Making his way back toward the slowing party, Veyn confirmed his suspicions, Callum had already slipped away to his chambers, where he would likely remain for the rest of the night. It made sense. After all, the hours following an Inheritance were rarely pleasant.
Veyn knew the stories, how the body rebelled as magic took root. Pounding headaches, nausea, fever, sweats, muscles twitching with power they didn't understand. Some even described it like your soul was being rewritten while you watched.
It wasn't a time for moving or interacting. It was a time to lie still and survive the storm.
Which meant, if Veyn was right, the young scion was now alone… and vulnerable.
The halls near the guest wing were quieter now, hushed with the kind of quiet that came only after too much wine. The party was ending, servants cleaned glassware and cleared plates with exhaustion, nobles trickled off to their rooms, and a handful of staff moved toward the scion's chambers.
Veyn lingered at the turn in the hall, just out of view. His heart thudded in his chest. Callum would be behind that heavy door at the end of the hall, likely collapsed into a chair or bed, his body fighting to adapt to whatever strange new magic now pulsed beneath his skin. Veyn needed to get in, alone, and soon.
But the door was guarded, in a sense. Servants would be checking on him regularly, bringing warm cloths, pain soothing medicines, anything to ease the side effects of Spirit fused magic. There was no way he could just walk in unnoticed.
10:06
He shifted on his feet, mind racing.
'Come on, think, think.'
His eyes flicked over the hallway. A pair of maids passed carrying folded sheets. The steward emerged from the adjacent hall, arms full of discarded coats. And then, there. A young man, no older than Veyn, walking with a small silver tray. On it, a glass bottle with a pale blue liquid, next to a folded cloth. Painkillers.
'Perfect.'
Veyn sprang into motion before doubt could catch him.
He rounded the corner quickly, too quickly, just as the boy passed. With theatrical clumsiness, he bumped shoulders and knocked the tray askew.
The bottle wobbled. The glass tipped.
Veyn grabbed it, but not fast enough. The blue liquid sloshed violently and half of it spilled down the servant's arm and onto his neatly pressed shirt.
"Oh, dammit! I am so sorry," Veyn said, loud enough to draw a glance from the nearby steward but quiet enough to keep the situation casual. He grabbed a cloth from a nearby maid cart and pressed it into the other servant's hands. "Here, quick, before it stains."
The servant looked distraught, flustered. "This was for the scion, I have to-"
"I'll take it," Veyn offered, already lifting the tray with his free hand. "Seriously, go clean up. I'm headed that way anyway. You'll just get scolded for looking a mess."
The boy hesitated. Veyn held his gaze steady, calm, helpful.
A pause.
Then, relief.
"Alright. Just, don't spill it again."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The servant vanished toward the lower stairs, blotting at his sleeve, and Veyn turned toward Callum's door with the grace of a professional.
He adjusted his collar. Cleared his expression. Knocked twice, softly.
From the other side came a muffled voice, tired, raw. "Come in."
10:08
The door shut with a click behind Veyn, muting the hallway. The flicker of the single candle on the side table cast Callum's face in shadows, highlighting the sweat on his brow and the tremble in his jaw.
Veyn stepped closer, setting the tray gently beside him.
Callum didn't sit up. Didn't even acknowledge the noise.
"Painkillers," Veyn said, softer this time.
A slow breath escaped Callum's lips. "Thanks."
Another pause. His fingers twitched weakly toward the glass but didn't reach it. Veyn hesitated, then picked it up himself and knelt, pressing it gently into the boy's hand. Callum's fingers closed around it with effort, like it weighed more than it should.
"Don't suppose you have something stronger?" Callum managed a faint smile.
"Nope. Just rags."
Callum huffed out a groan. "Sounds about right for tonight."
He drank slowly, grimacing with each sip. Then he leaned back, eyes slipping shut.
Veyn was supposed to leave now. He knew that. He had delivered the medicine to the newly Inherited heir. But he couldn't leave, not yet.