doorways led toward different wings.
To the left lay the dining room and family sitting room.
To the right stood the music room and several guest chambers.
Farther back, servants moved through the western wing where kitchens and pantries rested.
Twice-curving staircases rose along both sides of the hall. Their arcs mirrored one another perfectly before joining together at the gallery above.
Too much warmth.
Too much space.
He glanced down.
At his tattered clothes.
Blood-stained bandages.
The holes worn into his shirt.
For a second, the urge to turn back overwhelmed him. As though his very presence defiled the room and ruined its perfect order.
"Relax," said Yumi coolly.
"They've seen worse on these floors."
She started toward the left staircase.
Then stopped.
Her blue eyes narrowed.
"No."
"What?"
Her gaze fixed on the dried blood.
"No."
Something soft struck his face.
Fabric.
He blinked.
Arms folded, Yumi said,
"Father accepts many things."
She looked over his torn shirt.
"Not this, however."
She turned.
"Bathroom."
The room she led him to felt stranger than the manor itself.
Limestone walls met his gaze, silver veins spreading across them like frozen streams trapped within stone. Dark slate tiles reflected the light overhead. A white marble basin rested upon a mahogany cabinet while water flowed continuously from a brass swan's mouth.
Copper pipes disappeared behind the upper walls.
Near the door stood a porcelain bathtub supported by bronze lion feet. Towels rested neatly upon shelves beside lavender soap and bottles of scented oil bearing the crest of House Waganaki.
Steam filled the room.
Lavender lingered in the air.
He stared.
"Hot water?" he asked.
"Yes."
He continued staring.
Yumi sighed.
"Boiler system."
That explained absolutely nothing.
More fabric struck him.
Black trousers.
White shirt.
Black vest.
Simple.
Yet finer than anything he had ever owned.
"One of Father's failed gestures of generosity," Yumi remarked dryly.
After changing, they climbed the left staircase.
Above stretched the second floor.
Crimson carpets lay beneath their feet.
Thin lines of gold bordered either side.
Paintings watched in solemn silence from the walls. Sunlight from tall windows cast elongated rectangles across the carpet.
Rows of doors lined both sides.
Bedrooms.
Libraries.
Storage rooms.
And farther east, the personal chambers of the household.
Servants hurried past carrying trays of silverware, ledgers, and stacks of parchment.
Finally, Yumi knocked twice upon a thick oak door.
The office beyond existed in complete disorder.
Bookcases rose from floor to ceiling. Papers buried the desk among iron inkstands and ledgers. Behind the chaos sat Lord Waganaki.
Snow-white beard streaked with black.
Wire-rimmed spectacles.
Fatigued eyes.
Thin legs ending beside a cane carved with strange sigils.
"So," Waganaki said hoarsely.
"Our courier."
"Yes, sir."
"The delivery reached the west barracks yesterday?"
"Yes."
"The seal remained intact?"
"I did not open it."
Lord Waganaki sank deeper into his chair.
His gaze settled upon the bandage around the boy's head.
The new clothes.
The empty hands.
"Interesting."
Before another word could be exchanged, the door burst open.
"My lord," a servant bowed hurriedly. "Lady Lia is arriving."
Silence descended.
Yumi's hand instinctively drifted toward her sword.
"Indeed. Usually she gives advance notice."
Lord Waganaki waved dismissively.
"Clear the room. Escort our courier downstairs."
"Complicated work," Yumi muttered.
Downstairs, the foyer bustled with activity.
Candles were lit.
Chairs adjusted.
Outside, the sound of carriage wheels echoed through the courtyard.
The boy looked toward the fireplace.
Too many logs.
Enough to warm an entire alley for weeks.
Yumi leaned against a pillar.
"Hearth Levy."
"Hearth tax?"
She shrugged.
"Hale's people collect it."
"Why?"
"No idea."
Her expression soured.
"Father complains about them often."
The boy remained silent.
Warmth cost money.
It separated the rich from the poor.
That much had become obvious.
Heavy oak doors swung open.
Lady Lia entered.
White and gold fabrics flowed around her.
Brown eyes searched anxiously.
She halted.
Her gaze stopped on him.
He froze.
She stepped closer, examining the bandages wrapped around his head.
Then laughter escaped her softly.
"That was you."
Relief entered her voice.
"I wondered whether it was all imagination on my part."
"Do you remember?" he asked faintly.
"That alleyway, two nights ago."
She clasped her hands behind her back.
"You retrieved Mother's purse. Those items were precious to me beyond measure. More valuable than gold itself."
Memories surfaced through the fog.
The scream.
The knife.
Stone striking his forehead.
"Why?"
The word felt heavy.
"Why bother finding me?"
"To thank you."
Brown eyes met his.
"And because I wanted to."
Her gaze lowered.
"For two days, I kept wondering whether you survived."
A small smile appeared.
"I didn't want you to disappear."
Beside him, Yumi regarded both of them thoughtfully.
Blue eyes moved between mistress and gutter boy.
"Well," she mused with a faint smile.
"We've done much worse for initial meetings."