In a large, delicately decorated room with a wide, hand-stitched green carpet, three men sat in well-padded chairs trimmed with small gold details, talking among themselves. There were two bottles of wine on the table between them—one empty, one half-full—and three glasses filled to the brim.
One of the men took a long pull from his glass, wiped the remains from his lips with his hand, and cleaned it on his trousers.
"Who does that baron think he is—some kind of savior? A school for the people, free of charge." The man let out a loud laugh and took another drink. "Don't you think the same, Lucano?"
"He's being rather foolish. That youth of his will lead him to his death," Lucano sighed. "Trying to fight us is pointless."
"Look at you, putting on airs. Though I will say it's impressive that you can move a count. You should introduce me to that friend of yours who managed to convince him."
Lucano smiled politely without answering. The man read his manner, snorted, and spat on the floor.
"Come on! Let us drink more and celebrate this victory!" said Valente, grabbing his glass spilling some of its contents on the floor.
Lucano looked at Valente beside him and shook his head, resigned.
The other man grabbed the bottle of wine from the table directly and clinked it against Valente's glass.
In Licerio's office, it was already late into the night. The only light in the room came from a pair of candles burning hard.
Licerio dipped his quill into fresh ink and finished writing a letter. On the floor lay a heap of crumpled papers with ink sliding off them.
He lifted the quill and read what he had written. Finally. I hate writing letters like this. So many words for so few intentions. He sighed and stood from his chair, letter in hand. He moved to the office window and opened it slightly, holding the letter near the draft of air to let the ink dry.
Then he folded it and sealed it with his official seal. He leaned back in his chair and exhaled, exhausted, rubbing his temple with his fingers.
The following day, Licerio handed the letter to the steward, who assigned a servant to deliver it immediately without stopping to rest.
Licerio left the manor with López, and they walked down toward the village below. Though riding a horse would be the normal choice for someone in his position as baron, Licerio preferred to walk.
Along the way, Licerio moved at an easy, unhurried pace. At times he raised his gaze to watch birds take flight. At others he caught sight of an insect drifting past his field of vision or a small rodent scrambling up a tree, startled by his presence.
They entered the village to find it considerably busier than usual, with villagers and other commoners from surrounding villages all converging here. It was the territory's monthly market, where many traveling merchants had set up for a few days to sell a wide variety of unusual goods.
A woman was negotiating the price of a beautiful cloth.
"This weave is lovely. How much for it?" she asked with a broad smile.
"It costs sixty copper pennies—but for that smile, I'll bring it down to forty-five."
The woman seemed to hesitate, looking at the cloth in her hand and running her finger along its surface. After a few seconds she looked up, handed the vendor the coins, and left with small skipping steps.
A man was examining a stone the vendor swore would bring good fortune and bless its owner with many children.
"Can this ugly stone really give me children?" the man asked, somewhat skeptical.
"I can assure you—if I had a wife, I would never sell it."
"And why are you selling it instead of holding on to it for when you find one?"
The merchant opened his mouth to answer but could not find a response. The man snorted, dropped the stone back into the vendor's hand, and walked away.
Licerio passed through the crowd and entered a large workshop near the center of the village. This was the workshop of the blacksmiths' guild of Lisea, and he had come to meet with its leader. Before entering, they pulled on the cloaks they had prepared in advance, trying to keep the visit from curious eyes.
They were let in without trouble after showing his emblem to one of the guild leader's personal secretaries and were led to a large room—plainly decorated, with little detail. The guild leader was already waiting inside and, when Licerio entered, stood from his chair and greeted him courteously. Licerio took a seat, and López positioned himself behind him.
The guild leader called for a servant and asked him to prepare his best tea. Shortly after, it arrived, two steaming cups set on the table between them.
"Welcome, baron. You honor us with your presence in our humble workshop. I hope this modest meeting place does not inconvenience you."
"It doesn't matter. I didn't come to talk about the room," he said, brushing it aside. "I came on an important matter."
"I hope it doesn't concern our commercial relationship with the guilds of Rosea. If it does, I will have to ask the baron to leave."
"No, no, Lord Fernando. This meeting is to satisfy my curiosity on a few matters," he smiled and moved a hand lightly through the air. "I only came because yesterday I received a letter from the Count of Trosia—he appears to want to intervene on behalf of the guilds of Rosea and has some undisclosed dealings with the leader of the Rosea blacksmiths' guild. I came to negotiate, since I have no interest in this escalating further."
Fernando's eyes narrowed and his temple creased deeply. His eyelids trembled slightly. He reached for the cup of tea on the table and took it. He blew on it to cool it, then sipped. Then exhaled and set the cup down.
Licerio did not miss a single movement of Fernando's—not the smallest. The corners of his mouth trembled, holding back the urge to smile.
"Fernando? You seem somewhat tense… Wait—could it be that you knew nothing about this?"