Aldric Thornwood's Arc

Chapter 2 of 10

Aldric left his mother's chambers with his hands still empty and his face still quiet. The hall was warmer than the courtyard, but he did not slow. He needed to be alone with the letter against his chest. He needed to think. As he turned the corner near the servants' stair, a figure brushed past him — close, deliberate. A folded scrap pressed into his palm, then gone. He did not look back. He did not stop. He waited until the next doorway, stepped into its shadow, and opened his hand. The scrap held three lines in a careful hand. A place. A time. A warning. Frostguard Tower, lower door. Before the next rotation. After that, it stays shut. He did not know the writer. A laundry girl, maybe. Someone he had passed a thousand times and never seen. He folded the scrap small and slid it into his sleeve. The bells had rung less than an hour ago. He had until the guards changed. He had no key for that door. He almost walked past her. She stood by a linen cart, head down, hands busy. As he passed, she pressed something small and folded into his hand. Cloth. He kept moving. In the next alcove, he opened it. A square of light grey suiting, sharp at the edges, cut from a fine jacket sleeve. He knew the cloth. He had worn that suit at the winter table six months ago. It had gone missing from his wardrobe and never been replaced. Someone had kept a piece. Someone close enough to take it, patient enough to hold it until now. The proof landed harder than the location. This was not a stranger's trick. This was a hand inside the house. He took the back stair down and crossed the side yard with his hood up. The stone tower sat against the outer wall, its narrow windows dark, ice crusting the seam of the wooden door. One guard stood at the post, stamping his feet. Aldric circled wide and waited behind a stack of split wood. The guard checked the path twice, then turned to warm his hands at a brazier inside the arch. Aldric moved. He reached the door, pressed the latch, and felt it give. Unlocked. Someone had left it for him. He slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind him. In the dark, his hand found a step, then another, leading down. Above him, faint through the stone, he heard boots on snow — the next watch arriving early. The door he had just closed would not open from the outside again tonight. He was in. He was alone. And he was no longer sure who had wanted him here. The stairs ended at packed earth. Aldric felt his way forward until his glove met cold steel. A blast door, set deep into the wall, its surface hidden by drifted snow that had slid in through some hidden vent. No handle he could turn. No lock he could pick. Only a narrow slot at chest height, and beside it, scratched into the metal, a single letter. H. The same mark as the seal against his chest. He pressed his palm flat to the steel. Something on the other side answered — one soft knock, then silence. He was meant to be here. Someone had spent years preparing for him to arrive. And whoever waited behind that door knew his sibling's name.