Luther's Pride Part 4

It was late morning when Luther woke after his night of unrestful slumber. He woke to the clatter of curtain rings as someone swept the great dark cloth aside to reveal a bright mid-morning sky. Luther groaned and rolled away from the light. 

“Time to rise, sir.” An unfamiliar gruff voice. “Miss Criella has given me instructions that you are to meet her in the dining room for your introduction to the staff.” 

Luther opened one eye to see a world that was half pillow, half bedroom wall. He inhaled deeply and relaxed, stretching his body and tilting his head. His neck gave a series of cracks, and then he moved it in the opposite direction. 

“If you’re quite finished, sir.” 

Luther turned his face to see who was talking to him. The older man was dressed pristinely in the black suit of a butler. It took his sleepy brain a few moments to process his father had a butler. His father had a household staff. He had a household staff. He chuckled at the idea of it. A week ago, he’d been sleeping on the cold hard ground. This morning, he woke up in a bed that felt too comfortable to leave. 

“Good morning sir.” 

“What time is it?” Luther asked. 

“Two hours, Forenoon.” The butler answered. 

He slept late compared to his habits if only two hours were left in the morning, but he must have needed it. Falling asleep had been difficult, and the day before had been incredibly taxing in several ways. Luther supposed funerals always were.

“What time did my father usually wake?” Luther asked. 

“He rarely slept, sir. Given his fey nature.” The butler reminded him. “But when he did, he often requested to be woken at six hours, Forenoon.”  

Luther sat up and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands before he stood. “That is also my habit if I’m not already awake.” Luther nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, by the way. My name is Luther.” 

“Yes, sir.” The butler answered. “I’m aware.” 

Luther expected a chuckle or something of the sort, but the man’s humor was as dry as the extra sheets in the linen closet. 

“My name is Wulfric, sir. I’m your head of staff until you designate a spouse to take over those particular duties, and then I will report to them.” The older man gestured to a much younger man, an androgynous youth, who came running up beside the older man. “This is your valet, Will. He’ll see you're dressed and ready to greet your guest in a few minutes.” 

“Guests?” Luther asked. “You mean Criella?” 

“Yes, sir.” Wulfric nodded and left the room without waiting to be dismissed, leaving Will standing there in his wake. 

Luther stood up and stretched, his muscles flexing as they became accustomed to the comfort the bed gave him over the night. It was strange to wake without an ache somewhere, but he knew better than to complain about a lack of discomfort, even if it meant a lack of familiarity. 

“Well, Will, what should I wear today?” Luther asked, not accustomed to having a valet. 

“What would you like, sir?” Will’s voice cracked a little and then resumed a deeper tone that almost sounded put on, but Luther did not begrudge the youth his deception. “Do you have a wardrobe of your own?”

Luther scoffed and headed out of the bedroom and into the apartment lounge. The luggage he’d brought in the night before was opened, and he saw that most of the clothes had been disturbed. “Have I been robbed?” He asked Will. 

“No sir.” Will assured him. “Mister Wulfric came in a few hours ago and took away everything that needed to be laundered.” 

“He left me a nightshirt.” Luther pointed out. 

“Yes, sir.” Will said. “He decided that one didn’t smell too poorly.” 

“Should I wear my nightshirt to breakfast? How do you think Wulfric would respond to that?” 

Will stifled his laughter and nearly choked on it but turned it into a cough before it escaped him. “You are his employer, sir. If he displeases you, you can always reprimand him.” 

Luther scoffed. It was possible, he supposed, but unlikely. Men like Wulfric were not unfamiliar to Luther; they believed strongly in propriety. To Wulfric, it was practically a religion. Unfortunately, Wulfric’s first impression of his new master was that he was a layabout. 

It took ten minutes, but Luther was dressed in a simple black suit when he entered the dining room. His boots, trousers, belt, doublet, and cuffs were all the same shade of black. A place was already set for him, just across from Criella at one end of the table. She smiled when she saw him, and he smiled as she saw her. 

“That suit looks good on you.” Criella commented. 

Luther shrugged. “My valet is quite talented at fabrication magic. Surprisingly talented, given his profession.” 

“He made the suit from scratch?” Criella sounded surprised. 

“No, my father had it ready for me. Will only had to make adjustments to the fit. Is it morbid to know my father made me a set of mourning clothes?” Luther asked. He took his seat at the table, and not a second after he sat down, another servant placed a hot plate of toast, scrambled eggs, thick, crispy bacon, and sausages in front of him. 

“I prepared a menu for the week based on your preferences before you left.” Criella explained. “I thought you might want some familiarity.” 

“I appreciate that.” Luther said as he began eating. “So… are you here in a personal capacity or as my solicitor?” 

“Both.” Criella answered. She slid some papers across the table to him and smiled. 

Luther spent the next few minutes eating his eggs and reviewing the figures in his father’s accounts. Criella had prepared a report summarizing the incomes and expenses in broad terms, though it was still accurate. Rents made up most of the income, but profits from business shares were highly diverse, making up the remainder. The expenses seemed surprisingly normal, but Luther noticed several items that caught his interest. 

“One excavation a year?” Luther asked. 

Criella looked up to meet his gaze from across the table. “Hm?” 

“According to these reports, my father funded one excavation yearly for the last five years.” Luther commented. “What were they for? Land surveys? Mining for those crystals?” 

Criella told him no with a shake of her head. “The crystals were an accidental find.” 

“What was he looking for?” Luther asked. 

Criella gave him a meaningful look. 

“No.” Luther protested. “Really?” 

Criella nodded. 

“He was still obsessed?” Luther asked. 

Criella sighed. “I wouldn’t call it obsessed, but… yes. He was still searching for the Fey lord’s tomb.” 

“The dark lord’s tomb.” Luther corrected. 

“As you say.” Criella shrugged. 

“That’s what he was.” Luther said. “History tells us-” 

“History says a lot of things.” Criella said quickly. “What does it say about people like me?” 

Luther frowned. “Advocates of the law?” He tried to turn it into a joke, but they both knew what Criella meant. Asmodeans were not often well-received in society, and most historians treated them as insignificant or outright villainous. They both knew it, but Luther didn’t want to get sidetracked. “That’s different. Cerun was a monster, a slaver, destroyer, genocidal maniac, narcissist, and every other despicable thing.” 

His list of sins was nearly every sin a ruler might ever be accused of, with no historians in disagreement except for the number of his victims. Most agreed he’d killed somewhere around three million and enslaved many more. Others put the numbers somewhat higher. 

“I’m not saying he wasn’t. I’m just saying your father thought there might be more to the story. You know he wanted to find Cerun’s tomb. That’s why he settled in this valley in the first place.” 

Luther prodded his sausages with his fork and looked at Criella without answering. His father was obsessed with the stories, and Luther understood why. Cerun was said to be able to commune with the dead, to see and speak with them. It was how the stories said he knew everything that happened to the point of clairvoyance because you never knew when a ghost was in the room if it didn’t want you to perceive it, and they were loyal to the infamous emperor. 

Silence reigned between them as they ate until Wulfric entered and broke it with his announcement. 

“Sir, there are some guests who have come to call on you.” Wulfric announced. “They wish to pay their respects to the new lord of Raefendale.” 

“Who is it?” Luther asked. 

Wulfric’s answer told Luther he’d asked the wrong question. “I’ve had them queue along the drive, sir.” 

“How many are there?” Luther asked. 

“A few hundred, sir. From the town and surrounding farms. Many of them have brought gifts. Would you like to receive them in the parlor, sir?” Wulfric asked. “One family at a time?”