Chương 295: 62. Tower 3

The east-side ground-floor room in Thornhold was brighter than I remembered. The windows were wide, and the last of the afternoon light hadn't fully drained away yet. It slanted across the floorboards, the corners of the cabinets, the edge of the bed, and the freshly wheeled-in chair, painting everything in a softness that didn't feel like it belonged to this fortress at all. The room sat close to the main corridor—step outside, and you'd hit firelight and human voices.

If anything happened, all she'd have to do was call once. Which was precisely why, the moment I pictured Fina stuck at the top of that pointless tower, I felt even more certain that calling my siblings "beasts" was still too generous. At least animals occasionally protect their young. They didn't. They were perfectly capable of shoving the person least likely to cause trouble, least likely to demand anything, into a corner—and then pretending they'd forgotten she was there.

I set Fina down on the edge of the bed as gently as I could. She still hadn't entirely recovered from being carried the whole way; her fingertips trembled faintly as she held onto my arm. Once settled, she slowly straightened her skirt, head bowed, ears still scarlet.

Charlotte had already laid out cushions, blankets, and bolsters, muttering the whole time—"less draft here," "I'll bring a hot-water bottle later," "this pillow needs to be softer"—buzzing around like an old hen finally getting one of her lost chicks back under her wing. As for Lorelei— She pushed the spare wheelchair into place and immediately crouched to adjust the footrests and wheel pins. Her hands moved with practiced ease, no wasted motion, hair falling forward in a curtain of dark warmth.

She tested the backrest height, pressed the cushion to check it wasn't too hard, then rose again. Not a single unnecessary word through the whole process. Which, naturally, made it worse. Because people who truly know you rarely need words. One simple action is enough to haul entire shelves of memories out of storage. I tore my eyes from her hands and pretended to be deeply invested in the carpentry of the wheelchair instead of the scar I'd already recognized.

Otherwise I'd end up conducting detailed research on the topic of "how a grown man manages to look deeply suspicious in his own ancestral home upon realizing his childhood friend has grown up." Research of that sort does nothing for a commander's reputation.

"Let's start with something hot," Lorelei said, setting the soup down on the small table. Her voice was quiet, but steady. I looked up at her. She was looking right back, that painfully familiar focus still in her eyes. Not nakedly intense, not unguarded—but one look told me she hadn't just been checking that Fina was settled. She'd also taken stock of every patch of soot on me, every half-healed mark, every place I was still pushing too hard. Very good.

Apparently this trip to Thornhold hadn't just dropped a ruined fortress and a stack of execution orders in my lap. It had also resurrected someone with an uncanny talent for seeing through me faster than most physicians. Which was… not ideal. Charlotte, sensing too many people would make it harder for Fina to speak, dabbed her eyes once more and pulled Lorelei toward the door.

"I'll go hurry the kitchens—bring dinner forward a bit. Lorelei, come help me move that low table in here." Lorelei murmured assent, and glanced at me once more before stepping out. That glance was brief. But dangerous. Because there was too much in it I recognized: worry, confirmation, and a thin, carefully restrained line of reproach. The kind of look that says: You've made a mess of yourself again, haven't you. And worse—I understood it perfectly. After they left, the room finally went quiet. Just me and Fina.

And Thornhold outside the window, sinking slowly into night. I dragged a chair to the bedside and sat, not saying anything at first. Fina sat with her head bowed, hands folded in her lap, fingertips twisting at the fabric of her skirt. She looked as she always had—obedient, quiet, the sort of person who, if you didn't ask first, would shrink herself down until you almost forgot she was in the room at all. But I'd just carried her down from the top of a tower. So I knew: that quiet wasn't empty.

She'd simply grown too used to not saying it. I spoke first.

"How do you like this room?" Fina lifted her gaze, scanned the space, then looked back at me and nodded.

"I like it." She hesitated, voice very soft.

"It's much better than upstairs." I smiled faintly.

"That's a very polite answer. Calling that thing upstairs a 'room' is generous. It looked more like a storage closet someone repurposed into a confessional booth." That earned the tiniest curve of her mouth, which dropped almost as quickly as it appeared. I didn't circle the subject.

"When did they start putting you up there?" Her fingers tightened. Only a little. But I saw it. She was quiet a while, as if deciding where to start. Finally:"At first… it wasn't like that." I kept quiet and let her talk.

"When Father was still alive, I lived in a south-facing room on the second floor. I didn't go out much, but at least the courtyard, the library, and the small chapel weren't hard to reach. Charlotte and Lorelei could visit often." She paused.

"Then eldest sister married out. After that… Father fell ill, and you—" Her face flushed, and she hurriedly corrected herself.

"You left as well." That "left" was spoken very lightly. Too lightly—her way of preserving my face. I knew it hadn't been leaving. It had been being thrown out. I didn't correct her. I just nodded for her to continue.

"After that, there were fewer people around," Fina said.

"Not fewer in truth. Just fewer that I ever saw. Eldest brother rarely came to the inner residence. Second brother got irritated whenever people bothered him. Second sister said the situation was tense, and the estate couldn't be arranged entirely for my convenience anymore." I listened, silent. Because I knew the worst parts were still coming. Sure enough, she drew a breath and went on.

"At first they just said the south room was valuable, better suited for receiving visiting nobles and officers' families, and asked me to move north. Later they said the north wing was too noisy, that they worried I wouldn't rest well. And then… it became the room upstairs." This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Her voice dropped further.

"They said it was quieter, higher up. Said I didn't go downstairs much anyway, so it wouldn't make much difference. Said the ground floor was busy now, too many people coming and going—that I'd just get in the way, and if outsiders saw me, it would be… unseemly." I almost laughed at those last two words. Unseemly. Such a lovely excuse. Like wrapping trash in lace, and complimenting yourself on your etiquette afterward.

"So hiding you away where no one has to see you—that's more dignified?" Fina nodded, barely.

"Second sister said so." Perfect. Another mark on Rosalind's growing ledger. That woman really was gifted. She could turn every filthy decision into something that sounded like "maintaining order" or "preserving decorum." Like tucking someone into a coffin and still fussing over the bedspread before closing the lid. I leaned back, pushing down the urge to storm the cells for a second interrogation.

"Who looked after you, usually?"

"At first there were two maids on rotation," Fina said.

"Then they said we were short-handed, so it was just Charlotte and Lorelei. Later, if they were too busy, I… stayed by myself." Her tone was steady. Steady like she was describing rain. Which only made my chest feel worse. Because that meant she'd gotten used to it. Used to being left alone when others were "too busy." Used to a fortress rotting from the inside, where the first thing always cut was whoever never complained. I stared at the slant of darkening light along the floorboards.

"How long has it been since any of them came up to see you personally?" Fina thought about it. The time it took her to think was more damning than the answer.

"... I don't really remember." That line slid in like a thin needle. Don't really remember. Not because her memory was poor. Because it had been so long that it stopped being something anyone expected. I rubbed at my forehead.

"Food? Medicine? The chair?"

"I never went hungry," she said quickly.

"Sometimes dinner was late, but it always came. The medicine mostly stayed topped up—there were a few times we almost ran out, but Charlotte pushed and more came. The wheelchair…" She glanced toward the door, voice shrinking.

"The one I used most cracked an axle last year. They said they'd fix it. It never really got fixed. Lorelei told me to use the spare. But the spare was downstairs, hard to bring up, so… if I wasn't going down, there wasn't much point." I said nothing for two full breaths. Translated plainly: the chair broke. No one really cared enough to fix it.

And since she'd already been stuffed on top of a tower, they figured they might as well save themselves the trouble of even letting "can she move on her own" stay on the list of things to worry about. Neat. Thoroughly despicable. Part of me wanted to march down and ask them exactly which day they'd convinced themselves this counted as reasonable. But there wasn't much point in asking. I already knew the answer.

The moment they started sorting people by usefulness, inconvenience, and effect on appearances, the rest had just been a matter of time. The room sat quiet a while. Then Fina raised her head again, watching me carefully.

"Brother."

"Hmm?"

"You're… very tired today, aren't you?" I blinked. Then almost laughed. First Lorelei, now Fina. Everyone still functioning normally in this house seemed determined to ignore the script I'd prepared, checking on me instead of the other way around.

"Still holding up," I said, out of habit. Fina studied me, gently, but with surprising firmness.

"You're lying."... Right. When even the fragile little sister stopped giving the commander a pass, the act was clearly wearing thin. I let out a long breath and slumped back.

"Fine. I'm tired."

"Only a little?"

"About three points' worth," I said seriously.

"First, I want to drag them out and yell at them some more. Second, I want to sleep. Third, I want to eat. Order of operations still under review." She blinked, then smiled softly. Small, but real. Watching her, I was reminded of a time years ago—she'd been sick and pale in bed, and I'd just been chewed out by Father, and she'd said, in that same quiet, earnest tone, "Brother, you looked like you were going to your execution just now."

I'd been so annoyed and so amused at once that I'd ended up sitting by her bed while she drank her medicine. Something that had been sitting tight in my chest all day finally loosened, a little.

"And you?" I asked.

"These years—aside from being relocated like furniture and treated as an afterthought—what else do you know?" Fina fell quiet, seeming to understand this was heading somewhere deeper. She didn't answer at once. Her hands tightened in her lap.

"What I know… might not be complete."

"That's fine. Tell me what you have." She nodded.

"After Father passed, eldest brother wanted to pull Thornhold's forces inward very early on. Second brother was even more afraid, but always called it 'preserving our base.' Second sister… she's been patching the ledgers from the start. Not just the numbers—the wording too. She wrote 'shortage' as 'pending allocation.'

'Cut off' as 'not yet reached.'

'Cannot hold' as 'under review.'" I closed my eyes briefly. Of course. Trust Rosalind to commit fraud with impeccable grammar.

"What else?"

"For a while," Fina bit her lip, "people went into the main study almost every night. Not the usual officers, not open councils. More like… private conversations, called in quietly. A few times Lorelei went down to deliver something and came back to tell me she'd seen eldest brother and second brother both looking terrible—like they'd just argued, or like they'd just decided something."

"When?"

"Right before the northern front first went into chaos." My frown deepened. That matched. So before the line really blew open, they hadn't been blind. They'd known. They'd simply chosen the ugliest, safest path for themselves. Fina watched me, a little uneasy.

"I don't know if any of that helps…"

"It does," I said at once. Then, worried I'd sounded too harsh, I softened it.

"It helps a great deal." She relaxed slightly and let her gaze fall. After a quiet moment, she asked, very softly:"Are you… really going to kill them?" The air in the room seemed to pause. Outside, the sky had fully darkened. A maid had come in at some point to light the candles, the warm light making Fina's pale, delicate face look even quieter—more fragile. But she still asked. Not out of curiosity.

Because she understood that if she didn't ask, the rest of the fortress would spend the next days turning around an answer she didn't know. I stayed silent a long time. Long enough to hear my own breathing clearly. At last, I answered, low.

"I didn't want to." Fina lifted her eyes to mine. I held her gaze. And this time, I didn't look away.

"But now… they haven't wronged only me."

"They haven't wronged only this name."

"What they've wronged is the entire wall. The soldiers who died out there. And…" I paused, my gaze sweeping once around the freshly tidied room.

"And people like you—people they threw into a corner like it was the most natural thing in the world." Fina didn't answer. She just let her eyes go red, a little at a time. This probably wasn't the first time she'd realized she'd been abandoned. What actually hurts is usually the first time someone else says it out loud, plainly, and admits that it was wrong. I reached out and ruffled her hair. The gesture came out a little awkward.

I was never the sort of older brother who'd grown up knowing how to gently comfort a little sister—I was closer to a humanoid blunt instrument, the type who complains about the hassle right up until something actually catches fire, and then comes charging in anyway. But Fina didn't pull away. If anything, she leaned into it—and even nuzzled her head against my palm, just slightly.... That was completely foul play.

For a moment I genuinely thought: if I'd come back even a little later, there might not have been a single thing left in this house worth keeping.

"Brother."

"Mm?"

"It's… really good that you're back." She said it so softly. Softly enough that it almost sounded like she was afraid saying it any louder would put pressure on me. But it's exactly that kind of sentence that slips past every guard you didn't even know you still had, and settles right into the most unprotected corner of your chest. I drew my hand back and cleared my throat, deliberately casual.

"Don't jump to conclusions yet. For all you know, now that I'm back, Thornhold might end up even more chaotic than before." The corners of Fina's eyes were still faintly red, but she still answered, in a small voice:"But at least… it won't be lifeless anymore." For a moment, I had nothing to say.... She really knew how to land a hit. It's always the quietest people. The moment they finally strike the exact right nerve, you have absolutely no idea how to pretend it didn't land.

Just then, footsteps sounded outside the door. Then came Charlotte's voice.

"Young master, the soup's here. And… Lorelei says once Miss Fina's finished eating, she'll come brush her hair, and tidy the rest of the room while she's at it." Hearing that name, my mind drifted, entirely without my permission, straight back to that scar on her palm from when she'd turned to leave. What a nuisance. I'd spent the entire day dealing with military intelligence, interrogations, imprisonments, and sentencing.

And yet, apparently, my brain had still managed to partition off a dedicated sector specifically for thinking about one woman's hand. Do I have too much free time on my hands? No. I'm just exhausted. Right. That must be it. Fina had clearly caught that fractional pause, and her expression shifted into something faintly mischievous. Only slightly. But I saw it.

"Brother."

"What now?"

"Lorelei… will be coming later."

"I have ears. I heard."

"Mm." She nodded obediently, then slipped the knife in anyway.

"When you heard that just now, your expression went a little strange." I looked at her, deadpan.

"Did your nerve drop down to the ground floor along with you?" She blinked, then actually pressed her lips together to hide a smile. Wonderful. So carrying someone down from a tower does come with side effects. One of them, apparently, being that the little sister starts feeling bold enough to tease her older brother. Honestly, though—not a bad side effect. Certainly better than lifeless. I stood, adjusted the cushion behind her back a little higher, then looked down at her.

"Eat first. We'll talk after."

"Okay."

"And from today on—if anyone ever tries to shove you back upstairs again, you send Charlotte straight to me." Fina looked up at me, her eyes bright.

"Mm." Watching her like that, I felt the fire I'd been holding down all day in that reception hall finally find somewhere real to settle. Not because anything had actually been resolved. But because, at least, I'd started picking people up out of the corners where they'd been thrown. One by one. And that, probably, was the first truly decent thing I'd done since coming back to Thornhold.