For years, the elder branch had mercilessly squeezed the younger one dry.
The patriarch of House Morwyn was aged and indifferent, leaving the running of family affairs to the Lord and Lady Matron of the elder branch.
The consequence: petty tyrants like Wythe, bullies who abused their authority and oppressed those beneath them.
"Lady Zyra, you will regret this," Wythe growled through clenched teeth, sweat streaming down his face. Despite his fear, he spat venomous threats. "Don't think you can run wild just because you have Sir Merrick watching over you. Merrick is but a servant himself; he bows low before the Lady Matron."
Zyra was already turning away to leave when his words struck her.
Her expression darkened instantly. From her belt, she drew a whip.
"Crack!" The leather lash struck Wythe's cheek with a savage force.
Blood blossomed instantly as the whip scarred from his left temple, across his wide mouth, and down to his jaw, splitting his lips open, reminiscent of the Rabbit Hound's trifurcated mouth.
"Retract your words."
Zyra's voice was low and commanding.
Wythe howled in pain, clutching his torn mouth, "Retr… retract what?"
He had never imagined Lady Zyra capable of such violence, nor did he take her seriously from the start, leaving himself unguarded.
His answer came in another sharp crack of the whip.
Terrified now, Wythe whimpered, tears welling as he crumpled onto the cobblestones, hands shielding his head as more lashes rained down.
The third strike caught the back of his hand.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth lashes sent him rolling on the ground in agony.
His mind emptied, save for the relentless echo of one phrase:
Retract, retract, retract…
What was it that had so enraged Lady Zyra?
He scrambled to recall.
Suddenly, clarity pierced his fogged mind.
"Lady Zyra! I was wrong! I should not have slandered Sir Merrick! I am your servant, your humble servant! He is not!" he wailed.
Even Lady Maeryn, the fifth daughter, admired Sir Merrick. How could he have been so foolish?
No one in House Morwyn but Lady Zyra commanded such power over the formidable Sir Merrick.
At that moment,
The whip stopped.
"Filthy."
Zyra tossed aside the bloodied whip carelessly, took up the rabbit cage, and strode away.
Yes, she was hungry.
She looked down at the heap of Snowbell Hares and thought: Tonight's dinner will be spicy rabbit head stew, prepared by the Rabbit Hound.
On the western edge of the bustling market square stood the Alderwood Tavern.
On the tavern's fourth floor, in a half-open chamber screened by ancient pines and cypresses, Ewan Merrick sat reclined, sipping wine. Opposite him was a young man of charming yet roguish demeanor , Lord Alderwood himself, the tavern's owner.
"Hey, come on," Alderwood complained, "you finally manage to come out and drink with me, and yet your mind is miles away. Eyes glued outside. What's so interesting out there?"
Ewan said nothing.
His deep black eyes remained fixed on the street below, where the rabbit vendor stood.
"That's her," Alderwood leaned halfway out the window, glanced down, then rolled his eyes. "Miss Morwyn's seventh daughter is causing trouble again , beating someone in the street."
As a longtime friend and occasional rival, Alderwood was well aware of Ewan's complicated relationship with Zyra Morwyn.
Ewan's tone was icy, "She struck the steward of House Morwyn."
He knew Wythe well. He also knew Wythe's patron and the forces backing him.
Strange, indeed.
Though Zyra had always been fierce, it was unheard of for her to openly defy the elder branch or expect any favors from them. She had changed.
"That's even worse," Alderwood shook his head, clapping a hand on Ewan's shoulder sympathetically. "You're stuck cleaning up her mess again, all for gratitude's sake. Poor you, serving that tempest of a girl."
Ewan drained his wine and poured another.
Watching from above, he saw Wythe's face swollen and bleeding from Zyra's whip, kneeling and begging for mercy. Alderwood sighed.
"In my opinion, you should quit House Morwyn. As for the debts and favors… just leave Zyra a bit of coin. You've plenty , one coin plucked from you would set her up for lifetimes of wasteful spending."
Ewan cut him off, "I promised Lady Matron to keep her safe."
Alderwood's expression softened, like a disappointed father. "I get that. But even if you want to protect her, must you stay as her steward? The Emberwood Sanctuary is about to open soon , inside lies the Emberwood Manor. I don't need to remind you what treasures are there. I managed to get you this Emberwood Key from my father. You must go."
He pulled a finely carved wooden token shaped like a key from his pocket and slid it across the table.
"The Emberwood Sanctuary opens once every fifty years, lasting a month. Nobles and princes from across the kingdom scramble to enter. You should resign your duties and seize this chance."
A month , not short, not long.
But a steward could never abandon his charge for such a stretch.
"I'll consider it," Ewan murmured, shadows flickering in his eyes.
Alderwood grew impatient, "Consider it? Do you know what I had to endure to get this key? My father made me abandon my business and study combat at that blasted academy. Do you know what a sacrifice that was? Are you grateful?"
Ewan's lip twitched.
"First, learning combat won't hurt you. Second, that's no blasted academy , it's the renowned Blackstone Academy. Third, you're not sacrificing, you're being blessed and don't realize it."
Lord Alderwood blinked, struck silent by his friend's sharp words.
Just then, from the street below came a desperate, almost hysterical wail, echoing through the market square , impossible to ignore.
"Milady, I was wrong! I should not have spoken ill of Lord Merrick! I am but a servant! He is no servant!"