The rhythmic ticking of the pendulum clock echoed from the staircase in the entrance hall all the way down the broad corridor of the first floor where they stood. Like a broken—or perhaps restrained—breath, capable at once of shattering and emphasizing the tomb-like silence heavy with tension that had fallen over them.

Lucien watched the elderly Ravast butler before him with careful attention. Long, straight gray hair combed back, thick and well-kept beard and mustache of the same color, his usual stern and unshakable expression now warped by an anguish as deep as it was evident. His dark eyes were lowered toward the floor, and though his posture—arms gathered behind his back—remained as impeccable and motionless as ever, it still betrayed a pain and sense of guilt that would likely never abandon him.

“Philipo, tell us once again exactly how things happened,” Captain Iuliu declared at last in a firm, resolute voice, drawing himself up to his full height and casting the old servant a grim look, as though trying to intimidate him.

The latter sought—and found—Simon’s approval beside him before replying.

“A-as I already said, C-Captain…” he began stammering, visibly distraught and without lifting his eyes from the floor, “t-this morning Lord Lucas wished to prepare himself alone for the wedding. He insisted upon it. I was only meant to wait for him downstairs and prepare the carriage to escort him to the ceremony. So I merely followed instructions, helping Lord Simon dress and accompanying him to the chapel. Afterwards I returned here to the residence alone, in order to await Lord Lucas. But when the agreed hour came, my master did not appear. I waited several minutes… perhaps too many… yet eventually, worried, I came here. After knocking on his chamber door several times and receiving no answer, I entered and… and… h-he was gone… h-he had vanished into thin air… it is my fault… mine alone… I-I should have paid closer attention…”

“Did you notice anything unusual this morning or yesterday evening? Did Lord Lucas seem strange to you for any reason?” Iuliu pressed him with an inquisitorial stare, forcing himself into a politeness and delicacy that clearly did not belong to him.

“N-no… I-I don’t think so…” the butler answered uncertainly, provoking an irritated reply from the officer.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t think so’? Yes or no?” he snapped again, jaw tightening as he barely restrained himself from bursting out.

Lucien turned his gaze elsewhere. That was certainly not the best way to obtain useful answers. More importantly, those were not the right questions.

Had he been the one tasked with discovering what had happened, he would have acted very differently.

Letting his attention drift from the conversation, the half-elf studied the surroundings more carefully. The long corridor, furnished with the same taste and refinement as the rest of the Ravast residence, was lined on both sides with sturdy dark-wood doors, one of which belonged to Lord Lucas’s bedchamber. An endless and luxurious ruby-red carpet adorned with elaborate yellowish and orange floral patterns covered the central strip of the wooden floor, stretching from the landing atop the stairs to the far end of the hallway itself, some twenty paces away.

Between the doors, alongside a few elegant carved rosewood side tables topped with marble busts and precious white-and-cobalt ceramic vases filled with multicolored flowers, the walls bore large paintings framed in ornate golden baroque frames depicting countryside landscapes, still lifes, and—presumably—ancient and important figures of House Ravast.

In the delicate late-morning sunlight filtering through the windows at either end of the corridor and illuminating the entire hall, Lucien let his gaze linger upon Simon Ravast.

The second-born son of the noble house was not listening to a single word spoken around him. Head bowed, face shadowed by silent despair, eyes seemingly fixed upon the crumpled note clenched in his hands. Yet it was evident his gaze was empty, lost somewhere far away.

As was his mind.

That allowed the half-elf to read the message for a second time without appearing overly intrusive or inappropriate.

Anastasia and I wish to live according to our own will. Nothing and no one may tell us what to do or how to do it. We are leaving Ravast forever. Do not search for us. Farewell.

The words had been hastily scribbled in an elaborate masculine handwriting that both Philipo and Simon had immediately attributed to Lord Lucas.

It was certainly a plausible explanation for why both betrothed lovers were missing.

Judging by the contents of the letter, they had fled together in the heart of the previous night—or more likely at the first light of dawn—long before Ember on one side and Philipo on the other could realize they had disappeared.

Yet the timing, motives, and manner of that escape remained shrouded in fog.

Very few things—indeed, almost nothing—could compel a Lord of the Valley and his bride-to-be to flee on the eve of their wedding like common thieves. And the reasons hinted at in the letter were not among them. No one in the village possessed the authority or influence to oppose the will of its lord. Neither Simon nor the Onvald family.

Unless, the half-elf reflected, there was in truth something else beneath the surface.

Something no one knew about.

Something sudden and unforeseen.

Something that had forced the pair of fugitives to make such a decision on the spur of the moment.

“Do not worry, Simon. Regardless of the reasons behind their actions, I am certain Lucas and Anastasia are safe. You will see—we shall find them and bring them home,” Bella Ravast spoke softly, resting a hand upon the shoulder of the second-born noble while looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

The young cousin of the two brothers—their contemporary and a member of a lesser branch of the family—had arrived from Sethern only minutes earlier to attend the wedding and, upon learning of the disappearance of the bride and groom, had immediately hurried to the residence to confirm the news herself.

Introducing herself in a formal yet brisk manner, she had at once joined the gathering of those eager to know more, finding Simon’s approval, for he had not objected to their presence.

Needless to say, Captain Iuliu had not taken kindly to so many people involving themselves in the questioning of Philipo. Yet the officer of the village guard could object in no way to an order from Simon—who now, in his elder brother’s absence, stood in the Lord’s place in every respect.

Lucien’s eyes settled upon the captivating cousin of the Ravasts whom he had only recently met.

Of average height, slender and graceful, she stood out for her composed elegance, both in speech and movement. Her fair skin harmonized perfectly with her pastel-green eyes and the light, delicate touch of makeup upon her face, while contrasting—yet still producing an exceptionally pleasing effect—with both her long black hair combed back and gathered at the nape of her neck in a simple hairstyle that let it fall just below her shoulders, and with her exquisite gown.

A long and elegant dress of black and dark violet velvet left part of her shoulders uncovered, drawing attention to the thin silver necklace resting upon her neck.

Watching her carefully, Lucien understood she wished to say more. Yet instead, the noblewoman merely parted her full lips slightly, lowering her finely sculpted jaw a fraction. Her well-defined features tightened into a worried expression she made certain not to show Simon.

Much like what the half-elf himself was doing.

The tension among those present, along with the shock, was palpable, and it would have been unwise to burden the atmosphere further.

A wise decision.

Bella Ravast seemed every bit as sharp and intelligent as her cousins, as well as sensitive and genuinely distressed by what had occurred.

Turning his gaze toward his traveling companions, Lucien realized they were all in much the same state: bewildered, incredulous, unsettled. Unable to utter words that were truly meaningful or comforting. From the cordial Gwen and serious Goldrick to the taciturn Liris, the absent-minded Tiresio, and the mysterious Karak—the latter, as usual, standing apart several paces behind them in the corridor.

None of them had managed more than a few polite phrases. Both toward the Onvald family, when they had followed them to their home to confirm Anastasia’s disappearance, and toward Simon when, shortly afterward, they had reached the Ravast residence following the alarm raised by Philipo as well.

Yet if his mouth had spoken little, the same could not be said for the countless thoughts swirling through his mind.

Possible alternative explanations for the couple’s disappearance. Potential involvement of other individuals. The means by which the two had managed to vanish without anyone noticing.

A storm of thoughts that had begun to whirl within his head and had not left him since.

Though fully aware there was little he could truly do to answer all those questions.

“So the door was locked from the inside, and you had to make the key fall from the other side before using the master key to enter the Lord’s chamber,” Iuliu declared firmly as the half-elf turned his attention once more toward the interrogation the officer was subjecting Philipo to.

“Exactly…” the butler replied faintly, the many wrinkles upon his face seeming deeper than ever, as though the burden of what had happened had settled upon him alongside the weight of age itself.

“Therefore, excluding the possibility that he left through the main entrance, the only remaining escape route would be the chamber window. Am I correct?” the Captain continued, giving the old servant not a moment to breathe.

Before the elder could answer, however, the words spoken by Simon Ravast echoed through the corridor, abruptly interrupting the exchange.

Everyone present turned toward him in surprise.

“You must find my brother, whatever the cost. Alive and unharmed. I wish to speak with him, to understand why, to help him if I can…” he declared, tightening his grip upon the note in his hand until it crumpled in his palm.

“Of course, my Lord. We shall do everything possible. I will organize the—”

“Not only you and your guards, Captain. We need all the help we can get. And there is no time to hire more men—perhaps from Sethern—to join the search,” the second-born Ravast resumed, before lifting his head and looking with determination at the six strangers standing before him one by one.

“Therefore, I ask of you a great—an immense—favor. We have been told you displayed extraordinary skill in saving Lucas from the brigands. Without you, we likely would not even be standing here now. And so, I beg you to use those same abilities to find him and, if necessary, save him a second time. And save my sister-in-law as well. From whatever it is they are fleeing. I shall reward you properly, that is my promise. But bring me back my brother and his wife!”

Lucien stared at the nobleman in the wheelchair in disbelief, noticing from the corner of his eye that his companions—as well as Philipo and especially Iuliu—were doing the same, utterly stunned.

A development he never could have expected.

In the astonished silence that, like an invisible veil, once again descended over the corridor, the distant and steady ticking of the pendulum clock returned to echo within his pointed ears.