Lucien did not turn immediately.
Gareth leaned against the stone arch with Cedric beside him, because of course Cedric had come too. Gareth wore casual riding leathers now, the kind fitted for training rather than ceremony. Cedric had changed into a dark coat embroidered at the cuffs, elegant enough to insult the stable by existing inside it.
Cedric smiled. "Don't get any diseases there, brother. Your fiancée will not like it."
Lucien's hands stilled on the strap.
"Fiancée?" he said.
The word felt absurd in his mouth.
A beat passed.
Then memory, dusty and half-buried, returned.
"Ah," Lucien said softly. "I was engaged during this time… huh."
Gareth stared at him.
Cedric's smile faltered. "During this time?"
Lucien fastened the strap and turned. "Anyway, goodbye."
That was apparently not the answer either of them wanted.
Cedric stepped forward. "You forgot your own fiancée?"
"I forgot many things," Lucien said. "I'm correcting that."
"By going to Prav with coin in your pocket after awakening a carnival trick?"
"Among other things."
Gareth pushed away from the arch, his amusement fading into something closer to irritation. "You're acting strange."
"I awakened an F-rank ability in front of half the province, claimed to see invisible blue writing, got mocked by guests, congratulated my sister, asked Father for leave, and now I'm leaving for a city famous for gambling, whores, mercenaries, and bad decisions," Lucien said as he mounted Vela with one smooth pull. "Strange seems merciful."
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Cedric's eyes narrowed.
Gareth barked a laugh despite himself. "At least you still know how to talk."
Lucien gathered the reins.
For half a breath, he looked at them properly.
Gareth, who would die holding a bridge with forty-seven men. Cedric, who would vanish into imperial chains. Two brothers who hated him for a title and mocked him for weakness, yet whose deaths had still left holes in the world when Lucien learned of them too late. He did not know if he could save them. He did not know if he wanted to save the men they would become without changing the boys they were now.
But he had returned before the board was set.
That had to mean something.
"Try not to burn the house down while I'm gone," Lucien said.
Cedric scoffed. "That sounds more like your specialty."
"No," Lucien said, nudging Vela toward the open stable path. "Mine was wasting time."
Neither brother answered that.
Lucien rode out before they could decide whether to laugh.
The gates of House Valehart opened before him, iron groaning softly on old hinges. Beyond them, the road sloped down past the outer walls and into the green spread of Valehart lands. Fields shimmered under late afternoon light. Shepherds moved like small figures along the hills. Smoke rose from village chimneys in thin gray threads. In the far distance, the western woods darkened beneath the sun, and beyond those roads lay Prav.
Prav.
The city where he had first learned how hungry men sold secrets. Where mercenaries drank with priests and assassins prayed beside debtors. Where a foolish young noble had once lost coin, blood, and dignity in equal measure.
Where, if memory served, one of the first true doors to his Black Arcana might already be waiting.
Vela's hooves struck the road in a steady rhythm.
For the first time since opening his eyes in the great hall, Lucien was alone.
No nobles. No laughter. No father's gaze. No brothers' teeth hidden behind smiles.
Only wind, road, horse, and the faint chill of unseen cards resting somewhere behind his ribs.
A blue window appeared before him.
Lucien tightened his grip on the reins but did not startle this time.
[Deck of the Dead King.]
[Part 1/40.]
[The Fool has been obtained.]
[Choose One.]
[Knight.]
[Band of Swords.]
The road stretched ahead.
Lucien looked at the two names.
Knight.
Band of Swords.
Both had saved his life once.
Both had been found too late.
He remembered the hollow armor on the bridge, standing beneath smoke-thick trees while wolves with ember eyes circled it. He remembered three pale blades flashing in a flooded ruin, cutting long enough for him to crawl through black water with a wound in his side and terror in his teeth.
Knight meant defense. A guardian. A body between him and death.
Band of Swords meant offense. Movement. Reach. Violence without needing his own hands to be strong enough yet.
He was leaving home with a horse, a hundred crowns, no allies, and a body that had not yet been broken into usefulness.
A guardian sounded wise.
A weapon sounded necessary.
Lucien breathed slowly, eyes fixed on the road to Prav.
The blue window waited.
Behind him, House Valehart still stood beneath its silver stag.
Ahead of him, fate had opened its mouth.
Lucien smiled faintly and rode toward it.