For a disconcerting moment, Farek looked at his window from his contorted position amidst bed-sheets and cushions. He was sweaty and his throat was dry and he couldn’t tell from the overcast horizon out there what time of day it was. He had overslept—of that much he was certain. There was light on the mountains to the east, in the direction of Noress-That-Was, but the city still seemed dim. Was it going to rain, at last?
“Guard,” he called, sitting on his bedside with his elbows on his knees.
His sentry opened the outer doors of the suite; his voice echoed through the anteroom, the living area, and into Farek’s bedchamber. “Sir?”
“When is it?” he called. “How long until the audience?”
The guard cleared his throat. “It’s two hours after sunrise, sir. Audience is soon.”
Farek groaned and left tendrils of bedsheets grasping across the thick carpet as he crossed to the wardrobe. He heard the heavy outer door gently grind closed. If it had been raining, goose skin might’ve broken out across his bare shoulders and arms, but a warm draft brushed his bare torso as he chose out his clothes. He selected a stiff, linen-lined leather tunic. The embossed Gallendris emblem in the centre of the chest was a sea serpent coiled around the old family sword. He wore sandals today, for he was not leaving the estate as far as he knew, and he strapped his old family sword to his waist once more.
There wasn’t time to wait for the servants to bring him something for breakfast, so Farek marched forth from his room without hesitation. The sentry, who he recognized as Varron, followed from a distance, but he as close enough to make Farek feel like bedsheets were still tangled around his waist, weighing on his senses. He was only guarded on their Coin Hill estate, not in the streets of Soros. The warehouse he usually worked at was heavily guarded of course, but that garrison didn’t protect him specifically.
Of course, Farek wasn’t working at his warehouse this day. Jannia Gallendris had been summoned by the Matriarchs to meet with Prince Lerran of Sheld in the village of Squora. It was quite a trip, first to Noress to discuss their own situation in the capital. Then Farek’s sister would leave Var Nordos and land on the continent to travel the reportedly horrid Barren Road. Jann had left two days ago and could not return for probably a month.
The kitchens of their estate were at the rear of the first floor, so the grease and blood and smells would run into the ground instead of the woodwork. This morning, they smelled only of warm seed bread. He enjoyed a slice with some strawberry jam for a quick breakfast. Of course, he couldn’t enjoy it in peace.
“Brother!” Simisar called, wandering through the wide archway that connected kitchen to great hall. The architecture on Var Nordos was distinctive, with enormous grey bricks in the walls and spires, and small, black, angled slabs composing the arches and patterned panels and masonic trims. She wore a thin blue cotton shirt dress, with a loose frilly hem.
Of course Farek found the walls more interesting than his insistent and high-energy sibling.
Simi grabbed a slice of the dark loaf and folded it into her mouth with a smile. She pushed an errant lock of short brown hair behind her ear and watched Farek as she chewed. He lifted his ale as he finished his mouthful. Simi leaned back on the stool she had taken—they sat at the small wooden table in the kitchen while the cooks frantically tried to accommodate them. “Did you sleep well?” she asked.
“Yes, but too long,” Farek said. “Yourself?”
Simi shrugged. “Not long enough. Listen, I want to have some company this evening, but you’re in charge as our wise sister ordered.”
“Oh, a man friend?” Farek asked. He’d always been protective of his younger sibling, but not in a disrespectful or controlling way.
“No, nothing like that,” Simi giggled. She nibbled on the edge of her next slice of bread.
Farek sipped his ale. “What then?” he asked.
“We have the best estate in town, and I just want to invite some of my friends over. We’ll keep it in the Great Hall, so don’t worry about your privacy or whatever,” Simi explained. She took another bite.
Jannia wouldn’t allow it, Farek knew. That was why his sister was asking him, now. “Alright, Simi,” he said. “But you clean up whatever mess you make, and if something happens, it’s your responsibility. I won’t answer to Jann about it.”
Simi grinned and took a drink. “Thank you, Farek,” she chirped, and strode out of the kitchen. Her loose dress spun as she left.
Farek sighed. He finished the last bite of his breakfast and finally climbed the steps to the courtroom. The Gallendris business, the Bank of Soros, was operated out of this large chamber, with its blank wooden table and high-backed chairs. Benches—or pews, perhaps—lined the room, while the tall dais and table at the head of the room overlooked it all. The other board members were already there. The oldest, Elgra, looked at Farek and sighed as he strode down the central aisle.
“Sorry, friends,” Farek said. He had seen them twice in the last week at meetings like this. It was dry. Boring. Not because it wasn’t a party or a bar—as the public thought of Farek. It was dull by its very nature.
Today they had an appointment with Lord Paral Mavagar. Farek gave the young man a fresh look as his staff and he approached down the aisle of the courtroom. Paral wore a long grey robe that wrinkled and faded to rusty green as its length reached the ground. Cinched at the waist with a brown silk belt, his attire was adorned on each shoulder with an intricate copper plate of some polished, flowery design. Paral’s short brown beard and copper skin stood out only because the brown and green of the garb was at his legs, not his face. As it was, his face was shrewd and distinct, and he looked at Farek calmly as he sat in the front seat and his staff filed in behind him.
“I come before you, my lord Gallendris,” Paral intoned, “to request a withdrawal from the Bank.”
“Of how much?” Farek asked, lifting a quill over a chalked parchment page. It was a warm day, and the ink dripped once, despite his encouraged dab in the inkwell. He looked back down from the table to the seated lord.
Paral smiled slyly. “A large sum,” he said. “Twelve hundred Grey Sea equivalent.”
Farek looked down at the parchment. “That’s a small fortune, Lord Mavagar,” he said. Grey Sea copper coins were a common trade currency abroad, while the bank dealt in Gallendris stamped gold. Farek was well versed in both values. He returned the quill to its well and regarded Paral with a shrug. “Why do you need this much?”
“It is a private investment of mine,” Paral said. By his mannerisms, he looked down on Farek, even though he sat lower than the lord of Soros presently. He tilted his head, bored. At least he didn’t speak rudely too.
Jannia would have grilled him, Farek knew, but he doubted Paral would tell him much. “Leave us. All of you,” Farek said, glancing at Elgra. Begrudgingly, the Bank staff left and Paral gave a wave dismissing his own men. When they were alone at last, Farek’s voice echoed off the walls the same as it had before, but for only Paral’s ears to hear. “You cannot ask for a withdrawal of this size without giving a reason.”
Paral smirked. “Yes, I can,” he said. “It’s already my money.”
Farek sighed. The Bank was a delicately run organization and this was a substantial transaction. Unlike many strictly financial businesses, the Bank was also the government in Soros, which is why Lords usually had to ask permission. It was a tenuous arrangement—the money was technically Paral’s but he had agreed to give it to the Bank temporarily for use by the city or his House as the needs arose. To hand over the money wouldn’t cripple the government in any way, but it was a substantial loss and, as such, Jannia would likely demand to know what sort of returns to expect. Without knowing the business Paral now sought, it was impossible. Farek cleared his throat. “Give me a day to consult my staff and arrange the transfer, then.”
“Very well,” Paral said, standing up. “I’ll be back for my money tomorrow. Good day, Lord Farek.”
After the door closed behind him, Farek cursed loudly before standing up. Regardless of what research he could compile between now and the next day, he would have to give Paral his money on the morrow. He had a lot of paperwork to do now, he realized. Why did Jannia choose me? He stormed forth from the court room.