Luther's Pride Part 07

Luther stretched and rolled his shoulders, flexing them back and forth as he swung his arms to straighten his hunched spine after leaning over the table. He finished dressing well before Criella, who had to take more care with her layers and tail.

They were quiet as they dressed but comfortable. The tension between them was broken, and they were familiar once again. Luther had returned home, and Criella was there to greet him. She’d been busy in his time away, studying, making something of herself, but Luther couldn’t track every change the years wrought. There were differences, but beneath the layers, his Criella was still there, as was her Luther.

“Don’t just stare at me.” Criella said. She reproached him as she dressed. “Pick up your mess.”

Luther looked at the pile of journals, books, and papers he’d shoved to the floor before their fucking, and he almost laughed. His father would have punished him severely for such treatment, especially here, in the library. This was as close to sacred ground as Luther knew, and he’d outgrown the superstitions instilled in him by his severe father’s love of books.

Luther squatted beside the table and lifted the books, journals, and pages by the armful to push them back to the table. His loose scoop of pages forced a folded paper loose, and it returned to the floor in a lazy descent of crescent swings until it settled on his boot.

Luther set the pile down and scooped up the fallen page, looking at it to check where it might go in the stack.

He unfolded the map to see a surveyor’s view of Raefendale, its mountains and properties marked and notes written in his father’s hand. It unfolded to a much larger map than the folded page suggested, but he spread it out on the table out of curiosity.

Red X marks scattered through the mountains caught the attention and drew the eye away from the farmlands and property lines of the shire. Red ink rings encircled each X, dotting most of the mountainscape on the map, until Luther came to a red ring without an X high in the mountains. Unlike the others, it was double-circled, and a small notation in his father’s hand marked a fey character beside it.

“Are these all the places my father searched for the Dark Lord’s Tomb?” Luther asked, showing the map to Criella, who was only half-dressed.

She paused in pulling her trousers on to look at the map and took it from him.

Luther gave her a few moments of peace to take it in before he coughed. “You should finish pulling on your pants.”

Criella eyed him and set the map on the table. “To answer your question, yes.” She said flatly. She pulled up her pants and fastened them. “It’s identical to the mining surveys map your father has, but the marks are in slightly different spots, and there are more of them on this map than there are mines in the mountains, currently.”

“So what was the last one?” Luther asked. “The ring that wasn’t crossed off?”

Criella looked at Luther and then took a second look at the map. This time, she found the mark he was talking about. Rather than explain, she sorted through the journals and picked up the most recent one. She handed it to Luther, who flipped through it until he found a page marked with the same fey character.

“Can you read it?” Criella asked.

“Yes. Can you?” Luther asked.

Criella sighed. “I meant aloud.” She said. “Can you read it to me, or would you rather I breathe down your neck and read over your shoulder?”

Luther laughed. He offered to share the book, and Criella stood beside him to read down the page. His father’s handwriting was difficult to read, but Criella was an old hand at deciphering it, and Luther found it surprisingly easy to remember. It was almost like hearing his father’s voice again as he read, knowing that his father had left these ink strokes on the page.

Branan’s latest find is promising. The standing stone is small, but the charcoal he brought me of the marking is the fey character for Death. The fey lord’s tomb was said to be marked to ward off the spirits that might aid him, even in his death, so the rune may be warded with some fey arcanum Branan could not sense. He said they did not detect any magic in the area, but they are not without their limits.

Petros is willing to join me on another excursion but wants to bring his daughter. I will have to determine whether the aid is worth the awkwardness. I have no word from Luther, and my suggestions that she marry my son instead of myself are beginning to wear on their good graces. Hopefully, I will hear from him soon.

Good night.

“Good night?” Criella asked Luther, looking to him for answers when she had none.

“He ends all of his journal entries that way.” Luther nodded, showing her a few of the other pages. “He uh… He wrote them as unaddressed letters to my mother.”

Criella put her hand on Luther’s arm in a soft, reassuring way, and Luther did his best to keep himself from resenting the pity in her eyes. She was always sad when he spoke of his mother, but that was because he always did so tenderly. After all, his father always did so. Yet, to Luther, she was a character in stories his father would sometimes tell. Someone he’d never met, who sounded too good to be honest, and whose legacy was occasionally wearisome.

“That’s so sweet.” Criella closed the journal and put it away. “Looks like you have your answer then. Your father thought it was a possible location for the Fey Lord’s tomb. He was still searching for it, even after all these years.” She shook her head.

Luther shook his head. “If that’s the last journal entry… did he ever go?”

“You’d have to ask Petros.” Criella suggested.

“Ah, yes.” Luther nodded. “Speaking of which, who is Petros?”

“A captain of the guard, I believe.” Criella did her best to remember. “He was on duty today, or you would have met him. He’s the second son of a Lord, came here a few years back, settled down with his wife and daughter, who he’s apparently been trying to get to marry your father.”

Luther made a face.

“I’m sure she wasn’t the only one.” Criella took her hand away from Luther’s arm. “Speaking of which, let’s add her to the guest list.”

“Guest list?” Luther asked.

“Of women invited to this dinner party, so you can get married, so you can defend your title against Branan?” Criella reminded him. “The reason we’re here, in the library, after all?”

Luther sighed. “But… doesn’t this sound more interesting?” He held up the map. “We can go on a quest! Like in the stories!”

Criella faced him, crossed her arms, and stood rigid as she stared him down. “Luther Le Fey, you will not abandon your duties to go hiking in the mountains.”

“But this could be important!” Luther protested. “If they didn’t detect magic, the wards could be down. Great evil could be, at this very moment, spreading through the mountains and coming to claim our very souls!”

Luther’s volume was raised, but he was no actor. Criella saw through his attempt at distraction in an instant. For a moment, Luther worried she would be angry with him, to accuse him of seducing her to postpone his responsibilities, which was not the case. Instead, she smiled.

“I’ll make a deal with you.” She said simply. “If you’re willing to bargain with a devil.”

“You’re not a--” Luther protested, but Criella cut him off by raising her hand.

“Make a deal with me.” She said, pronouncing every word as sharp as her canines. “You get married and ward off Branan coming for your life, and then you can explore the mountains for the fey lord’s forgotten tomb and plunder it for all the treasures your greedy little heart can desire. I’ll even go with you.” Criella smiled. “Deal?”

Luther frowned. “I could just go.” He protested. “I’m the Lord in this valley.”

“For now.” Criella said. “But you have no specialty. No Arcana. You have some magic, sure, but they’re just the tricks that any practiced mage might know.”

“Hey, I’m really good at some of those tricks.” Luther protested. “And my sword skills are-”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Criella said. “But they won’t protect you against Branan’s lightning, his husbands, or his wives. You’ll be dead as soon as the mourning period is over.” She gestured. “Or… you do what needs to be done, like an adult, and then run off on an adventure.”

Luther glared at her. “You can’t speak to me like-”

“Like you’re a child when you’re supposed to be my employer?” Criella cut him off again. She stepped closer to him and put her finger against his lips, silencing his protest before it began. “I will obey you, my Lord, but if you want to be my lord for more than three days, you must marry.”

Luther puckered her lips and kissed her finger.

Criella curled her finger and scratched his lips with her nail, gently but on flesh soft enough it made him flinch. “Deal?”

Luther didn’t have to like it, but he recognized she was right. Criella was cunning, and he’d trust her plans over his any day of the week. Yet he was the boss here. He was the lord. She was, at best, an advisor.

“It’s a foolish Lord who doesn’t listen when his advisors speak seriously with him.” Luther said. “Fine. I will marry first.” He agreed. “Now, who are we inviting to this dinner party?”