The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 50 I will go there myself

Maena took the letter from the Baroness's trembling hands, her eyes scanning the magical parchment with practised efficiency. The handwriting was hurried but legible, bearing the clear marks of desperate haste:

Mother,

I pray this finds you. I've escaped the Blue Rose women and taken refuge in Hamrasa, the river trading city. I'm hiding in the old merchant quarter but don't know how long I'll be safe. They have eyes everywhere. If you have any love for me, please send help. I can't face them alone.

- Roblan.

A dry chuckle escaped Maena's lips as she finished reading.

She turned to Cleora, the newly-made Baroness, with a mix of amusement and disdain. "Your son doesn't have any shame, does he? Running to his mother after stirring up trouble with the Blue Rose?"

Cleora remained silent, her face a mask of worried dignity, but her daughter Nora shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the stone floor. "You!" she burst out, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion.

"It wasn't my brother's fault! Those witches from the Blue Rose must have done something to him."

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, but then, remarkably, she managed to modulate her tone. "And weren't you commissioned to save my brother in the first place? Please... please save him."

The last words came out as a respectful request rather than a demand, the shift in tone so artful it caught Maena off guard.

She studied the young woman with new interest, noting the way Nora had managed to express both righteous anger and careful deference in the same breath. It was the kind of social manoeuvring Maena appreciated—useful in both business and survival.

"Fine, fine," Maena said, rising from her seat with a theatrical sigh. "We'll get your brother. Don't worry yourself further."

Jolthar watched the exchange with keen interest, particularly noting Nora's performance.

The girl clearly knew how to navigate treacherous social waters, adapting her approach even in moments of high emotion. She had been a steadfast support to her mother through all this, he realised, managing their precarious situation with surprising skill for one so young.

After bidding farewell to the Baroness and her daughter, Maena gathered her men in a private chamber. The atmosphere grew tense as they discussed their next moves.

The flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the walls as they debated their options.

"The Blue Rose isn't some common street gang," one of her lieutenants argued, nervously fingering his weapon. "Going against them for a few coins would be suicide. The clan won't appreciate us making such a powerful enemy."

"The baron's death was one thing," Eran added. "Clean, quick, and justified. But the Blue Rose? They have connections in every major city. Their revenge can span decades."

Maena leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming a thoughtful rhythm on the table. "You're not wrong," she admitted. "This is a different beast entirely from dealing with a corrupt baron. The Blue Rose operates in shadows we can't even see."

She glanced at Jolthar. "And yet, we've already stepped into this dance, haven't we? The moment we took control of this barony, we inherited its problems."

"And its opportunities," Jolthar added quietly, earning a sharp look from her.

"You see something in this mess worth pursuing?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her tone.

"The Blue Rose may be powerful, but they're not invincible," Jolthar responded. "They maintain their power through fear and secrets. But now we have something they might want—knowledge of where their leader's daughter's... companion has fled." He chose the last word carefully, still uncertain of the true nature of the relationship between Roblan and the Blue Rose daughter.

Maena's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You're suggesting we use this situation rather than run from it?"

"I am saying that we don't need to involve the clan name in resuing that man."

"I'll disguise myself as a wandering mercenary," Jolthar explained, his eyes bright with the confidence of youth. "Someone unremarkable, just another sword for hire in a city full of them. They won't suspect I'm connected to the barony or to you."

Maena's chuckle held more worry than amusement. "Do you even know anything about them, Jolthar? The Blue Rose isn't some common street gang you can outsmart with a simple disguise. Their network of spies and informants—"

Jolthar waved off her concerns with a casual gesture that made Eran, Maena's veteran lieutenant, grimace. "I'll handle it. Trust me."

"Handle it?" Eran stepped forward, his scarred face tight with concern. "Boy, you don't know what you're getting into. The Blue Rose... they don't just kill their enemies. They make examples of them. I've seen what they do to people who cross them – things that would make even your lady's methods seem gentle."

The torchlight caught the determined set of Jolthar's jaw as he faced the older warrior. "Give me until tomorrow's dusk. If I haven't returned with Roblan by then, come looking for me—or don't.

Your choice." His eyes met Maena's. "But this is the best way. A small group moving quietly will have a better chance than any show of force."

Maena studied him for a long moment, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her wine cup.

Finally, she nodded. "Very well. Until dusk tomorrow. But Jolthar..." Her voice hardened.

As Jolthar prepared for his mission, stripping off his distinctive armour and gear until he was left with only his long sword and simple traveller's clothes, his mind wandered to the Baroness and her desperate plea.

There was more to his willingness to help than mere duty or profit—the baroness and her daughter. He needed to make himself their saviour, and only then could he get his answers from Nora.

The map they'd given him was detailed enough, showing the winding paths to Hamrasa along with the city's major districts. It was to help him reach faster, the map showing the shortcuts to the city.

Mounting a borrowed horse—his own mount was too recognisable—he set out under the cover of early evening.

The journey passed quickly, the well-maintained trade road making for easy travel.

As the hours wore on, the landscape gradually changed from the barony's familiar hills to the flatter riverside terrain that marked the approach to Hamrasa.

The first thing he noticed was the smell—not the usual stench of a riverside city, but a complex mixture of exotic spices, strange foods, and countless bodies all pressed together in the humid air.