The following morning went by in much the same way as any other. Crow, having slept a bit lighter than usual the night before, woke to the sound of his door opening and closing as someone came in. He glanced down to see who was there, only to find that it was Preston, who had arrived to help him get ready for the day again. However, there was something slightly different about the attendant this time. He was carrying something in his hands.

Crow sat up on his bed and yawned tiredly, arching his back in a stretch as he shook off his lingering weariness. The motion seemed to draw Preston’s attention, and the boy turned to him with a curt bow. “Good morning,” he greeted. The servant sounded more cheerful than usual to Crow.

“Morning,” the viceroy mumbled, sliding down from his bed to walk over to the wardrobe, where Preston was putting together his clothes. He looked down at the attendant’s hand. “What’s that?”

Preston paused in what he was doing and shuffled his feet. “You said you wanted me to show you my art, so…” he trailed off, bashfully averting his gaze as he held out the objects he’d been carrying.

There were three flat river stones covered with dark charcoal markings. Crow studied them curiously. They were slightly smudged, but he could tell the attendant had taken special care to keep the pictures from getting ruined with time. He also found himself rather impressed with Preston’s talent. Though the boy had never been trained by a master, the drawings didn’t look very different from anything he’d seen in a book before. The lines were precise, and it was easy to see what the images showed.

The stone on the left depicted an image of a fig tree with long, twisting branches and plumes of small leaves. The tree sat alone on a hillside, with a distant forest behind it. Even though the surface of the rock was small, the attendant had managed to put a surprising amount of detail into his work. The other two drawings were no different.

The middle stone was a picture of a tower. It looked like the battlements that had been built into the Brerratic castle, tall and commanding. Preston had even managed to capture the weathering of the stones and the small arrow loops that adorned the sides. Looking closer, Crow smirked in amusement as he saw that the boy had drawn a figure of an archer posted on the crenellation.

The last stone was the most impressive. It was a portrait of a girl with wavy hair and freckled cheeks. She had a broad smile on her face, and the viceroy could almost imagine that she was laughing. The emotion captured in the art was tangible, and even a little infectious. He found himself smiling as he examined the rock closer.

“I know I’m not as good as the artists who illustrated those books,” Preston said sheepishly. “But these are my favorite drawings.”

“What are you talking about?” Crow looked up at him with a laugh. “These are amazing. If you added a little color to them, they’d probably look real.”

“You think so?” Preston brightened.

“Definitely,” Crow nodded. He looked over the stones again, his gaze lingering on the drawing of the girl. “Who is that?” he asked without thinking. In the next moment, he bit his tongue, worried that he might have overstepped a boundary. Fortunately, Preston didn’t seem offended.

“That’s my younger sister,” the attendant answered with a fond smile as he gazed at the drawing. “She lives here at the castle with me.”

“I see,” Crow said with interest. “Is she a servant too?”

“Not really,” Preston admitted. “She’s sickly, so she can’t handle the work.”

Crow frowned, “Is it—”

“No, no,” the attendant shook his head quickly. “She doesn’t have the Creeping Death.” He absently traced the edge of the drawing with his finger. “No one knows what’s wrong with her. Even Eldon can’t figure it out. Some days, she’s perfectly fine, but on others… she has pain in her body, and her energy lapses.” His expression turned melancholic. “On the worst days, she doesn’t even have the strength to get out of bed. She’s been like this ever since she was little.”

Crow studied Preston quietly. “I’m sorry,” he rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder and offered him a smile. “She’s beautiful though.”

“She is,” the attendant managed a halfhearted smile. “I still hope that someone will marry her someday. She may be sick, but she’s a caring person, and I just know she would make a great wife.”

“If she’s as great as you say, I’m sure someone will fall head over heels for her despite her illness,” Crow assured him.

“Thanks,” Preston looked up at him appreciatively.

“Mhm,” Crow nodded. Turning back to the open wardrobe, he picked out his own clothes—he’d watched the attendant enough times to figure out the pieces by himself—and stepped over to the edge of the bed to set them down as he took off the linens he was currently wearing. Once he was dressed, he bent down to put on his boots. As he did, he carefully angled his body away from the servant and reached quickly underneath the bed, where he had stowed one of his daggers—the other was already beneath his pillow. He smoothly slipped the sheathed weapon into his boot and laced it up.

Now armed and feeling more confident, he straightened his posture and headed for the door. “Come on,” he waved to Preston. “I want breakfast.”