led directly into the governor’s suite of rooms were cut off from the rest—likely to avoid potential assassination or, even worse, common servants coming and going—and Bertram, Lord Rolan’s personal attendant, was the only member on the staff who had access to them. He slept in an adjoining chamber, took his meals alone, and never left the estate for personal matters.
“He’s actually a bondservant,” Kade had said, when they met on the third night since their reunion. “A freed one. Rolan forgave all his transgressions and offered him a paid position.”
Sev’s brows rose, impressed, but Kade shook his head.
“Don’t get too excited. He didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart. Bertram is apparently a cousin. From what I’ve overheard, Rolan only freed him to remove the stain from their family, and he offered the job as attendant so he could guarantee Bertram’s loyalty. One false move and he’ll be back in bondage again. He also personally manages Rolan’s messenger birds, so there’s no chance of intercepting any, like we’d hoped.”
Sev cursed. He’d thought they could tap one of Ilithya’s best sources of information, the mail, by bribing or making friends with whatever bondservant currently managed the messenger birds. But if they were handled entirely by Bertram, Rolan’s loyal attendant and cousin, they’d have very little chance of plumbing that resource. Or of gaining access to Rolan’s chambers through the servant passages.
Despite the fact that Rolan had put his stamp on things, the house seemed haunted by the ghost of the exiled governor and his family, no matter how many Stellan rugs and family trees Rolan hung up. The gardens were the legacy of Cassian’s Pyraean—and fellow Phoenix Rider—wife, Olanna, planted with orange and lemon trees and clusters of bright Fire Blossoms. The ironwork benches were wrought with phoenix motifs, and the stonework paths swirled and coiled like plumes of fire. There was a fresco in the west hall that featured King Damian, an ancestor of Cassian and consort to Queen Elysia, which had been concealed behind a heavy tapestry depicting Lord Rolan’s ancestor King Rol, and a wooden doorframe outside the private dining room was notched halfway up, marking the increasing age and height of Cassian and Olanna’s son, Tristan. Though Sev hadn’t yet seen it firsthand, there was apparently a phoenix roost atop the highest tower of the gleaming plaster-and-white-marble estate, enclosed with ornately carved columns and attached to an upper-story balcony, where phoenixes could perch and Riders could easily mount up.
Sev couldn’t help but notice the fact that Lord Rolan and Commander Cassian were the descendants of King Rol and King Damian respectively, and that just as their ancestors had fought over lands and titles before the empire, so too did Rolan and Cassian clash. First, in a smaller way over this estate and its legacy, but also in a larger way over the lands they occupied and the borders that divided them. It seemed that all wars, no matter how ancient, never really ended.
While the building itself clung to the past, Sev wondered if its inhabitants besides Lord Rolan did too. Surely some of the servants had been here since Cassian was governor? And what of the soldiers? Could any of them be bought or convinced to divulge important information?
Sev had plenty of questions but no answers, and his frustration grew with every unoccupied room he found and every shift he spent watching Rolan attend to the dull affairs of state expected of any governor—paying wages, approving supply orders, ensuring they stored enough grain for the winter—and not defense strategy and warcraft. The most exciting thing Sev overheard was that there would be an order of Ferronese steel shipping in a few days. But those weapons were going away from Lord Rolan, not toward him. Another dead end.
The Grand Council was looming, and every day that slipped by without discoveries or breakthroughs felt like a failure. Sev needed time not only to get the information, but to send it to Cassian and for Cassian to act on it.
Sev needed to be more proactive. The question was, how?
Early one evening, he was waiting dutifully in his rooms after dinner for Hestia to come apply her nightly poultice. She’d told him he was doing well, and they would likely switch to a once-weekly application soon.
Sev had learned over the course of his treatment why Hestia was taking such “good care of him,” as Kade had said. Sev had seen more seasoned and valuable soldiers receive much