The men aren’t terribly happy that you’ve claimed a carriage for your own use, you know, Ida mentally whispered to Arkadius through their mental link, the cat hopping up onto the desk having just jumped through the open window from the yard. “I know, I overheard them whispering when I was loading the last of the boxes onto the carriage up this morning, I'm surprised they didn't hear me and realise I was there.”
He shrugged, “They sometimes forget that, you know… they are mine to do with as I see fit.” Arkadius waved a hand in the yard’s direction. “I brought up this organisation from nothing. Before me, Port Ffirst had no post. And look at us now, horses and carriages and all.” He smiled to himself for a moment. “And besides… it’s for my birthday. And I deserve a celebration, after the years I have had.”
A moment of sadness crossed Arkadius’ face as the memories of Birthdays-past resurface, but he recovered as quickly as it appeared. He looked back down at the desk he was sat at, picking up his quill and dipping it in the inkpot. “Dearest Kassandra,”, he wrote at the top of the neat square of parchment. It was the best quality he could get in the city. This letter deserved quality.
“Besides, it isn't like I didn't pay for it. I submitted my own order paperwork and everything. I booked the carriage through the proper channels.”
This elicited another smile from him. Ever since his last adventure in Kundar, Arkadius seemed like a very different person. He was back to who he was before he had started agonising over Lady Khaosborn. He had lost his stress, started smiling and being more humorous again. And most importantly, he wasn't drunkenly ranting in the tavern as much. Everything was returning to normal.