Cline should have known he wouldnât stay long.
He was a man adept at housework, but city life didnât seem to suit him. Still, he had tried.
       And now this was his reward.
Not once had it occurred to Cline that he should worry for Ivarâs safety. Energetic and prone to accidents as he could be â has he had been â he could take care of himself. It was almost astounding, those first few months the young man had quite literally run about the manor, completing every task set before him, and then every other task that hadnât been given to him; he could have single-handedly run the entire manor, if he so chose. It shouldnât have surprised any of them that he would take on this task, too.
"Cline," Driselleâs voice is a whisper behind him. "You couldnât have stopped him."
The quaver in her voice sends shudders down his spine.
                                              That could have been you.
She didnât have to say it. Nobody did.
Standing so blatantly against Nachtigalâs rule, despite knowing what he was capable of, Cline had earned himself a power of the enemy. He knew he was making himself a target, the perfect man to send a statement to the rest of the nation â not yet strong enough to have amassed a loyal fighting resistance, but powerful enough to send fear through those who might have thought to follow him. Cline had anticipated an attempt on his life, but not like this. Not so soon.
No more than a week had passed, since the incident. While the rest of Sharilton had breathed a silent sigh of relief, Cline did not. Instead, he stood at the far end of the garden, beneath a tree with a wyvern wrapped obstinately beneath its meager shade. This was where he would find them most often, when given his most difficult task of ârelaxing.â The great beast gave a low whine beneath the governorâs hand, still bandaged from its latest expression of grief. For all that they could not say to each other, they understood. Driselle grasped lightly at his sleeve before she left, moving to take care of what he could not.
"Ivar-- I'm sorry." Lower than a whisper, he nearly mouths the words as his voice fails him.
"It was unfair of me to ask you to defend the manor.These people are my responsibility, not yours..." He bends forward to touch the top of the headstone; the wyvern growls, but he does not move. "Thank you. I'll make sure we finish what we started."Â Heavy words, but it's the least Cline could offer him.
"-- silence never did suit you."
