A horse stopped in front of the manor.
Caelum heard it from the main hall, where he was sitting on the floor, arranging small stones into patterns. A few moments later, there was a loud knock on the front door.
Elara came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. Thalen came down the stairs. He looked confused. They did not get visitors.
Thalen opened the door. A short, fat man stood on the doorstep. He wore a fine coat with the king's sigil embroidered on the pocket. He held a leather satchel in his hand.
"Lord Thorne?" the man asked. His voice was oily. He did not use the title with respect. It sounded like a joke.
"I am Thalen Thorne," Thalen said. His voice was stiff. "What is your business here?"
The man pushed past Thalen and walked into the hall. He looked around, his eyes taking in the dusty furniture and the faded tapestries on the walls. A small, cruel smile played on his lips.
"I am the king's tax collector for this region," the man said. "It is time for the yearly collection."
Thalen's face went pale. "The taxes were paid last season."
"There is a new tax," the collector said. He opened his satchel. "For the king's campaign against the northern beasts. All noble houses must contribute." He pulled out a scroll and held it out. "Your share is fifty gold crowns."
Fifty gold crowns. Caelum knew they did not have that kind of money. He watched his father's face. He saw shock, then anger, then a helpless despair.
"Fifty?" Thalen's voice was a low whisper. "That is impossible. We do not have it."
The tax collector laughed. It was not a nice sound. "A great house like Thorne? Surely you can find it. Sell something." His eyes flickered toward Elara, who stood frozen near the kitchen doorway. "Sell one of the wife's jewels, perhaps."
Thalen's hands clenched into fists at his sides. A dark anger flashed in his eyes. For a second, he looked like the warrior he once was.
The tax collector saw the look. His own hand moved to rest on the handle of the short sword at his belt. His smile widened. He knew Thalen would do nothing.
The anger drained out of Thalen's face. He was left looking old and tired. "I... I will get what we have," he said. His voice was defeated.
He turned and went up the stairs. The tax collector waited, humming a tune to himself.
Caelum sat on the floor, perfectly still. He watched the man. He saw the smug look on his face. He saw the way the man stood, with his weight on one foot, arrogant and sure of his power. This man was not a warrior. He was a worm. But he had the king's authority. And that was enough.
Thalen came back down the stairs. He held a small leather pouch. He handed it to the tax collector without looking at him.
The collector opened the pouch and poured the coins into his hand. He counted them. "Twenty-three," he said, clicking his tongue. "Not even half. I will be back for the rest. Do not make me wait long."
He poured the coins back into his satchel, turned, and walked out the door, whistling his tune.
Thalen stood in the center of the hall. He did not move. He stared at the closed door. His face was a mask of shame. Caelum watched his father's strong shoulders slump forward, as if under a great weight.