The man's eyes reddened all at once, as though some long-buried tide of grief had risen without warning.
"That… that was my father," he said, his voice trembling like a leaf in a winter wind. "I have searched for you, my lady, for two full years."
At his words, Caelith stood stunned, as if struck by a sudden revelation.
The man drew in a steadying breath, mastering his surging emotions before clasping his hands in formal salute. "My name is Baron Lucas Ostenton, heir to the Ostenton Brocade Atelier of the Eastern Quarter. You once saved my father's life—I have long wished to find you, that I might offer my gratitude in person."
The Ostenton Brocade Atelier.
Caelith knew of it well. It was the grandest embroidery house in the city, its works worthy of royal courts, its gates closed to all but the most exceptional. Ordinary folk could scarcely dream of entering.
