Chapter 2 — A House in Mourning

Chapter 2: Chapter 2 — A House in Mourning

Chapter 2 — A House in Mourning

The physician found no wound.

He examined Christopher twice, checking the bloodstained tunic, pressing along his ribs, and asking Godfrey to examine the new Knight Seed again.

"The channels are damaged," the physician said. "They’re also closing faster than they should."

Christopher sat on the edge of his bed. "Will they heal completely?"

"They might, if you stop gathering Essence. If you force another circulation today, I may be examining a corpse by evening."

Godfrey stood beside the window. "He will stop."

The physician waited for Christopher to answer himself.

"I will stop," Christopher said.

"You will also eat. Agnes says you have refused meals since the war messenger arrived."

The body remembered refusing every meal placed outside the door, but Christopher now felt hungry enough to eat everything in the kitchen.

"Bring breakfast."

Agnes left before anyone could change the order.

The physician packed his instruments. "Your grandfather wishes to see you when you can stand."

"I can stand now."

"You can remain seated until after you eat."

Everyone treated the words as an order.

Godfrey followed the physician into the passage, then stopped before closing the door.

"I will return in an hour."

"To make sure I ate?"

"To make sure you did not try another breakthrough while nobody watched."

The door closed.

Christopher waited until the footsteps faded before he allowed his shoulders to drop. He had survived the first questions.

Agnes returned with eggs, bread, broth, and sliced fruit. He ate slowly at first, then hunger took over.

The food tasted familiar to the body and strange to him. He knew the broth contained rosemary because Christopher Drake had eaten it for years, and he remembered disliking the herb as a child. The memory carried no feeling.

Agnes watched him finish the eggs and reach for more bread.

"You have not eaten this much since Lady Cecily died."

Christopher stopped chewing.

He remembered Cecily beside a garden window, brushing dirt from a child’s coat and telling him not to climb the western wall again. He could see her face. He felt nothing for her.

"I nearly died last night," he said. "It changed my opinion of breakfast."

Agnes lowered her eyes. "Your mother used to say you only learned after hurting yourself."

"She may have been right."

That answer seemed to trouble Agnes more than anger would have.

She collected the empty dishes. "I prepared mourning clothes. The household has begun arranging Lord Edmund’s funeral."

"His body did not return."

Agnes went still.

Christopher had learned that fact from the memories, but speaking it made the empty place in the coming funeral feel real.

"No, Young Master. The survivors brought his broken cloak and signet."

"How many survivors?"

"I don’t know. More arrived during the night."

House Drake had sent two Silver Knights, ten Bronze Knights, fifteen Black Iron Knights, and twenty Forged Knights north under Edmund, along with many soldiers, servants, and wagon crews. Less than half had returned.

"I will see them later," Christopher said.

"Sir Godfrey said you must rest."

"I won’t train. That’s different from hiding in bed while wounded men enter the castle."

Agnes accepted it; a servant could advise the young master, but the decision remained his. She set out a black coat and left him to change.

The room became quiet.

Christopher tied the first fastening, missed the second, and stopped.

His old family returned to him without warning. His mother leaned through his bedroom door to ask whether he wanted tea. His father fell asleep in a chair with the television still on. His siblings sent messages during lectures because an argument at home could not wait.

They were alive when he last saw them.

He had not said goodbye.

He did not know whether his body had died, disappeared, or continued without him. Somewhere, his mother might be calling a phone he would never answer.

Christopher sat on the bed and covered his face.

The grief that came then belonged entirely to him. He cried quietly. He missed electric lights, traffic, cheap food, and every small complaint he once treated as important. He even missed assignments that had seemed unbearable two days ago.

He remembered the last meal he had eaten with his family: his younger sibling taking food from his plate, Christopher threatening to count every missing piece the next time they ordered, his mother telling both of them to stop arguing, his father laughing until she turned on him as well.

It had been an ordinary evening. That was what hurt.

There had been no final conversation, no warning. He had left dishes near the sink and books open on his desk. A shirt his mother kept telling him to put away was probably still hanging over the back of a chair. He had expected to return to every unfinished task.

If time moved the same here, his family might already know he was missing. They might be searching hospitals or calling friends who knew nothing. The thought of his mother waiting for an answer made his chest hurt more than the failed breakthrough had.

Christopher lowered his hands and forced himself to breathe. He could not reach them, could not even prove that his old world still existed somewhere beyond his memories. Grief was all he had left of them, and hiding from it would not bring them closer.

The memories of Christopher Drake offered no comfort. They gave him another dead mother and another dead father, but the pain remained behind glass.

"Can I go back?" he whispered.

Nothing answered.

There was no voice, system, or god waiting to explain why he had crossed worlds. The Dragon Eyes showed colors and Essence. They did not show a path home.

A knock came after some time.

Christopher wiped his face. "Come in."

Agnes entered with the coat he had failed to fasten properly. She saw his face and looked away before he could become embarrassed.

"Your eyes are red."

"My father died."

It was true, even if Edmund Drake was not the father he had been mourning.

Agnes fixed the coat. "The hall is not ready yet. You can wait in the south room."

"I want to walk first."

"Sir Godfrey said—"

"I know what he said. I will stay inside the castle."

Agnes bowed. "I will come with you."

The castle had changed overnight. Black cloth covered the family banners. Servants carried benches toward the old hall. Fires burned in every waiting room because wounded men and their families continued arriving through the gate.

Most people bowed when Christopher passed, though several looked surprised to see him walking. News of his Black Iron breakthrough had spread faster than the physician.

Christopher answered greetings with small nods and kept walking.

They crossed the upper gallery. Below, servants carried a man with a bandaged leg into the west rooms, a woman following with two children.

The wounded man tried to walk when he saw Christopher above him, and his injured leg folded before he completed the first step. The servants caught him beneath the arms.

"Stay down," Christopher called before thinking about whether the young master of the house would have spoken.

The soldier looked up. Part of his beard had burned away along one cheek. "Young Master. We failed Lord Edmund."

Christopher had no memory of the man’s name. He descended three steps so he would not be speaking from the gallery like a judge.

"You returned wounded," he said. "That’s enough for today. Let them take you inside."

The soldier’s expression tightened, and Christopher could not tell whether the answer comforted him or made the shame worse. The woman beside him took his hand and guided the servants toward the west rooms.

Agnes watched them go. "His name is Martin Fell. He served your father for eleven years."

Christopher stored the name with the hundreds of other facts he might need without warning.

Christopher’s Dragon Eyes stirred. He had not called them.

Faint colors appeared around the people below. Most were Gray or White. One wounded soldier gave off a weak Green glow. The colors carried no names, but the bloodline knowledge identified them as potential.

Gray. White. Green.

The Green light flickered around Martin Fell while the servants carried him away. Whatever future the color suggested, it could not help his injured leg today.

Pain formed behind Christopher’s eyes, and he closed the ability before Agnes noticed.

"Young Master?"

"The light hurt my head."

"We should return."

"In a moment."

At the end of the gallery, a servant opened the door to the west stair, and Hugh Drake came through with two retainers behind him.

Christopher’s uncle wore mourning black over a sword belt. He was broad, clean-shaven, and several inches taller than Christopher. A Silver Knight’s pressure followed him even though he made no effort to display it.

Hugh stopped.

"So the story is true."

Christopher bowed the proper amount. "Uncle Hugh."

"You reached Black Iron."

"I reached it during the night."

Hugh turned to Agnes. "Leave us."

She hesitated only long enough to earn his notice.

"Wait by the stair," Christopher told her.

Agnes bowed and moved out of easy hearing.

Hugh stepped closer. "Your father dies, and you answer by nearly killing yourself. Did you think a Black Iron rank would make you heir by sunset?"

Christopher swallowed the first answer that came to him.

"I was not thinking clearly."

"That may be the first sensible thing you have said."

"Was there something you needed, Uncle?"

Hugh’s eyes narrowed. "You sound different."

Fear tightened Christopher’s chest.

"I woke in a pool of blood after forcing a breakthrough. I don’t feel like myself."

"Grief does not make a fool wise."

"Coming close to death might change a fool."

Hugh studied him. "Do not mistake Black Iron for power. Your father was Gold, and the north still killed him."

He walked past without waiting for a reply.

Christopher remained still until Hugh and his men disappeared down the gallery.

Agnes returned. "Should I call Sir Godfrey?"

"No. Hugh has already left."

Agnes glanced down the gallery. "He may return, Young Master."

"If he does, send someone for Godfrey."

They continued toward the south room.

Godfrey found them before they reached it.

"You were told to rest."

"I walked through two corridors."

"You also managed to meet Hugh."

"He reminded me that Black Iron is weak."

"For once, Hugh told the truth."

Christopher allowed the Dragon Eyes to open for a breath, and Godfrey became surrounded by deep Blue light.

The color was stronger than Green and far rarer. Godfrey’s actual Silver rank existed separately from whatever the Blue light promised.

Christopher closed his eyes as pain struck.

Godfrey caught his shoulder. "What happened?"

"The headache returned."

"You’re going back to your room."

"My grandfather summoned me."

"He can wait until the physician clears you."

A servant came from the main stair and bowed.

"Sir Godfrey. Young Master. Lord Osbert asks that Christopher attend him after the midday bell."

Godfrey looked displeased, but he could not overrule the viscount inside his own castle.

"He will attend," Godfrey said. "After he rests."

The servant withdrew.

Christopher let Agnes and Godfrey return him to his room, and this time he went willingly.

At midday, he would face his grandfather, both uncles, and whatever House Drake intended to do after Edmund’s death. He had several hours to remember how Christopher Drake spoke to his family, and several hours more to decide how much of that person he was willing to become.

Agnes closed the shutters before leaving him to rest. Christopher lay back without removing the mourning coat. Sleep refused to come — every sound in the passage suggested another servant, relative, or wounded soldier who might enter and expect recognition.

He began reviewing faces instead.

Osbert, his grandfather. Hugh and Ranulf, his uncles. Agnes, Oswin, Godfrey. He went over their positions inside House Drake and how Christopher had once spoken to each of them, and the exercise felt less like remembering family than studying before an examination where failure might mean a sword through his chest.

When the midday bell finally sounded, he knew the names.

Knowing what they wanted from him would be harder.