-Lunos, Castle of Linda Lunos – Winter of 7335-
The great hall of Lunos Castle was rarely full. The long table that occupied the centre of the room could seat thirty people, but most days only Linda and her servants used it. That night, however, every seat was occupied.
The candles in the iron chandeliers flickered with the drafts coming through the cracks in the walls. The tapestries on the walls – scenes of hunting and ancient battles – seemed to come alive with the dancing shadows. The smell of roast meat and mulled wine filled the air.
Linda Lunos presided at the head, her silver hair pinned in an elaborate bun, wearing a polar bear fur coat over a dark blue dress. Her light eyes scanned the table with a calmness that hid her tension. To her right, Luna, in a light dress, her hair loose over her shoulders. To her left, the empty seat of Merius – he had not yet arrived.
Zirinos sat beside Luna, in a position that was not one of honour, but close enough to show the confidence Linda placed in him. He wore dark, simple clothes, but his gold-and-blood hair drew the attention of everyone who looked his way. Some barons looked with admiration; others with envy; some with distrust.
"The hero of Endomyar," murmured a grey-bearded man seated in the middle of the table. It was Sanderá, one of the vassals loyal to Linda. "He killed Trussum with his own hands, they say."
"They say many things," Zirinos replied without turning. "Some are true. Others are just stories to put children to sleep."
"And you?" asked another baron, younger, with dark hair and attentive eyes. It was Tásda. "Are you a hero or a story?"
"I am what war made of me."
The barons exchanged glances. Silence fell.
---
The hall door creaked. Merius Derylini entered, late, his dark cloak covered in snow. His face, red from the cold, was impassive. With him came a woman with light hair, green eyes, and a smile that did not reach her eyes – Nalía, Linda's sister.
"Sorry for the delay," said Merius, sitting in the empty seat next to his wife. "Business in Derylini took longer than expected."
"Business," repeated Linda, without inflection. "Or pleasure?"
Merius did not answer. He just poured himself wine.
Nalía sat beside her brother-in-law, her green eyes fixed on Luna.
"You look beautiful, niece," she said, with a sweet voice that hid something. "The groom will be lucky."
"I have no groom," Luna replied dryly.
"Not yet." Nalía took a sip of wine. "Baron Refibus has a son. Strong, healthy, from a good family."
"Violent, arrogant, and expelled from Decatry," added Linda, her voice cold. "My daughter will not marry a monster."
Nalía smiled. The smile did not reach her eyes.
"Monsters also need heirs, sister."
Silence weighed. Zirinos watched the exchange without intervening.
---
The barons began to arrive.
Sanderá (grey hair, deep eyes) sat near Linda, in a gesture of loyalty. He was the oldest, the most experienced, and spoke little. When he did, everyone listened.
Tásda (dark hair, attentive eyes) sat beside Sanderá. He was younger, ambitious, but had not yet chosen a side.
Móber (pot-bellied, rosy face, ringed fingers) took a seat in the middle of the table, surrounded by two servants who served him in silence. He was rich, influential, and everyone knew he wanted Linda's place.
Refibus (thin, bald, small dark eyes) sat at the far end of the table, as far from Linda as possible. His eyes scanned the room – they rested on Zirinos, on Luna, on Linda – and he smiled. A yellow smile that did not hide his thoughts.
Beside him, a tall young man with dark blonde hair, icy blue eyes. **Seru**, his son. He wore expensive clothes, a wolf-fur cloak, and a belt with a silver-hilted dagger. He looked at Luna as if she already belonged to him.
Zirinos clenched his hand under the table.
'You look like me', he thought. 'But I learned to hide it. You don't even bother.'
---
Dinner was served in three courses. Vegetable soup, roast boar meat, cheeses from various regions, crystallised fruits. The wine, red and full-bodied, came from Mercius's own vineyards.
Zirinos ate sparingly. His eyes scanned the table, the servants, the children.
Márcia, beside him, spoke quietly.
"My brother Mário wants to challenge you to a duel."
"I know."
"Will you accept?"
"If he insists."
"And if you hurt him?"
"Then I won't hurt him."
"Do you promise?"
Zirinos looked at her. Her light eyes, where worry mixed with fear.
"I promise, Lady Márcia."
She almost smiled.
---
The duel began after dessert.
The servants pushed the tables aside, opening space in the centre of the room. Mário wielded a wooden sword – thick, heavy, made for training. Zirinos chose an identical one.
"Rules?" asked Mário.
"First to touch the opponent's chest wins."
"Simple."
"Simple."
They began.
Mário attacked first. Fast, strong, his strikes accurate. Zirinos dodged, retreated, dodged again. He didn't attack. He only defended.
"Fight!" shouted Mário, frustrated. "Don't be a coward!"
"Patience is also a weapon," Zirinos replied.
He dodged the fourth attack. On the fifth, he touched Mário's chest with the tip of his sword.
"He won," announced Mercudoth, without emotion.
Mário threw his sword to the ground.
"It wasn't fair."
"It was." Zirinos sheathed his sword. "You attacked. I waited. Patience defeats strength."
"Liar."
"Truth. Believe what you want."
Mário left the room. The door slammed shut.
---
Later, as the servants served tea, Marco approached Zirinos.
"My brother is impulsive," he said quietly. "But loyal."
"I know."
"I am patient."
"I know that too."
"What do you know about me?"
"That you are the heir. That you want power. That you trust no one."
Marco smiled. The smile didn't reach his eyes.
"You're perceptive, Zirinos."
"I'm a survivor. It's different."
"A subtle difference."
"But important."
Marco walked away. Zirinos watched him go.
---
The incident happened when Zirinos was preparing to leave.
Marco called a servant.
"Our guest's backpack," he said loudly. "Has anyone seen it?"
"It was at the entrance, my lord," the servant replied. "I brought it here."
Marco opened the backpack. He took out an object – a silver pendant with a blue stone, which did not belong to Zirinos.
"What is this?" asked Marco, holding up the pendant.
"I don't know," Zirinos replied calmly. "It's not mine."
"It was in your backpack."
"Someone put it there."
"Who?"
"You."
Silence fell. Mercudoth paled. Márcia put her hand to her mouth.
"Márcia?" called Marco. "Did you see anything?"
The girl hesitated. Her light eyes moved from her brother to her father to Zirinos.
"I saw," she said finally. "It was you. You put the pendant in the backpack."
"Liar!" Marco stepped forward.
"Truth." Márcia's voice trembled, but did not waver. "I saw it when the servant wasn't looking."
Marco went pale. Mercudoth stood up.
"Marco," said the count, his voice cold. "Explain."
"I have nothing to explain."
"Then leave."
Marco left without looking back. The door slammed violently.
Silence settled.
"Márcia," said Mercudoth. "Go rest. You need to."
"Yes, Father."
Márcia left. Her eyes, before she disappeared, fixed on Zirinos.
'Thank you', her lips murmured. He didn't answer.
---
Mercudoth poured himself wine.
"My son is… complicated."
"I know, my lord."
"But he is the heir."
"For now."
The count looked at Zirinos.
"Do you like power games?"
"I like to survive. Games are for those who have time."
"And you don't have time?"
"I have a war to win, my lord. I can't waste time on family intrigues."
Mercudoth almost smiled.
"You're direct."
"I'm honest. It's different."
The count put the pendant in a safe.
"Here," he said, handing Zirinos a small silver amulet. "For the girl. Your ward. They say she likes shiny things."
"Thank you, my lord."
"You don't have to thank me. You have to come back."
"I will. When the war up there comes down."
The count didn't answer. He just drank his wine.
---
Zirinos left the castle at dawn.
The sky was clear, the sun pale. The backpack on his back weighed more than the day before – the silver amulet, the music box, the library books. The egg, inside the cloth bag, pulsed slowly.
'I'll give her the amulet when I see her', he thought. 'Little Mira will like it.'
The road to Derylini stretched before him, dusty, empty.
Mercius fell behind.
The heat of the forges, too.