Chapter 22: Of Windblown Sketches and Stubborn Curiosity
Chapter 21: Of Windblown Sketches and Stubborn Curiosity
Evander exhaled again.
There was a pause between them, filled only by the quiet murmur of the lake and the distant echo of palace bells drifting faintly through the trees.
At length, Evander straightened.
"Well," he said, "since you have so thoroughly ruined my chances of returning to sleep, and before Robin and Mathias start a war on enemy territory, we may as well go back to my chambers."
Tommy blinked.
"Oh."
Evander gestured vaguely toward the palace.
"There will be no point lingering here now."
Tommy nodded and hesitated before he spoke.
"Your Grace... are you certain you are well enough to walk?"
Evander stared at him.
"I am not dying, Tommy. And I am standing right now."
"I am aware of that," Tommy said earnestly. "I simply wish to ensure—"
"There is no cause for alarm, you stubborn lad," Evander interrupted gently. "It is merely a mild headache."
Tommy swallowed. Then he nodded again.
"Yes, Your Grace."
They turned together, beginning to walk up the narrow path that curved away from the hollow and toward the trimmed lawns beyond.
A sudden gust of wind swept down from the higher ridge, rustling the leaves overhead and stirring the reeds along the water’s edge.
Something light and pale lifted abruptly from the grass near the bank.
It fluttered.
Twisted.
And struck Tommy squarely in the face.
He yelped in surprise and staggered half a step back.
Evander chuckled at that. Tommy was scared of almost everything, after all. Even myths that were not true, so something like this would spook him.
"I do apologise," Evander said cheerfully. "The grounds appear to have developed hostile tendencies."
Tommy scowled and peeled the thin object away from his cheek.
Before he could examine it, Evander had already stepped forward.
He bent, retrieved the fallen paper from Tommy’s hand, and turned it over.
The faint smile that touched his lips did not fade; instead, it deepened, making Tommy frown.
"Oh," he murmured.
Tommy leaned closer despite himself.
"What is it, Your Grace?"
Evander did not answer immediately. He studied the page with quiet attention.
It was a sketch, and he suspected he knew who had drawn it. It was of the lake, and the sketch looked old, too.
The curves of the trees surrounding the hollow were captured with surprising accuracy. The bend of the lake. The low stone edging near the reeds.
Even the suggestion of sunlight drifting across the water had been translated into faint strokes of graphite.
It was unmistakably the same place.
And unmistakably not a professional hand, but it was beautiful all the same.
Tommy’s brow furrowed as he tried stretching to Evander’s height so he could see what was on the paper.
"It smells nice," he observed suddenly.
Evander’s gaze flicked up.
"What?"
"The paper," Tommy clarified, entirely earnest. "It smells like soap. Or flowers. Or... something. I don’t know, but it smells nice."
Evander’s lips twitched.
"You are far too perceptive for an attendant."
Tommy straightened.
"Your Grace, that is hardly—"
Evander folded the paper carefully in half.
Then again.
And again.
Tommy’s eyes widened. He reached for it without thinking. Evander lifted it neatly out of reach.
"Down, boy," he said to Tommy, who just scowled.
"I am not some dog," Tommy told him.
Evander smiled at that. "Just bark and you’ll be one."
Tommy was used to Evander’s words. "I just wanted to have a look," he told Evander.
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because," Evander said mildly, "you are far too nosy for your own good."
Tommy opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then huffed in mild offence.
"I am not nosy," he insisted. "I am attentive."
Evander hummed.
"That is what all nosy people say."
Tommy made a face.
They resumed walking.
Evander moved unhurriedly, his stride loose and unbothered, while Tommy kept pace at his side with the faint air of someone who remained acutely aware that he was escorting both a duke and a walking inconvenience.
After several steps, Tommy glanced sideways again.
"Your Grace?"
"Yes, Tommy."
"May I see it?"
"No."
Tommy sighed.
"You are being very secretive."
Evander smiled to himself.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"I find that refreshing."
Tommy’s brows knitted together.
He decided to make another attempt and cleared his throat.
"Your Grace, with all due respect—"
"Which is always considerable," Evander murmured.
"If that parchment belongs to someone, you ought to return it."
Evander’s steps slowed.
"You really think you are sneaky, right?"
Tommy sighed.
"I am not going to show you what is on the paper."
"But it has a nice scent, you know... I should probably check if it’s poison," Tommy told him.
Evander shook his head. "How are you both a worrywart and also a nosy lad? How did you even become an attendant?"
Tommy smiled. "You picked me, Your Grace."
Evander sighed at that. "That I did. What a mistake I made."
Tommy brightened slightly.
"So you will give it back? I can help you find who owns it and also check if it’s poison or not."
Evander resumed walking.
"No."
Tommy groaned softly.
"Your Grace..."
Evander did not look at him.
He watched the pale outline of the palace rising slowly through the trees ahead, its stone façade catching the morning light.
"You should know, Tommy, I have no intention of giving this back to the owner, and yes, I know who it belongs to—and that is one more reason why I will not show it to your nosy self," Evander told him.
They reached the edge of the manicured grounds, where the wildness of the hollow softened into carefully trimmed hedges and pale gravel paths.
Servants moved in the distance, their figures small and orderly against the wide stone terraces.
Tommy tried once more.
"May I at least know what it is?"
Evander slid both hands into his pockets.
"No."
Tommy groaned.
"Your Grace, please—"
Evander kept walking.
Tommy hurried after him.
"You cannot simply take found objects and refuse to explain them!"
Evander smiled.
And did precisely that—putting the folded parchment safely into his pocket and refusing, with gentle finality, to give it to him.
