"Haunted house?" Tristan asked as they reached the end of the drive, looking up at the manor.
"Not yet," Therese said, pulling her shawl tighter. "But it will be if we do nothing."
The place showed its age. Window cloths moved with the drafts. Long corridors were dim even at midday. From the rear pens came the steady sounds of animals and settling beams. For all that, the manor was safer than it had been in years. Wards now ran through the walls and along the boundary stones. Safety, however, had arrived with costs they could not ignore.
Inside, a reduced staff waited in the dining hall. Ledgers and lists filled the table. Tara stood at the head with a calm face and a firm voice.
"Listen clearly," she said. "Until the court confirms Tristan as heir, the estate funds are sealed. We cannot use them for wages or purchases. The manor must support itself."
A quiet ripple ran through the room. Most of them were worried. Tristan felt it in himself as well.
