Ch 5: The Library

Villages are full of superstitious fools. It’s just their nature. You get a bunch of inbred buffoons that have been tilling the same soil for generations together for long enough and eventually they start seeing coincidences everywhere. Suddenly the rooster cawing is what’s raising up the sun instead of the rooster reacting to the sun rising. The men and women in the palace are much the same of course, they’re just far better dressed.

• Darnassus Ryland in a letter to Abigail Rowland

The following morning Solomon awoke to a knock on his door and breakfast being set on his desk. He wasn’t sure which maid had awoken him, but he gave a bleary-eyed thank you as he drew himself out of bed. He splashed some water in a basin by the bed on his face to freshen up and sat down at his desk. As he sipped his coffee and ate he began making the final touches to his correspondence. He had the obligatory letter to Chorde and his mother, as well as a letter to Bernice, one to Edmure, and a few to potential business partners. At this point they would just be simple letters of introduction, but he hoped they would grow into something more concrete over time.

He finished his breakfast. It was the exact one he usually took back home. Heavily spiced eggs, toast and rich coffee. The spice was a bit different, but still quite good. Claire, his new cook, must’ve asked about his preferences.

Once he was done, he double-checked the list of supplies he had put together along with his more knowledgeable servants before he’d left. It took a lot of material to keep a manor running, and a lot of gold. Luckily he’d given himself plenty of cushion when he’d forged his father’s will. He smiled at the memory, and took another moment to look around the room, his room. It was nice to have something that was his own. He’d have to make his own mark on it.

He went over to his closet and opened it. He would still be trapped in his black mourning attire for some time, but he layered a dark purple vest under his coat anyway. It took him a bit longer to get dressed on his own, and for a moment he missed Edmure, but he pushed that to the side. A pathetic thing to miss having a person help you dress.

With fresh clothes on and his hair combed he began to walk toward the door when he hesitated. He looked back at the odd cloaked statue in the corner and walked over to it, taking the walking stick in his hand. He liked the weight of it, and as it was his home now that meant everything in it was his as well.

He twirled it once as he walked back to the door and decided to open it very quietly. He managed it with little noise, and then he closed it just as quietly. He walked softly down the hall, taking a few moments to peer into the guest rooms. They were just as bare as his own room, but each did seem to have a distinct color. One had walls of lavender, one of deep blue, and one of dark red. It seemed an odd thing based on his uncle’s clear aesthetic preference for minimal decoration, but perhaps he’d never made any changes to the original decorations because he never had any guests.

He continued creeping until he reached the edge of the living area and stood there for a few moments. When he was young, he’d made it a habit to sneak all around the Morrow estate. He wasn’t sure of exactly why he did it, but no one ever found out. They were never paying enough attention to care where he was. He’d seen a lot in his sneaking. Many things he shouldn’t have. Many he wished he hadn’t. What he’d learned often proved invaluable though.

He stood there for a few moments. He could hear some movement, some cleaning, and the lighting of the oil.

“What do you think?” asked one of the maids. He wasn’t sure which, he couldn’t yet identify all of them by voice.

“I like it so far. Don’t have to share quarters with four other people, and it’s clean. The master seems kind as well. I feel like I never saw him before at the manor.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

That sounded like Melissa, the tall maid with the red hair.

“You don’t think it’s a little… I don’t know, provincial?”

“Of course it is, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“I don’t know. When I heard of the manor I was hoping for something a bit more grand. The house’s status reflects ours after all.”

“I’m rather certain it reflects the master’s actually.”

It seemed like there were mostly positive feelings. He also didn’t disagree that the manor was lesser than the Morrow estate. The Morrow estate was likely one of the finest in the country though, so that was like comparing a horse to a rat. He walked back a few steps carefully, then walked normally out into the sitting room.

“Good morning Melissa, Nelda.”