Sneaking home / Zen

Zendelrin liked to believe himself to be, if not an intelligent man, a perceptive one at the very least. One could not hold the position of advisor if the case were otherwise. Anywhere that he went his eyes were always seeking, cataloguing, identifying differences and uncovering similarities to divine conclusions for those who might seek answers later. But here at home this was unnecessary. At least, it should be.

He had lived in this house for many years, furnished it, studied it, the environment rarely changed. The sounds of the fireplace were familiar, the muted shuffle of shoes on stone telling of the servants movements, the faint scratching of branches tapping against the window reminding him to have it cut, even the gentle tick of the grandfather clock in the corner sounding the hour, all was familiar and well known and present. But what wasn’t present was the most worrying. Because of all the sounds in his home the most important was the one that was missing.

Ratsami, because he did not speak to many outside his tutors and servants, took every opportunity to talk with him when he came home from the archives. Through him the boy knew of the world beyond the gates. But tonight the familiar chatter of the teen recounting his day was disturbingly, distressingly absent.

His coach had dropped opened up to reveal his manor as he exited the carriage, home earlier than was usual for him. It was his hope that he would be able to spend more time with his nephew. The maid had fidgeted nervously under his gaze when he had arrived, refusing to make eye contact, which was alarming for he was always so careful with his attendants. What could have happened that she would doubt her employer’s ability to forgive? She had not come forward, he had not asked. He regretted having not done so but he loathed being confrontational and the poor girl looked at him like a prisoner would the guillotine. And then he had discovered why.

Ratsami, his little star, was not in his room. Zendelrin had been confused but not alarmed at first. He’d checked the study, which too had been vacant. The washrooms were empty, the kitchen free of his smiling face, the groundskeeper had not seen him in the garden, the servants not since breakfast. He’d vanished. Poof. Gone. Not even a note – though he supposed that was impossible for the blind and none of his staff (he hoped) would help the boy write such a message.

An aggrieved note passed his lips as the firelight danced quietly beside him. The scholar looked like he’d swallowed a particularly large rock and it was not sitting well with him. The stew that had been brought to him was long cold and the scent unappetizing. Had been abducted? No, that was impossible, somebody would have heard them, seen them, surely. Then that must mean the teenager had fled willingly from the manor. Would he come back? Why did he have to be so willful? Why couldn’t he just stay here where it was safe and where the ugliness of the world could not touch him and smudge him?

‘But you touch him.’ His conscience supplied damningly.

His heart lurched painfully, his already grim expression darker now as a maid – not the one who had taken his coat – whispered to him that Ratsami was lingering out at the gate. In this weather? Foolish boy he’d catch his death of cold there! Zendelrin had irritably waved off the woman as he made for the door and while he was a man who valued persuasion to violence, the angry energy bottled up in his heart would not let him be calm.

The front door was yanked open with more force than was necessary but it felt better than the smack he might’ve given the boy otherwise.

Down the way he could see the silvery hair and pale skin. Ratsami attracted attention, his features practically begging for it with his ethereal appearance. Should anyone beyond those he allowed here were to see him they’d whisk him off, never to be seen again. “I trust you had an eventful day?”Anxiety, fear and guilt ate at him but he schooled his features like he’d learned to do early on in his wretched life.