Caelum Vance
Thomas came to me an hour after sunset with a tense face that meant bad news that must be delivered carefully.
I was standing at the open window of the south gallery, the night air coming through cool and clean, the courtyard below lit by torches. I had been standing there since the moment the sun dropped — that first breath of the evening that I had never, in four centuries, taken for granted.
The day was a cage. The night was mine.
Tonight the night felt insufficient.
“My lord,” Thomas said.
“Tell me.”
“Aldric has not reported in.” A pause, carefully placed. “He was due at the eastern waystation before midnight. He didn’t arrive.”
Aldric. Eleven years in my service. Not a man who missed reports.
“The other scouts?” I asked.
“Two reported in as expected. The third
