[WARNING: THIS CHAPTER MIGHT CONTAIN VIOLATION, BLOOD, MURDER ETC. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.]
"I was passing by and noticed smoke from your chimney. I had no knowledge that you were home, tending to your injured mistress. I presumed you were in Kalaket Port." Dylan, the man dressed in a formal nobleman attire, raised a brow.
His emphasis on the line 'tending to your injured mistress' caught both Nilana and Ian at a pause.
Ian dry coughed in response. "Firstly, allow me to clarify that this is quite a misunderstanding. I was indeed in Kalaket Port last night. Regrettably, Miss and I crossed paths."
Now both Nilana and Dylan raised their eyebrows.
"Wait." She halted him. "It's Nilana, and second, what you mean by regrettably, we crossed paths?" She squinted her eyes at him. "You are a rower. I simply asked if you were to help me cross the river."
It was Dylan's turn to dry cough as he looked both at Nilana and Ian. "A rower..." Dylan mumbled.
"You know what-" Ian started.
"Tell me what, Mister Ian." But she interrupted him with narrowed eyes as she attempted to cross her arm across her chest. The gesture made her wince in pain. "Ow.."
"Nilana, that's enough. You're going to get rest and food. You've been unconscious for hours."
With that, Ian reached out of one of her injury-free hand and got her out from the pond stairs. As they made their way to the humongous wooden manor, Dylan stood there observing them with an utterly stunned look.
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Ian silently put the bowl of greenish soup in front of her. Seeing the soup and the presentation, Nilana gave him a disappointed look. As if he was a participant in a cooking competition and she was the judge.
"Never did I imagine witnessing Ian in the act of cooking." Dylan remarked while playing with the cat and waited for her to take a sip.
"Is this even edible?"
Dylan burst into laughter.
"Even if it's not. You have to eat it." Ian crossed his arms.
Thankfully, he was dressed in a white doublet.
"God.. alright. As you've put your heart and soul into making this, I'll give this....monstrosity of a soup a try." She murmured as she took a sip.
Both, sitting on the divan Dylan and standing beside her Ian waited for her reaction, anticipating her approval.
It took a minute for Nilana to comprehend the taste and... her eyes went wide. As if she couldn't believe herself either, she took three more sips of the soup, trying to prove her taste buds wrong.
"Heavens.." She groaned as she took more sips. "This soup is awfully good. What did you put into this?"
In no time, she finished the whole bowl and handed it over to him, asking for more. Ian was utterly surprised with her feedback so was Dylan and the cat.
"Perhaps it's because she had been starving; there's no conceivable way your first attempt at cooking could have turned out that splendid." The nobleman walked over to the dining table and took a spoon to taste the soup himself. Once he put the spoonful of flavoured liquid in his mouth, his fox-like golden eyes went wide.
"My gracious friend of Windspire, this is truly splendid." As much as he hated to admit it, the soup was nothing he tasted within the dining halls of a royal palace.
"I command you, you lowly rower. Bless me with a bowl of your soup, as I'm a guest in your humble abode."
Ian shook his head at the remarks of his friend, Dylan. "Take a bowl yourself, if you're that hungry." and left the place stating he had wood to cut.
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After her very enjoyable meal, Nilana went upstairs to the bedroom she first awoke. As much as she was thankful to Ian for rescuing and nursing her, she had to get moving from this place as well. After all, her initial goal was to reach the Capital and start a new life there. She couldn't burden Ian more, assuming he already suffered much as a rower. Yet she couldn't comprehend how he could afford this lavish wooden manor for himself if he was that struggling.
Wait... was he really a rower?
And who was that nobleman, anyway?
What were they talking about him being in Kalaket port...
Wait.. She reassembled her thoughts. Wasn't Kalaket Port the one nearest to her village?
With numerous thoughts running over her head, she looked around for her belongings.
To her horror, her blanket and satchel were nowhere to be seen.
"Where is it? Where could it have gone?" Nilana muttered to herself, her voice quivering. She cast a frantic glance around the room, her mind racing with panic and worry. The room, once a sanctuary of serenity, now seemed a chaotic maze of uncertainty.
Her blanket had her clothes, and the satchel had her saved gold coins and jeweled necklace. That was everything she had to her. She couldn't even imagine what would happen to her if she didn't find the satchel.
She waited the entire afternoon for Ian to come back. After he left in the morning, Dylan stayed for a while before he recalled of his duties. She was all alone in that manor (with the cat, of course), unsure of what to do. She stood up from the bed, tired of laying on it the most of the day.
She took a tour of the manor herself and noticed a pile of unwashed clothes lying beside a bedroom's door. She found a wooden basket and the bathhouse behind the manor. And decided to help him out as long as she was here. After all, he was her saviour. Even though she could never pay him back, it didn't mean she couldn't try.
Using her injury free-hand, she put all the clothes in the soap water and roamed around the manor while they soaked properly.
The land ended right at the iron gate and was surrounded by a vast forest. The wooden manor was in the middle of a forest, she detected. Deep green of the tall forest trees gave shade to the enormous manor.
The enormity of the manor confused her. So did the lavishness of it. And the fact that he hired no other servant nor maid confused her, too.
What was he doing all alone by himself, in the middle of nowhere? Were they even in Windspire?
Questions after questions popped inside Nilana's head.
But she was sure of one thing.
Ian was anything but a commoner rower.
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Meanwhile, at the estate of the Royal Advisor, in his study, the royal advisor Thornehaven sipped his evening tea while flipping through the newly published newspaper.
Thornehaven's lips twitched, looking at the front feature. 'Unraveling the Tale of King Maximus: A Journalist's Bold Words on the Kingdom's Shifting Heritage and the Dominance of Foreign Cultures.'
Apparently, some journalist couldn't just shut his mouth. It boiled Thorne's blood.
Suddenly a black human figure landed on his window, which caused him to startle and spill some of his tea on his skill robe.
"Henley?! How often must I remind you not to make such dramatic entrances?" He shouted at the black figure addressing his personal spy.
"Henley?" A low dangerous tone followed. The black-cloaked figure was tall, and had a broader shoulder, unlike Thorne's spy, Henley.
"What a disgrace, you equating him with me."
"Who are you and what did you do to Henley?!" the royal advisor barked at the tall figure.
He turned around. "He's rotting in your ugly garden."
Throne's eyes went saucer-wide. As if he had seen a ghost.
"Drawing parallels between me and that feeble, insignificant spy of yours, Uncle Thornehaven. It doesn't sit well with me."
The man withdrew his cloak hood while his ice white hair shone eerily against the light of the dimly lit candle.
"Y-you-" His face filled with terror, he gaped muted. "How-" "Pri-"
"Shh." In a swift he pulled out his poison blue sword from its sheath. He yielded it right beside Thorne's neck. Drops of sweat started to form on his head.
"I find your manner of addressing me quite displeasing. Allow me to enlighten you." He sliced a bit of the flesh of his neck.
"You might know me by the name-" The poisoned sword carved inside a bit more.
"The Midnight Serpent."
And with just one slash, Thorne's neck cut in half. Blood splattered all over the place.
The velvet black of the cloak was drenched with blood, too. So was the face of Ian. Who stood in front of the deceased, the poisoned blue sword gripped by him dripped of Throne's blood. His cold silver eyes watched as the blue venom started to spread, leaving the skin all blue.
More than that, what spread faster than the poison was...
silence.