House of Ash and Gold

Chapter 18: Lessons at the Hearth

Cael hesitated outside the door. The faint smell of smoke drifted under the wood, mingling with something else — wine, most probably. From within came faint scratching of a quill and the soft rustle of parchment. He straightened his sleeve and then knocked.

"Enter," Edric called, his voice low and unhurried.

The desk was covered in neatly stacked ledgers, ink pots, and seals. Behind it, his father glanced up briefly before returning to the page in front of him.

"So," he murmured, almost to himself, "the old man finally got you worked up enough to come knocking." Edric's tone was mild, almost bemused.

Cael blinked at that. He stepped inside and let the door latch click shut behind him. He hadn't expected his father to sound… almost amused. He swallowed the first reply that came to mind.

"I thought it was time I spoke with you," Cael said.

Edric's eyes flicked up again, eyes narrowing slightly. Not angry but more like sizing him up. His mouth curved faintly, and he leaned back in his chair. "Mm. And here I thought the old man had tired of pestering me after he found himself a new pupil."

Cael frowned faintly. The old man? The scribe?

"He said nothing you don't already know," Cael answered, keeping his tone even. "Only that it seems no one's willing to say it to you."

That earned Cael a soft chuckle. Edric set down his quill and folded his hands over the desk. "And what exactly did you come here to say to me? That the guilds are squeezing us? That the coffers aren't what they used to be? That House Varissen is one bad harvest away from being laughed out of court?" He tilted his head faintly. "If that's your grand revelation, you'll forgive me for not leaping from my chair."

Cael paused, his curiosity pricked by the faint amusement in his father's tone. He didn't speak, but Edric caught the look and snorted.

"You wonder why He can speak of me like that?" Edric asked, one brow lifting. He didn't wait for an answer. "Because when I was your age, boy, he taught me my letters. My sums. My history. Master Loran; House Seneschal now, was my tutor before he was yours."

Cael straightened slightly, surprised at the name.

Edric leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "And you may have noticed, he's not afraid to speak his mind. He's earned the right."

That quieted Cael for a moment.

So that's why. That's why he let me study under him at all.

Edric's faint smirk deepened, as though he'd read the thought on his face. "Don't mistake familiarity for license, boy. He's sharp, but he's not lord of this hall."

Cael shifted his weight but didn't look away. There was no doubt his father knew every figure he did and more. That much was clear. But if he knew so much, why let it fester? Why leave the house bleeding when he clearly knew where the cuts were? The question pressed harder than the answers he thought he had.

"I came to ask you," Cael said carefully, "to let me involve myself in the house's business dealings. And to increase my stipend, so I can act on my own ideas."

For a beat, Edric only stared at him. Then he leaned forward slightly, elbows on the desk with his expression unreadable. "And you believe that sitting with your nose in ledgers will keep this house alive? That it'll keep us from sliding any further down?"

"It would help," Cael said. "If nothing else, it would slow the bleed."

Edric exhaled softly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He stood abruptly, turning toward the hearth.

"You think you've caught me napping, boy. That because you've seen a few crooked columns in the books you know something I don't. That what this house needs is another clerk."

He rested one hand on the mantel, staring into the flames. . He looked almost relaxed, far from the sharp mood Cael had expected.

Does it have to do with the Drevane meeting last night? Did it go well? Or is this just another kind of trap?

Edric's voice cut back through his thoughts. "Tell me, do you even know what we are? What rank this house holds? How many names stand above ours? Or how many are below?"

Cael hesitated. Edric turned his head slightly, watching him from the corner of his eye.

"Well?"

Cael cleared his throat. The scribe's voice echoed in his head; the names, the ranks, the numbers, but saying them aloud felt like walking on thin ice.

"We…" He hesitated, then pressed on. "We… hold a lesser barony under the Southern Crown. Below us are three knightly families sworn to us. Above us… the high barons of the duchy, then the Marquess of Aelthorn's territory, then the Duke of Leth.""

That earned only a faint grunt from Edric. He gestured lazily at the chair opposite.

"Sit," he said.

Cael obeyed, settling on the edge of the seat.

"You've got the order more or less right," Edric said, leaning back. "But you don't yet understand what it means. Not really. You think you can just stack names and numbers in a column and call it knowledge."

He picked up his cup, swirling the wine inside.

"You know how many kingdoms there are?"

Cael stayed quiet.

"Four," Edric said. "Four crowns that still bother to call themselves sovereign. Ours here in the south, the Reach, the Marches, and the Expanse beyond. But none of them stand alone. Each one's a tangle of dukes, marquesses and barons underneath."

"Here, under the Southern Crown, we have three duchies; Leth, Cindral, and Rethen. And under them? Five territories held by marquesses, about twenty high barons, fifty or sixty lesser barons… and then hundreds of knightly houses and petty gentry, clinging to scraps and squabbling like dogs for a bone. Most of them are vassals to nobles of all ranks"

He set the cup down with a quiet click and fixed Cael with a look.

"The Ridge is a backwater corner of Leth. The high barons sit above us like hawks. And us? We're clinging to the bottom rung of the lesser peers, boy. Barely."

He paused. "You understand that?"

Cael gave a small nod.

"Good," Edric said. "Then you should also understand this: it doesn't matter what our ledgers say if no one believes we can still hurt them. A house with coin but no soldiers is already half-dead. But a house that can still field men, even if the coffers are thin, can sometimes bluff long enough to recover."

He studied Cael for a beat longer before leaning forward on his elbows.

"You've studied the ledgers long enough now, what do you think you've learned?"

Cael opened his mouth, then stopped.

Edric smirked faintly. "Let me guess, you saw a number and panicked. Thought we were finished."

He reached for a quill, spinning it idly between his fingers.

"You're not the first heir to mistake the liquid coffers for the whole. The old man should've corrected you, but knowing him, he probably let you sweat on purpose.

"A house can be sitting on land, stone, timber, oaths, but all you see are the kephs left after debts and harvest outlays. That figure is just what we can spend this season without pawning the chairs we sit on."

Cael felt his neck warm.

Of course. The five thousand kephs… that wasn't everything. Just what we could actually touch.

"Five thousand is bad," Edric added, still watching him. "But not the end."

He let the silence stretch, then asked, more softly, "So what is it you want, boy?"

Cael hesitated for only a moment before answering. The same request he'd made before, but this time with more weight, as if his father's question demanded a clearer answer."I want to help stop what's bleeding this house. But I can't do it empty-handed. Let me take up the ledgers, and give me the means to make something of it."

That earned a faint lift of Edric's brow. "Stop the bleeding?" he said, dryly.

"And how exactly do you think you'll manage that?"

Cael drew a breath, stepped closer to the desk, and unrolled a slip of parchment from his sleeve.

"The guilds have been draining us for years," he said. "The ledgers are worse than they look at first glance. If no one intervenes, they'll have us in their pocket by winter. We need to regain control before that happens."

Edric's mouth twitched faintly.

"You've improved in the yard," he said suddenly. "I thought perhaps you'd begun to understand what an heir ought to be. And now… this again." He gestured vaguely at the parchment.

Cael kept his gaze steady. "A house that ignores its books ends up fighting someone else's war."

That drew a quiet snort from Edric. He rose, paced to the window, and stood there a moment, looking out.

"If you can't even hold your own in the tournament, you won't have a place at all." he said without turning.

Cael's fingers tightened faintly around the parchment, but he didn't flinch. "If no one addresses what's in those ledgers," he said evenly, "there won't be a house to fight for."

Edric glanced back at him, and for the first time, his expression showed something like curiosity.

"Hm," he murmured. Then he turned fully, leaning back against the windowsill, arms crossed.

"All right then, boy," he said. "Tell me, how many sacks of grain did the guild underdeliver last winter?"

"Fifty-seven," Cael replied at once.

"How many barrels of salt did they claim spoiled?"

"Twelve."

"And the tariff they're threatening at the southern river crossing?"

"Nine percent," Cael answered. "But they've hinted at raising it to eleven."

Edric studied him a moment longer, then pushed off the sill and returned to his chair.

"You've been paying attention," he said quietly, almost to himself.

Cael allowed himself a breath. He wasn't sure if that was approval, or just surprise.

"You've been carried by this house your whole life," Edric said after a pause, his voice sharper now. "Clothed by it. Fed by it. Trained at its expense. And now you presume to lecture me on how it's run?"

Cael raised his eyes and met his father's evenly. "Then let me earn it back."

That made Edric stop. He regarded Cael for a long moment before finally reaching into a drawer and pulling out a small sealed pouch. He tossed it onto the desk.

"Fine," he said. "Take it. Show me what you can do. But don't slack in your training. Don't disgrace yourself in the tournament either. If you shame this house in front of its peers, I'll take it back and double your drills myself."

Cael picked up the pouch, feeling its weight settle in his palm. "Understood."

Edric leaned back, swirling his cup. After a moment he added, "You'll be seeing more of the Drevane girl."

Cael blinked at that, then frowned faintly.

Edric's mouth curved slightly. "What did you think we were discussing last night? Chess? Drevane's lending us coin to tide through the winter in exchange for soldiers if things go sour. Their gold has made them a few enemies already, and they'd rather pay us to look dangerous than risk it themselves."

He glanced up at Cael with something between a smirk and a warning. "You'd do well to get to know her. She's sharper than she looks."

Cael didn't trust himself to speak, so he inclined his head.

Edric's eyes narrowed faintly, and he added, "Jorlan doesn't need my coin to earn respect. Let's see if you can."

Cael slipped the pouch into his sleeve and straightened. "I'll try not to disappoint you."

"See that you don't," Edric murmured, turning his gaze back to the fire.

For a moment Cael lingered, watching the tired line of his father's shoulders in the firelight. Then he stepped toward the door.

The air outside felt cooler, but the pouch at his ribs was warm and heavy.

He walked down the hall in silence, already thinking of where to begin.