The letter arrived three days before the assessment.
Aldric, found it on his desk, tucked beneath the training weights, its seal already broken. The paper was thick, expensive, the kind their father had always favored, imported from the southern provinces at a cost that would have fed the estate for a month. The handwriting was sharp, precise, the letters pressed deep into the fibers as if the words themselves had cost him something.
'Aldric.'
'By the time you read this, I will be gone. The assessment will proceed without me. You will stand as head of House Verant in my absence. The will is with the family solicitor. Do not look for me.'
'Forgive me. Or don't. I won't be there to see the difference.'
'—Marius Verant'
