Chapter 4 - The Whispers in the Wax
The smell of winter held the harbor in a vise of ice and brine.
Inside the master suite, the fire had burned down to a bed of crimson embers that cast long, amber shadows across the dark timber walls. Vesna lay motionless beneath the weight of three down quilts, her face pale against the dark silk pillowcases. Her breathing was uneven, caught in the jagged cadence of a woman fighting fever and blood loss at the same time.
Saurin did not go to his office. He did not check the ledger that Casian had meticulously organized on the teak desk in the library. He remained in the velvet wingback chair beside the bed, his dark coat cast aside, his linen shirt unbuttoned at the throat.
Between his long, calloused fingers, he turned the wax-sealed cylinder he had taken from the washroom floor.
It was thin, no longer than an index finger, made of heavy beeswax dyed a pale, dirty green. The wax bore no coat of arms, but when Saurin held it near the light of the remaining candle, he caught the subtle scent beneath the honey smell: sweet almond and tallow.
The same scent that had been mixed into the dog’s wash bottle.
A soft, low whimper came from the floor near his boots. Vuk had not moved from the rug beside the bed since Saurin had brought Vesna up the grand stairs. The beast lay with his heavy chin resting on his front paws, his gold-flecked eyes fixed on the girl’s limp hand where it hung over the edge of the mattress. Whenever her fingers twitched, the dog’s ears would sweep back, his short stub of an ear quivering with tension.
"She gave you your life, didn't she, old boy?" Saurin murmured, his voice a gravelly rasp in the quiet room.
Vuk did not bark. He merely released a long, wet sigh that blew a puff of dust off the hem of Saurin’s trousers.
The heavy oak door creaked open. Casian slipped into the room, his movements as silent and fluid as oil over silk. He carried a silver tray with a steaming porcelain pot and a single cup.
"The doctor has reached the lower town, my Lord," Casian said, his voice dropped to the quiet register he reserved for times of bereavement or crisis. "He believes the fever will peak before midnight. I took the liberty of having the kitchen prepare a willow-bark decoction, should she awaken."
Saurin did not look up from the green wax in his hand. "You knew her name when I asked you earlier today, Casian."
The major domo stopped three paces from the chair. His face remained immaculate, not a single line tightening around his pale eyes. "I know the names of all thirty-four domestic workers on the registry, Lord Vosa. It is my duty to ensure no shadow enters this house."
"And yet a shadow sits in my bed, bleeding onto silk," Saurin said softly. He raised the wax cylinder to the light, letting Casian see it. "Where did this come from?"
"I could not say, my Lord. The girl was assigned to the east kitchen laundry. It is possible she brought it with her from the Dovat Quarter."
"She brought a surgical blade, a knowledge of nightshade antidotes, and a map of my house," Saurin said. He finally turned his head, his cold grey eyes locking onto the older man’s face. "She also brought a story about a brother in a northern clinic. A story I intend to verify before the sun rises."
Casian bowed his head slightly, his hand resting on the leather book tucked beneath his arm. "A wise precaution. Shall I have the guards place her in the cellar once the fever breaks? If she is an informant for the Drazzas—"
"If she were an informant for the Drazzas," Saurin interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, "my brother's dog would be dead, the east door would be unlocked, and I would have spent this evening writing a death warrant for my own men. She bled for a hound that most men in this house would have shot three months ago."
He stood up. The movement was so sudden, so broad, that even Vuk shifted his hips, his tail giving a single, tentative thump against the rug.
"Find the cook who gave her that wash bottle," Saurin commanded. "Bring him to the wine vault beneath the pantry. Do not involve the guard. Do it yourself."
Casian’s eyelids flickered—a tiny, almost imperceptible gesture that lasted less than a fraction of a second. "The cook, my Lord?"
"The cook," Saurin repeated. "And Casian?"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"If I find that anyone in this house knew about the almond scent in that bottle before the girl found it... I will not use the guard for that either."
The major domo bowed low, his silver hair catching the dull gleam of the dying fire. "It shall be as you command."
As the door clicked shut behind Casian, Saurin turned back to the bed. Vesna let out a small, fractured gasp, her dark head tossing against the pillow. Her hand clawed blindly at the air, her short nails catching the heavy linen of his sleeve as he leaned down.
"Luka..." she choked out, her voice raspy and dry as autumn leaves. "Don't... don't let them take the light..."
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Saurin did not pull his arm away. He let her small, cool fingers grip his wrist, her thumb pressing directly over his heavy, rhythmic pulse. He reached down with his free hand, picked up the damp cloth from the silver basin on the nightstand, and pressed it gently against her burning forehead.
"No one is taking anything," he whispered into the dark room. "Not while you are under my roof."
