The house itself was magnificent—three stories of pale stone walls lined with stained windows that glittered in the sunlight. The roof was slate grey, with sharp peaks and decorative finials that looked almost too pristine to be real. Towering pillars held up a wide balcony on the second floor, and the front entrance was framed by massive double doors made of dark mahogany, polished so thoroughly that Devvyn could almost see his reflection as he approached.
There were three guards at the door. Devvyn tilted his head at them. Now that he thought about it, the Pyrethorn estate seemed less guarded than he imagined. They had only encountered servants on their way.
"Devvyn Arkwright. My father's guest." Isadora said to the guards.
He smoothed his cotton shirt, adjusted his collar, and ran a hand through his hair, hoping he looked at least somewhat presentable. He plastered a practiced smile on his face hoping there wouldn't be a repeat of what happened at the first gate but the guards only bowed to Isadora and pushed the mahogany doors open.
The first thing that hit him was the sheer size of the place. Sure, it looked huge on the outside, but wow, houses were not supposed to be this big. He should have taken Maelis's old Polaroid. He wasn't sure he had enough words to perfectly describe what he looked at to Aela and Jelric. High ceilings stretched above, hung with chandeliers that glittered like a thousand tiny stars.. A grand staircase spiralled up to the second floor, its bannisters carved from dark wood and lined with gold trimming.
"You're early, by the way," Isadora said as she led him up the stairs, her heeled shoes clicking against the surface.
"I wasn't exactly given a time." He said.
"When a Lord says to join him for a meal, he means Lunch. That is when highborns entertain visitors. But you wouldn't know, would you?"
"What's your issue with me?" Devvyn asked.
"Why would I have an issue with you? You're…inconsequential." Isadora answered. "Make no mistake, Devvyn, my father is doing this for the papers. It is important for Lord Pyrethorn to show that he is a good, humble highlord—to gain the goodwill of his people. What better way to show it than to let a boy from the Lower City into his home?"
She was trying to bait him. Devvyn figured. He wouldn't go down to her level.
"Thank you for the lesson in highborn etiquette." He said.
Isadora huffed. "And be sure not to steal anything on your way out. The guards will check."
Devvyn's jaw tightened. Mizuho take being the bigger person. "You know, it's interesting that you call him Lord Pyrethorn instead of father. I suppose it's hard to be family when everything is for the papers."
Isadora paused at the very top of the stairs. She gripped the bannister tightly before turning. Her eyes flashed, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Watch your mouth."
Devvyn fought to hide his smile. He'd struck a nerve. He shrugged. "Just an observation."
Isadora didn't respond. She continued walking, leading him straight to the first door on the right. She pushed it open, revealing a sitting room. Velvet chairs were arranged around a marble coffee table, and tall windows with sheer curtains let sunlight pour in. A fireplace, though unlit, was framed by a mantle cluttered with delicate glass ornaments.
"Wait here," she said, her voice clipped. "I'll come get you when it's time for lunch…if I remember."
I really should have brought fennel to put in her tea. Devvyn thought, but he only said mockingly, "Thank you, Miss Pyrethorn."
She took a deep breath, exhaled, turned on her heel and shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the room.
Devvyn lasted only thirty minutes before he got bored. He sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Sitting still wasn't exactly his strong suit, especially not in a place like this where there were so many things his hands itched to touch. He caught the faint scent of rich and sweet lavender threading through the room. He sniffed the air and wandered around, poking his head near the curtains, then around the fireplace, trying to find the source.
A crystal vase on the mantel held a bundle of dried lavender stalks tied with silver ribbon. He picked one up, sniffed it, and nodded in approval. Fancy. Devvyn noted that it smelled different from the lavender sprigs around his house. It was less wild, softer, easier on the nose. Maelis would like it. He was about to cut a stalk for her when he remembered Isadora's threat. Instead, he dabbed the lavender all over his shirt so that he smelled like it instead of the cheap wild rose perfume he'd gotten on sale.
As he set it back down, an object glimmered in the corner of his eye. A brass spyglass was mounted on a polished wooden stand by the window. Its frame was engraved with magnifying runes, and the glass was clean and polished. Was that a…
"Wow, an old-model spyglass." Practically an artefact.
A grin spread across Devvyn's face. He moved closer, running his fingers over the cool metal. He'd only ever seen one of these in the Upper Market in Eternis, and it had been far too expensive to even think about buying. Legend had it that Primordial Kala had carved those herself and used them to watch over the first humans.
Curiosity got the better of him, and he adjusted the lens, angling it toward the tall windows. He pressed his eye to the glass and sucked in a breath. Eternis spread out before him, all the way to the Coral Coves and the seas beyond.
"Wow," Devvyn said again.
He leaned back and reached out to pick up the spyglass. It was heavier than he expected, and as he lifted it, his hand slipped slightly. The spyglass wobbled, nearly toppling off its stand. Devvyn's heart lurched, and he snatched it back just in time, setting it down carefully with a shaky breath.
"Okay…maybe I should just sit," he muttered, backing away and dropping into one of the plush armchairs, determined to keep his hands to himself.
Minutes turned into hours, the quiet ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner marking the slow passage of time. Devvyn's curiosity gradually gave way to boredom as he ran out of things to explore with his eyes, and before he knew it, his eyelids grew heavy. He tried to fight it, but the plush armchair was far too soft, and the lavender scent lingering in the room didn't help. Eventually, his head lolled to the side, and sleep took him.
He startled awake at the sharp creak of the door opening, his heart jolting in his chest. Devvyn rubbed his eyes, blinking away the haze of sleep as footsteps Echoed into the room. "Um…what? Who's there?" Devvyn blurted out, still half-dazed, blinking rapidly as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep.
"It's lunchtime," Isadora said, standing at the doorway with her arms crossed. She eyes him with mild disdain. "You managed to drool on the couch. As expected."
Devvyn wiped his mouth instinctively, only to realise there was no drool. His eyes narrowed, and he shot her a glare.
"Come quick. Lord Pyrethorn does not like to be kept waiting."
"Like anybody does," Devvyn muttered as he checked the clock. They'd kept him waiting for four hours.
Isadora turned briskly, not waiting to see if Devvyn was following. He hurried to catch up as she led him down a grand hallway lined with portraits past Pyrethorns, their eyes following him as he walked. Aela was right. They did have the longest hallway full of images of ancestors. The last portrait was that of Isadora.
"The artist was quite generous with the brush." Devvyn quipped as they passed by it.
She sighed. "I really can't wait for you to leave."
They stopped in front of a set of double doors. Isadora pushed them open, and a wave of rich, mouth-watering aromas washed over Devvyn instantly.
Servants were arranging platters of roasted pheasant glazed with honey and herbs, thick slabs of beef dripping with juice, and trays of fresh-baked bread still steaming from the oven. Bowls of spiced potatoes sat alongside roasted carrots and greens. In the centre, a tower of fruit glistened—purple grapes, blood-red apples, and golden pears, perfectly stacked. Silver trays held pastries dusted with sugar. The meal could feed at least fifty people.
Calder Pyrethorn was already seated at the head of the table, wearing military attire that looked both practical and lavish. Polished buttons gleaming against deep blue fabric embroidered with silver thread, Devvyn felt very small in his worn cotton shirt.
He stumbled into a clumsy bow. "Good day, Lord Pyrethorn. Thank you for inviting me to your beautiful estate." His stomach growled loudly, and he felt his face flush.
Calder Pyrethorn must have heard, but he only gave Devvyn a nod of acknowledgement. "Sit," he said.
Devvyn swallowed hard, nodding as he moved forward. He wasn't sure where to sit. Isadora sat at her father's left, smiling sickly sweet at him, clearly waiting for him to make a mistake. Devvyn mentally scanned through everything he'd learned about etiquette and dining with highborns at school. Nothing came to mind.
"Someone guide him to a seat," Calder Pyrethorn said, his tone flat.
Heat crept up Devvyn's neck as a servant came forward and led him to a chair—to his surprise, on the right side of Calder Pyrethorn. Devvyn glanced closer at Calder Pyrethorn as he took his seat. The man had a presence that filled the room—broad-shouldered with auburn hair streaked with grey, and a beard that was trimmed to precision. His eyes were a fierce orange, like embers caught in mid-burn. He could see where Isadora got her attitude.
Calder leaned back in his chair, his fiery orange eyes studying Devvyn as though he were fascinating. Devvyn maintained a polite smile, fighting not to squirm under his gaze. Then Calder gestured to one of the servants. "Set up the Polaroid," he said.
The servant moved swiftly, bringing out the camera and setting it up on a polished tripod near the head of the table.
"I like to keep records of important meetings." He turned to Devvyn. "I hope you don't mind." But he wasn't really asking.
Devvyn blinked. "Uh…no, Lord Pyrethorn.." He looked opposite at Isadora, and her face said: I told you so. Calder Pyrethorn really had not invited him because he saved his life. Devvyn felt stupid, really stupid. The smile on his face dropped. His stomach curdled. The food in front of him was suddenly nauseating. He wanted to go home.
The servant adjusted the camera, the lens clicking into place. "Everyone ready?" he asked.
Under the table, Devvyn clenched his fists in his lap.
Calder straightened his posture, Isadora gave a reluctant smile that barely reached her eyes, and Devvyn awkwardly mimicked their poses, sitting up stiffly in his chair. The camera flashed, capturing the three of them—Calder Pyrethorn's imposing presence, Isadora's icy poise, and him, sitting stiff and out of place. Just a prop. A story for the papers.
"Get it published in the papers by morning", Calder instructed the servant. Then, to Devvyn and Isadora, he said, "Shall we?"
Devvyn forced himself to unclench his fists. He could sense Isadora watching him. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. "Yes, thank you, Lord Pyrethorn." He said and followed Calder Pyrethorn's suit, filled his place with food, and dug in. The food tasted like dust in his mouth.
Halfway through his meal, Calder Pyrethorn set his spoon down and cleaned his mouth with a cloth. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight. "Tell me, what were you thinking while you ran in front of that rebel's gun?" He looked genuinely curious.
Devvyn fought for an answer, then settled on telling the truth. "I wasn't really thinking, Lord Pyrethorn. I saw someone in danger and I just moved."
"Admirable."
"Oh, please." Isadora scoffed. Her father branded her with a scathing stare, and she shifted her focus back to her food.
"And what do you think of the Unbound?" Calder's eyes narrowed slightly, studying Devvyn's face. "Their methods. Their motives. We questioned them. None of them would talk. They didn't even seem to know one another. I think you can see how difficult the situation is. How do you think we can prevent something like that from happening again?"
Devvyn hesitated, his mind racing. Was this a test? A trap? He took a breath and squared his shoulders. "I think…" he began slowly, "everyone knows the Unbound were a peaceful group. Not bonding is their belief system, just like the Ascendants see bonding as spiritual and as necessary as eating. I think they had something to say, and they felt there was no other way to be heard. They haven't exactly been treated well. If we want to prevent another incident, maybe we need to understand why they would risk their lives that way. Maybe negotiate with them?"
"I see." Calder leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "An interesting perspective. Most would simply suggest crushing them with force…my daughter did."
Devvyn thought of Maelis, of how her force never made him want to build devices or avoid bonding with an Echo. It only made him push back. "Sometimes force just makes people fight harder."
Calder's lips curled into something like a smile. "Perhaps." He tapped a finger against the table thoughtfully. "Perhaps you're right." He stood up abruptly, "You would do well at the Golden Academy, Devvyn. We need young strategists like you to secure Sinai's future. Go through the Gauntlet Trials, pass, and we'll see about me taking you under my wing."
His compliment shocked Devvyn for a second. "Thank you, Lord Pyrethorn…for the meal also."
With a nod, Calder Pyrethorn turned his attention to Isadora. "Show him around our estate, maybe some of those projects you're working on. I must leave now for my meeting with Lord Aurelius." He moved swiftly to the door without waiting for her to respond. His heavy boots Echoed against the marble floor as he left the dining room.
"Yes, Father," Isadora mumbled, even though he was gone. Her voice was small, almost fragile, and for the first time since he'd met her, she seemed…diminished.
It struck Devvyn then that Calder Pyrethorn hadn't spoken more than two sentences to her throughout the meal. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "You don't have to… I can just leave."
"No." Isadora stood, pushing her chair back. "I do as Lord Pyrethorn instructs."
