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“Coming,” he murmured as he rolled out of bed.
The small bedroom was mostly bare, its only furniture a narrow bed, a chest of drawers, and a small table. None of it matched, and though his childhood bedroom hadn’t been used in over a decade, each piece was well worn. Killian’s mother had never been one to throw anything out. “Each piece tells a story,” she would say.
Normally he loved his mother’s eccentricities, but lately he had failed to see the joy in them.
Killian pulled a tunic over his head and slid on a pair of trousers—both gray and neatly pressed. He kept the bedroom just as clean as he had his quarters at the palace, tidiness ingrained in him long ago.
“Killian!” Mrs. Southwick hollered as Killian was lacing up his boots. “Your breakfast is getting cold!”
He could imagine his mother standing over a hearty breakfast, hand on her hip.
“I’ll be down in a second,” he half called, half groaned.
Killian paused and regarded the map of Rhodan that lay atop the small table. The ragged parchment was spotted with tiny blue dots, each gently illuminated and pulsating softly. His eyes instantly shot to the capital, located in the center of the map. Nothing appeared amiss. As always, his reaction was a combination of relief and disappointment. He sighed before he yanked open his bedroom door and trudged down the stairs.
Sure enough, Mrs. Southwick stood beside a table full of eggs, fruit, bread, and sausage, with one hand on her wide hips, the other holding a glass of milk. Sweat gathered on her dark skin, though the true heat of summer was only just beginning. Contrary to Killian’s beliefs, she didn’t seem bothered. A cheery smile was on her face.
She passed him the milk and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before Killian seated himself at the small feast.
“Eat your fill,” she ordered in her motherly tone. “Today is going to be a good day—I can feel it.”
Killian made a noncommittal grunt as he forked a sausage and took a hearty bite.
“It is,” his mother insisted. She seated herself in the chair beside him but didn’t touch any of the food.
“You say that every day, Mum,” Killian protested. “You make all this food, but you hardly eat any of it. It’ll be a good day when you help yourself to your fill.”
Killian’s mother opened her mouth, likely to object, but a knock at the door interrupted.
“I’ll get it,” Mrs. Southwick said as she hoisted herself from the chair and bustled her way toward the front door. “You get yourself some of those eggs,” she called over her shoulder. “Sunny side up, just the way you like!”
Killian scooped two eggs onto his plate but didn’t bother to tell his mother, for the hundredth time, that he preferred his eggs scrambled.
Mrs. Southwick swung the front door open, and sunlight illuminated the entire room. Killian let out another grunt at that. He blinked a few times against the brightness, and the silhouette in the doorway started to take shape. A short boy stood on the threshold, a scroll of parchment in his hand.
“A letter, ma’am,” he said cheerily up at Mrs. Southwick, his mop of brown hair shaking as he went. When he smiled, Killian noticed he was missing one of his front teeth. “It’s for Miffter Sowfwifck,” the boy proclaimed through his lisp.
Clearly, this young man didn’t know who Killian was, or else he wouldn’t be so merry.
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Southwick said as she took the parchment from the boy. “Would you like some breakfast?” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder to where Killian sat at the table.
“No fanks, ma’am. I’ve got a whole bundle of letters to deliver.” He patted his hip, where a satchel bursting with parchment rested.
As Killian’s mother bid the boy farewell and crossed the room with the letter in hand, Killian wondered who it could be from. Perhaps it was some official business from the Royal Guard regarding his dismissal, or an update on Elyse’s whereabouts. No, certainly not that. He had been searching for her rigorously these past two months—if not more than the entire Guard had. He would know if she had been found.
Mrs. Southwick handed him the letter as she sat down beside him, and he tore open the seal immediately.
“Honestly, Killian. Can’t you finish your breakfast first?” she scolded him. “Sometimes I don’t know who raised you.”
But Killian was in no mood to tease his mother back, or even huff at her comments. He held his breath and gave his entire focus over to the few words scrawled on the parchment.
Noon. Today. 453 W Abernathy.
That was all it said, but it was enough.
His appetite disappeared immediately, replaced by anticipation. He’d waited so long for this meeting, and now everything else seemed trivial.
“Thanks, Mum,” Killian said, the chair scraping across the floor as he stood up.
