Perwyn (i)Mature

“Stay here.” Perwyn ordered, “listen, this time.” And rounded his mother to climb the steps up to the two remaining guards beside the empty throne.
                Only Lorrick and Meln remained of the dozen guards that had stood there previously. Looking back, Red and Blue stood to one side of the Lady Layla, who eyed him quickly.
                “How is the situation at the docks. Did Bibry return yet?” He asked, in a hushed tone.
                Meln avoided his gaze as usual, but Lorrick looked him straight in the eye as always. Bad news then.
                “He did, aye. Not long left neither.” Lorrick cleared his throat. “The bastard got away again, sadly. Though why you sent an Egerton of Groisvenoire I’ll never—“
                “—the direct approach clearly isn’t the right way to go. Where did they target this time?” Perwyn swallowed the sweetleaf. Suddenly he wasn’t in the mood for sweets, but at least the throbbing had subsided.
                “The granary. Apparently Bibry almost got the person but they set it on fire and jumped out of the window. When they went round to chase him, they were long gone from the alley.
                “F-fire huh?” Is there a connection here? First the upper warehouses, then The Thrilmere in Gin Pit Village and now a granary. What links them—
                “He thinks maybe there’s an accomplice. Witnesses heard talking but no sign elsewise. I think it requires more subtlety than the likes of Bibry can muster—“
                Perwyn grunted in pain and held up his hand before moving it to his pouch. He took out a roll. Rare I need to take so many so quickly.
                “No talking. I need to think. Back to work. Good job.”
                He had to place a hand on the throne to steady himself as his vision swam, then he saw something, a trick of the light, a figure, or a shadow, walking towards the throne, using the light that streamed from the windows like a shroud, steel drawn and poised. He slipped, but didn’t remember moving. Blood soaked his hand and when he looked again, the figure was gone. “Sir.” A voice in the distance said. “Sir, what is going on.” The voice asked. “Sir Perwyn—“
                A hand grabbed his shoulder.
                Sir Perwyn drew his sword and pointed it towards the man’s hand.
                Lorrick backed away. “Sir please, I meant no offense, the decision is yours to make—and you looked unsteady, I was trying to help.”
                Perwyn couldn’t tell what it was the man saw. He looked back at his hand, but it was bloodless and he was wearing gauntlets again. He sheathed his sword.
                “As you were. I must go.”
                For what felt like the hundredth time today, he took the long walk, as his mother finished speaking to the king and joined him once more.
                “Artur, with me.” Perwyn called.
                “You don’t expect me to link arms do you?” He moved quickly to keep up to Perwyn’s other side.
                “This one is impertinent. You would do well to beat it out of him. If he were to remain yours, that is.” Lady Layla’s icy tone was something to behold. Did you not get your wish mother?

The End

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