North Drake
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Book 1: Chapter 54: The Smile Behind The Door
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 20:15:13 +0000 UTCChapter 54:
The Smile Behind The Door
The door shut behind the fat merchant with a loud clang. Grace sat in silence, still poised in her reception chair, legs crossed, one delicate hand resting thoughtfully on the armrest. Her other hand still held the teacup, now cold, but she hadn’t noticed.
Not bad, she mused. Not bad at all, Master Holt.
She turned her head slightly, glancing again at the wooden box still sitting on the table. The wyvern egg sat inside like a coiled secret in its velvet cradle, pulsing faintly.
The sound of footsteps pulled her from her thoughts.
Elyne entered the room without knocking—as always. Her presence, as usual, announced itself with calm elegance and the recently a faint scent of rose.
Great she is using a new perfume. Now she smells like a fancy garden party. Urgh.
“How was your first official meeting?” Elyne asked gently, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Grace inwardly sighed. Must she always look so proud? Like a mother hen who thinks I’ve just laid my first golden egg?
But outwardly, her expression brightened with perfect cordiality.
“It was… quite fun, actually,” Grace replied with a practiced smile. “He was nervous. Sweating like a fountain. But he held himself together.”
Elyne chuckled softly. “You didn’t intimidate him too badly, I hope.”
“Oh, not at all,” Grace said innocently. “I was all smiles and tea.” She gestured lightly toward the side of the room. “He even brought me a dress.”
Elyne’s gaze followed her gesture. A folded gown lay draped over a cushioned settee, deep velvet red with silver trim, perfectly her color, perfectly her size.
“Quite tasteful,” Elyne remarked with pleased surprise. “He clearly knows how to behave. A gift that suits you, not something frivolous or gaudy.”
Grace tilted her head, smiling faintly. “Yes, he does. It was thoughtful.”
Thoughtful indeed, she added inwardly with a flicker of amusement, since I ordered Ser Calen yesterday to pick up something from Valewick in case this exact situation occurred.
Elyne nodded approvingly, stepping closer to examine the fabric. “He has potential, then. I’ll make a note.”
“Oh do,” Grace replied, voice light, “I expect he’ll be sticking around for a while.”
“I intend to let him handle the supply coordination for now,” Grace said breezily, as if announcing which tea she’d serve next.
Elyne raised a brow. “We already have stable contracts. Valewick isn’t exactly across the duchy.”
“I know,” Grace replied, fingers brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But you agreed to let me make my own decisions. And I feel like he has potential.”
She met Elyne’s eyes, cool and clear. “After all… he was the only merchant who even noticed I’m in charge here. The rest still think I'm just a child sitting in your shadow.”
Elyne’s expression shifted. Her frown faded, replaced by something more thoughtful. She stepped away from the dress and let out a quiet sigh.
“Very well. I did promise, didn’t I?”
Grace raised an eyebrow. “Promise what?”
“Your mother gave you control over estate commerce,” Elyne said. “But only once I judged you ready.”
She didn’t sound upset. Just tired. Maybe a little… impressed?
“And you’ve been keeping your side of the deal,” Elyne added. “Lessons. Etiquette. Reports. You’ve earned some leeway.”
Grace almost smiled. Of course, I have.
She’d played her part—dutiful heir in public, student in private—and in return, Elyne had handed her something far more valuable than praise: real access. The kind of access that meant power.
And now she had the right to make decisions. Like picking her own merchant.
Grace gave a satisfied hum. “Thank you, Elyne. You won’t regret it.”
Elyne exhaled slowly. “I better not. If it turns into a disaster, you’re cleaning it up.”
“Obviously.”
Grace stood, smoothing the front of her dress as she walked over to the window. The estate grounds were quiet. Trees were blooming. Spring was finally here.
Elyne’s gaze drifted toward her, firm as always. “I’ve got something else to attend to. I saw you scheduled a second meeting today with Lady Callaire, in regard to that unruly boy, Leon?”
Grace looked out of the window, one hand brushing an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve. “Yes. She asked to see him. I thought it was only fair.”
“It was generous,” Elyne said, voice measured. “A year in the dungeon for striking a noble child. Frankly, some would call that lenient.”
Grace smiled faintly. “What is a year of rot when the alternative is death?”
Elyne didn’t laugh. She rarely did. “Just remember what I’ve told you: you don’t meet outsiders alone. If I’m not present, your knights are. Am I clear?”
Grace waved her hand. “Yes, yes. Perfectly clear, Elyne.”
“I mean it.”
“I know, Elyne. Really. It’s just Lady Callaire. An old woman who misses her apprentice. I thought it would be a nice gesture.”
That earned a small smile from Elyne. “I’m glad you see it that way. You’re too young for grudges.”
She said it softly, more to herself than to Grace, before turning toward the door.
“I’ll see you later for lessons,” she added. “And Grace, don’t try to mature too fast.”
Then she was gone, boots quiet against the polished floor.
Grace stared after her for a moment, then shrugged. “See ya.”
She looked toward the window again, but her thoughts stayed behind, on Elyne.
Elyne was... Elyne.
Grace had never truly understood where the affection came from. It was strange. Comforting, sometimes. But strange. She’d been her governess since Grace was two. Always nearby, always watching. But there was more to it. Always had been.
Recently, Grace had done some digging. Quiet reading. Subtle questions. House Marren, the name Elyne rarely mentioned, was old. Ancient, even. But weak now. Fading. The kind of house that lived on borrowed glory and quiet desperation.
And Elyne? A prodigy. A miracle child of that dying line.
Grace’s mother had pulled her straight into service as an enforcer. First of all, she wasn’t even a tutor or a real governess, just sixteen when she was given the title. Way too young for that kind of job. A proper governess wouldn’t usually be appointed before twenty-five, at the very least.
Ashford’s enforcers. Grace had read the term in a ledger. Dry military writing. But the deeper she looked, the darker it got.
They weren’t bodyguards. They were executioners. Operatives. The last whisper before a house fell silent.
Feared for their precision, their control, and above all, their lack of empathy.
So why did Elyne play this role? The caring sister, the gentle hand on her shoulder, the soft smile at the end of a lesson? Was she really affected? What game was she playing?
Or worse, Grace thought, what if it’s not a game at all? Well yeah, that would be a nightmare. If that dumb smile of hers was actually real... ugh. But jokes aside, I seriously need to be careful not to trust her too much. This stupid child body was already reacting to her—I could feel it, just from looking at her. At least I hope it’s the body… This sucks so hard. Why can’t I just be myself, without interference from anything or anyone.
The idea unsettled her. But she filed the thought away, she had a meeting to prepare for.
--::--
Rin sat beside Lady Callaire in the carriage, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
Callaire had paid two silver for the ride—more than she usually would, but this wasn’t the time to arrive in a dusty, rattling cart. It was a proper carriage from the noble district, with clean seats and polished steps. Appearances mattered, especially when approaching the Ashford Estate.
She still couldn’t quite believe the letter had arrived. A reply. A yes.
She had petitioned again, politely, humbly—and this time, by some twist of fate, permission had been granted. One visit. Supervised.
At first, she hadn’t told Rin. The girl already had enough weight on her shoulders. But hiding it didn’t feel right, and Rin… Rin wasn’t the kind of child you could shield with silence.
She had told her everything. About Leon. About what happened that day. How he snapped. How he struck the Duchess’s daughter.
Rin had gone pale, silent for nearly a full minute. Then she just nodded.
That was Rin. No tears. No dramatic outburst. Just quiet understanding, and maybe a deeper sadness than words could carry.
She’d been helping at the shop ever since. Quiet, diligent. Polishing shelves, packing salves, even learning how to mix simple balm tinctures. She barely spoke, but Callaire found herself talking more just to fill the silence. And maybe—just maybe—she didn’t feel quite so alone anymore.
The carriage rumbled beyond Valewick’s outer gate. Afternoon sun filtered through the curtains.
“So,” Callaire said gently, keeping her voice level, “you understand, right? When we arrive, stay at my side. Don’t wander, don’t speak unless spoken to. No matter what. Is that clear, Rin?”
Rin nodded once.
Callaire smiled faintly. “We’ll probably meet a guard who’ll take us down. A dungeon inside a noble estate can’t be that bad. Honestly, I’ve seen worse backrooms in the perfume district. So don’t look so sour.”
Rin didn’t answer, but Callaire caught the faintest twitch of her mouth. Not quite a smile. But something close.
She leaned back against the cushioned seat and looked out the window as the rolling hills gave way to paved stone roads, and the estate’s distant towers began to rise into view. Quietly, she reached over and rested a hand on Rin’s.
Just once. Then let it fall back to her lap.
The carriage came to a gentle stop before the smaller gate of the Ashford Estate. It wasn’t the grand entrance used by noble guests, this was the visitor’s access, meant for officials, messengers, and people like her. Functional. Guarded. Stone walls rising high above them.
Lady Callaire stepped down first, smoothing her robe as her boots touched the gravel. Rin followed silently; her eyes wide as she took in the towering estate grounds.
Callaire turned to the driver, a gruff man with a wide-brimmed cap and a tired look about him. “Wait here for us. We’ll need a return ride.”
The man scratched his jaw. “Only till sundown, ma’am. Then I’m headed back.”
“That’s fine,” Callaire replied. “We won’t be long.”
He gave a short nod and climbed back into the seat, pulling the reins just enough to steady the horses under a nearby tree.
With that settled, Lady Callaire turned toward the small visitor’s gate, Rin quietly trailing behind her. The girl didn’t say a word, but she stayed close—good. She was listening.
A guard stood at the entrance, fully armored, the Ashford crest gleaming faintly on his pauldron. He stepped forward as they approached, blocking the path with a single armored hand.
“State your name and business.”
“Lady Callaire,” she said evenly, reaching into her robe and presenting the sealed invitation. “We’re here by approval of Lady Grace of Ashford. For a supervised visit.”
The guard took the parchment, broke the seal, and scanned it with a practiced eye. A beat passed in silence before he gave a short grunt and nodded.
“You’re expected. Wait here,” the guard said curtly. “Someone will lead you in.”
He turned without another word, leaving them alone near the gate. Rin fidgeted slightly, her fingers brushing the side seam of her borrowed coat.
After a short wait, the sound of armored steps echoed from the corridor ahead. A tall knight emerged, clad head to toe in black Ashford armor. His helm obscured his face, but the weight of his presence was unmistakable.
He stopped in front of them, towering above both. “Lady Callaire?”
“I am,” she replied, lifting her chin.
He nodded once. “Follow me. Her Grace is already waiting.”
Rin glanced up at Callaire, confused. Callaire blinked. Her Grace?
“I was under the impression,” she began carefully, “that this was just a supervised visit. I didn’t realize the Lady herself—”
The knight cut her off with a voice as firm as steel. “Lady Grace of Ashford honors you by personally supervising the visit. Are you truly impolite enough to decline such courtesy?”
Callaire stiffened. “Of course not.”
“Good,” the knight replied without missing a beat. “Then before we proceed, a security check.”
He gestured behind him. A second, smaller guard appeared, already holding a scanning device marked with light runes.
“Leave all weapons on the bench to your right,” the knight instructed. “And remove any enchanted items. Mana pearls included.”
His gaze landed firmly on the bracelet at Callaire’s wrist—six softly glowing pearls set in silver. “I assume you’re a Circle Zero mage?” he asked dryly. “No Core. Mana pearls to boost spellwork?”
Callaire nodded, a touch of color rising to her cheeks. “Yes. For minor alchemical spells only.”
“Then you won’t need them today,” he replied flatly. “This estate does not permit unlicensed casting near the cells.”
She unclasped the bracelet and handed it over, placing it carefully on the tray provided. Rin stepped forward next as the scanning device swept over her, neck to boots. The smaller guard gave a small grunt.
“She’s clean.”
The black-armored knight gestured once more. “Then come. Her Grace does not enjoy waiting.”
Lady Callaire smoothed her robe and offered Rin a brief, silent nod.
Together, they stepped into the Ashford interior, the doors closing behind them with a low echo of finality.
They followed the tall knight in silence, their steps echoing faintly on the polished stone paths. After a brief walk across the inner grounds, they reached a sturdy side building flanked by narrow windows and tall, dark banners, the prison wing.
Inside, the air turned colder, the walls switching to plain stone without decoration. Functional. Stern. Guards passed them as they moved through the hallway, some merely nodding, others openly watching the newcomers. None spoke.
Ahead, a thick door came into view, flanked by two armored knights. The tall knight stopped and addressed them curtly.
“Her Grace. Her guests have arrived.”
One of the door guards nodded and disappeared through the doorway. The tension settled like frost.
Lady Callaire, without needing instruction, adjusted her stance. She was no stranger to court customs, minor noble or not, she had been born and raised in the Valewick noble district. This wasn’t her boutique anymore. This was the Ashford Estate. A different world. And she would treat it with the respect it demanded.
She dropped to her knees. Grace might be five, but she was the daughter of the Duchess. That meant everything here.
Beside her, Rin followed suit, silent but watchful, lowering her gaze to the polished floor.
The door creaked open again.
Footsteps. Light and measured. The hush of fabric brushing stone. Then a voice, bright, amused, and carried with effortless command.
“Raise your heads. I was awaiting you for our little dungeon trip.”
They obeyed, heads lifting slowly.
And there she was.
Grace of Ashford.
She stood with perfect posture, a crimson dress cascading around her like a painting in motion. Her golden curls framed her face, a glimmering diamond resting against her collarbone on a chain finer than spider silk.
But it was her eyes that caught Callaire.
Blue—impossibly clear—with a hint of something deeper behind them. A golden shimmer that danced just at the edge of sight, like sunrise on still water. Eyes that didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate. That looked through people, not at them.
Callaire couldn’t look away.
It wasn’t the same girl who had stood in her shop weeks ago. Back then, those eyes had been cold, sharp. Now they were warm. Serene.
And that, somehow, was worse.
Grace smiled, welcoming, unnervingly calm.
“I was touched by how much you care for your commoner apprentice, Lady Callaire,” she said cheerfully. “So of course, I couldn’t resist granting your wish and checking on things together with you.”
It was a warm tone. Polite. Gracious.
But Callaire felt the shift beneath it, something poised, practiced. The weight of power behind a child’s smile.
She bowed her head again, just slightly.
“Thank you, my Lady,” she said softly. “I’m honored.”
Grace tilted her head. “Good. Then shall we?”
Grace walked with practiced ease, each step echoing lightly off the stone as the small procession moved deeper into the estate’s prison wing. Her red dress swayed softly with her steps, catching the torchlight like velvet flame.
“So,” Grace said, casually glancing at Rin beside Lady Callaire. “And who might this quiet little shadow be?”
Callaire gave a brief nod, her voice measured. “My second apprentice. Her name is Rin. She’s been assisting me since Leon’s... absence.”
“Ah,” Grace replied, voice lilting with polite curiosity. “Of course. It’s only natural she’d want to visit her predecessor.” She glanced back at Rin, eyes flicking over her with a calm, unreadable gaze.
Rin said nothing.
Grace didn’t press. She simply smiled again and returned her attention to the descending path.
As they moved further down, passing guarded checkpoints and barred doors, the air grew heavier, cooler and laced with the scent of old stone and sealed magic. The silence deepened with each level.
After the third descent, Grace looked sideways at Callaire. “I’ve never actually been this deep myself,” she said lightly. “Quite impressive, isn’t it?”
Callaire nodded after a beat. “Yes, my Lady.”
But inside, she felt anything but impressed. The scale, the cold, the depth, it wasn’t grandeur she saw. It was control. Isolation. Fear, built stone by stone.
She stole a glance at Grace, whose calm expression betrayed none of that. The child looked pleased. Curious, even.
And that, Callaire thought, a chill crawling up her spine, is what’s most unsettling.
Not the prison. Not the silence. But the girl beside her who called it all impressive.
She looked again to Rin. The girl’s expression hadn’t changed. Still silent. Still entirely ignored by the knights walking beside them. Good girl, Callaire thought. Just stay quiet.
They reached the level in silence, stone walls marked by soot, iron doors lined like grim teeth along the corridor, and torches flickering low between them.
Grace came to a halt.
“So,” she said, her voice soft and casual, “we should be here.”
Lady Callaire blinked. Should be?
The girl had said earlier she'd never been this deep before, yet they’d walked without hesitation. No guidance, no signs, no questions to the guards, all of whom remained a step behind, silent, like shadows. Still, maybe Grace had studied the map beforehand, maybe she’d memorized the layout. Maybe.
She pushed the thought aside as Grace stopped at a specific door.
Instead of opening it, Grace turned toward Rin.
Her blue eyes settled on the girl with quiet intensity, studying her. Then she turned her gaze to Callaire.
“Lady Callaire,” Grace said gently, “are you aware that your apprentice has quite the talent?”
Callaire blinked again, caught off guard. “She is... a good apprentice, yes.”
Grace’s expression didn’t change. She merely shrugged, as if brushing off the moment, and held up a heavy key.
With a graceful step forward, she placed the key into Callaire’s hands. “It’s your visit, after all. So do me the honor, won’t you?” She smiled, polite and warm.
Lady Callaire opened the cell slowly, the iron groaning softly on its hinges. It was colder here, the kind of cold that clung to stone and never left. The torchlight didn’t reach far inside. Just shadows. Straw. And the curled shape of a boy on the floor.
This isn’t what I expected, she thought grimly. This wasn’t how I imagined it would be.
But she couldn't change it, and now she only regretted not leaving Rin at home.
She took a step inside. The straw crunched beneath her foot, and the smell hit her, a sharp blend of old sweat, mold, and something metallic.
“By Iras…” she murmured under her breath.
Then Rin pushed past her.
“Wait—” Callaire began, but it was too late.
The girl dropped to her knees beside him, arms slipping under his shoulders as if she could hold together what time and isolation had undone. Her tears fell freely, streaking down her cheeks as she clutched him.
Leon stirred. His eyes opened, unfocused at first, dull. Then slowly, they sharpened, flicking to Rin’s face.
He blinked once. Twice.
“…Who are you?” he asked, voice hoarse and bewildered.
Rin froze, and Callaire’s heart sank. Then Rin’s grip tightened around him, her voice barely a whisper. “What did they do to you…”
Her eyes locked on the bruises, the cuts—but worst of all, the shoulder. Or what was left of it. Like something had torn straight through the bone, the wound sealed with old blood and clumsy healing magic. She felt bile rise in her throat.
Lady Callaire turned away from the sight, hand trembling at her side. Her voice came sharp and low. “What does that mean? You said he wouldn’t be harmed. You promised—”
She stopped. The words died in her throat as she remembered who she was speaking to.
Grace stood just inside the doorway now. The knights remained outside. The girl’s hands were folded neatly before her, and her expression—those blue eyes—held something that looked like sadness. Or maybe… curiosity.
“What an unsightly sight,” Grace said softly, tilting her head. “But I didn’t know he was in such a state. We should ask him what occurred.”
Rin shot her a look of pure hostility, her small frame still curled around Leon’s.
Callaire forced herself to breathe. Yes. The girl couldn’t have known. She was too young. She’d been polite. She was kind. She was just… a child.
She turned back to Leon, trying to find steadiness in her voice. “Leon, what happened? Why are you in this state…?”
Leon blinked again, as if her voice only just reached him. His gaze drifted, unfocused, then caught on Grace.
And his face lit up, like he’d seen the sun. He smiled, weakly, and Grace offered him a small nod. No warmth. Just… acknowledgment.
“I’m fine,” he rasped, voice cracked but steady. “Nothing happened to me.”
He paused, then continued, “It was my fault. When the guards brought me down, I slipped. Fell down the stairs. Landed on some old iron bars, they tore my shoulder apart.”
He looked at Grace again, as if seeking her approval, before finishing.
“They did everything they could. But I’m a prisoner, not a guest. So… it’s fine.”
Rin stood tall now, fury radiating off her small frame. “Bullshit,” she whispered. Her voice trembled with rage.
She turned to Grace, eyes blazing. “Step aside. I’m taking him home.”
Callaire froze. “Rin, don’t—” she tried, turning to stop her. But Rin already had Leon under one arm, her stance shifting, braced for a fight. Then came the sound.
Bang.
The iron door slammed shut behind them.
Callaire spun back around.
Grace stood calmly in front of it, her small hand still resting against the heavy iron. The knights were on the other side.
She had closed it herself…
Why?
Grace exhaled, and her tone was soft. Too soft.
“I can’t let you take him,” she said quietly. “He hasn’t redeemed his sins. He struck me, after all.”
Her blue eyes shimmered with what looked like genuine sorrow. But then something changed.
Her posture straightened. Her expression shifted. The sadness drained from her face, replaced by something cold, something amused. Her gaze turned sharp, condescending.
“It wasn’t easy making him mine, you know,” she said with a faint smile. “Right, Leon?”
And without hesitation, Leon answered:
“Yes, my goddess!”
Silence fell like a hammer.
Callaire felt it like ice down her spine.
Rin froze. Her fingers twitched, and then she moved. She reached into her hair and yanked out a long silver pin, her stance dropping low. The street rat inside her surfaced in a heartbeat.
“You little shit,” she growled.
“No!” Callaire lunged for her arm, panic in her voice. “Rin—stop!”
But without her mana pearls, she was just an aging noblewoman. She grabbed too slow, reacted too late.
With a blur of motion, Rin launched herself toward Grace, needle gleaming in her hand, murder in her eyes.
And Callaire knew, with terrible certainty, that if Rin touched the child, none of them would walk out of this cell alive.
The next moments unfolded in slow motion for Lady Callaire.
Callaire saw Rin leap, lean and fast, years of street survival carved into her frame. But before the girl could reach Grace, everything changed.
Callaire felt it. Tasted it.
Mana.
The air thickened, the room itself shifted with mere presence. The kind that made the bones ache. The kind that belonged to mages with cores.
Grace had a Mana Core.
She was never in danger.
Callaire’s instincts screamed, but she couldn’t move fast enough. She barely took a breath before it happened.
Rin reached Grace, and then stopped mid-air.
An invisible force struck her mid-air, hard. In one blink, she was in front of Grace; in the next, she was flying backwards. Her body slammed into the stone wall with a sickening crack, the sound echoing off the dungeon floor.
“Rin!” Callaire screamed.
She couldn’t understand it, not fully. Her thoughts scattered like birds. She’d been a noble, a teacher, a perfumer. She’d known war and peace and regret.
But not this. Not this girl, after they took Leon from her.
She turned toward Rin, slumped, bloodied, motionless on the stone. Her bones bent in ways they shouldn’t. Her mouth hung open in a silent cry. A red streak ran down the wall behind her.
Callaire ran.
Both of them—Leon and Rin—were hers. They had brought light into the dusty corners of her life, reminded her what it felt like to matter. How it felt to care about others. They were good kids. Better than most.
And Grace had…
A surge.
It bloomed behind her like heat off a kiln. Void.
Her eyes locked with Rin’s, just for a moment. Just enough to see the girl’s lips move—
“Run.”
But there was no time.
Callaire’s body seized. Her thoughts cracked apart like shattered glass.
I’m sorry… she thought, one last time. …I couldn’t protect you.
Pink light from behind touched her… and then the pain came. Not heat, not cold — just erasure. Her mind faltered as her body unraveled. She saw Rin’s face one last time. Then nothing. Only darkness awaited her.
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