The courier arrived midmorning, carrying six new violin cases to Chordlight Cottage.
Each case gleamed with a polished finish, sturdy enough to endure travel. Inside, Tristan found spare strings, bows, and even a few thin music booklets tucked neatly against the velvet lining.
He ran his hand over the smooth varnish of the first violin, smiling wider with each stroke of polished wood.
Perfect.
It was a gift that felt both generous and practical, since repair supplies were never easy to come by in this part of the countryside.
Without waiting, Tristan sat down at the small table and pulled a sheet of parchment closer. His pen hovered for a moment before the words began to flow.
To Lord Shannon,
I nearly dropped the case when I opened it this morning. Six violins, spare strings, bows, music booklets… you've practically handed me a small orchestra. Thank you.
This means I can finally open the door to more students, perhaps even divide classes into morning and afternoon.
I would like to try a socialized pricing scheme: full price, discounted, or free depending on the family's means.
Whatever we raise could go to the upkeep of the cottage, snacks for the children, a small tip for Marla, and a modest fee for myself.
A portion should also be set aside for maintenance. Violins will need fresh strings from time to time.
What would you recommend? Am I allowed to set fees without asking first?
And should I prioritize children from Hearthstead over those from outside the ranch?
I would also like to know how the people here see me.
Am I a tenant, a customer, or just a guest under your protection? I want to avoid giving the wrong impression.
One more matter. On recital night, I noticed a hooded figure standing at the tree line. He neither clapped nor moved.
I wasn't sure if he was watching me, Eira, or the cottage itself. But he stayed until the performance ended.
Should I be seeking public events, like the town plaza, or should I wait for invitations? I don't know if your aides arrange such matters.
Apologies for so many questions, but my head has been full since the recital.
With thanks,
Tristan Mendez
The courier left with the letter that same afternoon.
Two days later, he returned with a reply sealed in dark green wax. Shannon's handwriting was precise, deliberate, without a single erasure.
To Tristan Mendez,
Your letter was worth reading twice.
The violins are a gift. Use them as you see fit. I trust your judgment regarding fees and student priority.
Set your own rules, provided no one is turned away for lack of coin. The cottage is yours to manage. Treat it as your own.
As for how the ranch views you, most see you as a teacher and neighbor. Some remain cautious because you are new, but that will fade.
Continue as you have and they will decide for themselves that you belong here.
Regarding public performances: do not seek them out yet. Let your name spread naturally through your students and your recital.
My aides will inform you if a safe opportunity arises.
The hooded figure troubles me. I have already posted men along the tree line to keep watch, with patrols circling the cottage at night.
If you see him again, do not approach.
On protection: keep your doors locked, avoid walking alone after dark, and if anything feels wrong, send word immediately. Marla will know how to reach me quickly.
Finally, never apologize for asking questions. I would rather you ask than assume.
—Shannon
P.S. I will stop by when I can. There are matters I prefer to discuss in person.
Three days later, another knock came at the cottage door. Marla opened it, stepped aside, and called into the room, "Your landlord's here."
Lord Shannon stood framed in the doorway, dressed simply, though his steady presence made the space feel smaller.
"I was in the area," he said.
"You were in three areas last week," Tristan replied, arching a brow. "That's not what I'd call nearby."
Shannon's mouth tugged upward. "Close enough."
They sat together at the table while Marla prepared tea. Shannon's gaze drifted toward the six new violins lined neatly against the wall.
"They're perfect," Tristan said quickly. "Thank you again. Two new parents already asked about lessons."
"That is good to hear."
Tristan hesitated, his hand tightening on his teacup. "About the figure I mentioned in my letter… Do you think he might return?"
Shannon's eyes sharpened. "Possibly. I spoke with a few ranch hands, but no one recognized the description. If you see him again, don't confront him. Tell me at once."
"I wasn't planning to," Tristan admitted, though his voice lowered. "But it unsettles me."
"I've arranged for two men to keep watch near the property for the next few weeks. They will not interfere with your work."
Relief flickered across Tristan's face. "Thank you. But how much will that added service cost you? I don't want to become a burden."
"You are not a burden," Shannon replied firmly. "If someone is watching, I want to know who and why."
Marla entered with a tray of tea and oat biscuits, setting it between them.
"I also had questions about performing outside the ranch," Tristan said once she left. "I don't want to appear idle."
"You're not idle," Shannon said. "You're building something here. When the time is right, we will choose events that help you, not ones that drain you."
Tristan looked down at his tea, steam curling against his face. "It still feels strange. I've been given so much freedom, yet I don't know how Hearthstead's people see me. I'm not sure I belong."
"They will see you the way you let them," Shannon replied. "The recital already helped."
Tristan gave a faint smile. "You seem to think of everything."
"I've been thinking of you longer than you realize," Shannon said quietly, almost to himself.
Tristan froze. "What do you mean?"
Shannon met his eyes, then turned slightly toward the window.
"I first saw you two years ago, at the opera house. I heard you play. After that, I kept track of you."
"You… kept track?"
"You were in the mines not long after. When I found out, I made arrangements to bring you out."
Tristan's fingers tightened around the cup. "Why?"
"Because no one else did," Shannon answered. "And because I didn't want to see that gift and that person buried there."
The room fell silent. The only sound was the faint ticking of a lizard on the wall, tsk…tsk…tsk… steady and unyielding.
Tristan swallowed hard. "…Thank you."
"There is no need to thank me," Shannon said. "Just keep teaching. And tell me if anything feels wrong here. Anything."
"I will," Tristan whispered.
Shannon rose, glancing once more at the violins. "I'll send word about the watch schedule. You will be safe."
"Safe is good," Tristan said softly. "But I also want to feel useful."
"You already are," Shannon replied before stepping outside.
Tristan followed to the porch, lingering longer than necessary as he watched Shannon ride away.
His mind circled the admission, turning it over again and again. All this time, someone had been watching—not as a threat, but as a guard.
And for the first time, the thought of being seen did not make him afraid.