Lucivar stood uneasily at the door, staring at it with something of reluctance in his bearing. The surroundings were beautiful and peaceful, but he could not feel easy, not here. He opened and closed his membranous wings once, looked around, sighed, raised his hand and knocked once, briskly.
It was only a moment to open the door, perhaps the time it might take to smooth hair and skirt or to check one's expression again in the mirror. Her face was, as usual, glad to see him, smiling, but with the strange, cold distance in the tightness around her mouth and the lines by her eyes.
"Hello, Lucivar," she said, too brightly. "Come in."
She stepped back to let him in. He had to maneuver awkwardly, ducking to get through the door, and he wondered if it was that low purposefully, to make it difficult for Eyriens to get in. Her kitchen was brightly lit and spotlessly clean as always. He wished that she didn't do that. It made him feel like a spot of dirt among all the gleaming surfaces.
"Hello, Luthvian." He bowed carefully, from the waist. "I trust you have been well?"
She turned away for only a moment, ostensibly to fetch a bowl that had been sitting on the counter, but when she turned back, he could see the familiar adjustment that closed out his wings. He tried not to feel hurt, just as he did every other visit. "Yes, thank you. The students have been a bit slow lately."
He flinched, tensing suddenly. "The students? Are they here?" The students meant witches, and the witches meant Roxie. He tightened his jaw and tried not to stand up and leave automatically.
The look Luthvian gave him was full of disapproval and anger as she pursed her lips. "No, they are not. I sent them home before you came," she informed him in tones that said as clear as day how great an inconvenience this was.
He breathed again. "Thank you."
There was a silence that lasted for a while. Lucivar was thirsty, but he knew better than to ask for water, and he didn't want to get it himself lest she thought he was turning his back on her. He shifted, tried to keep his wings still.
They spoke at the same time, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence. "What have you been up to?" Luthvian asked at the same time Lucivar said, reluctantly, "You don't have to send them away every time." Just Roxie, he added silently. If you just send Roxie away.
Luthvian laughed, but it was forced. "Oh, no, Lucivar. I won't hear of it. I know how uncomfortable you are around my students."
And why? Lucivar thought silently, almost bitterly. Because you listened to Zuultaah's lies and turned your son over to hell. Another slight silence until Luthvian repeated her question with forced cheerfulness.
"And what have you been up to?"
Lucivar tried for a smile. "Not much." Looking for Daemon, always. Getting to know the Coven. "Just a bit of work around the house, making sure Jaenelle stays out of trouble, spending some time with –"
He stopped.
Your father. The words hung unsaid. He sensed Luthvian's withdrawal as she stood up and went over to the cabinet, fiddling with the handles.
"And…that's been all right?" She asked in a tense, terse voice. He could hear the hunger in it, the longing, and could almost pity her. But it wasn't enough to forget what her gullibility had put him through.
"I feel better than I've felt in years," he said savagely, fiercely, and honestly. "At least I'm actually doing something worthwhile rather than being a –"
-pleasure slave. What you made me.
Luthvian turned and stared at him, wounded and too proud to admit it. He looked back at her, guilt warring with the bitter anger that had lingered for far too long to ever really be forgotten or forgiven.
"Everything has to be about that, doesn't it?" Luthvian said airily. "You just can't accept that it's in the past now, and that it was as much his fault as mine-"
"Liar," Lucivar said flatly, and she flushed brightly.
"He's turned you against me! Made you just like him," she said with disgust.
Lucivar shook his head, stood up. "I'd rather be like him a thousand times over than you. At least Saetan I can be proud of. And he's proud of me."
The name, as always, hit her hard. She nearly staggered, staring at him with something between hatred and disbelief. Lucivar turned to go.
"Wait – Lucivar, I'm sorry. Do we always have to fight like this?"
He turned around, looked at her, and sighed, closing his golden eyes. "No, we don't. But we do nonetheless. Maybe I shouldn't –"
"No," she said firmly. "Come back in a week. Next time it will be better. We just need to talk about something other than –"
-him.
She paused, then continued. "I want to know you, Lucivar."
He sighed. "I'm sorry, Luthvian."
She came over and touched his arm, just lightly. He flinched anyway. "Be careful. You're still vulnerable, you know."
"I know," he said softly, "Jaenelle told me." Jaenelle, who kept my wings when you wanted to be rid of them. Jaenelle, who gave me back my life in my wings, the life that you cut out of the picture every time I come here.
She paused, and for a moment, Lucivar thought she might embrace him – for a moment, he thought he might bend and kiss her cheek and wish her farewell. The moment passed quickly and she turned away.
"Next week, then?" She said briskly, formally, already looking around the kitchen, preparing for what she would do as soon as he was out the door.
He looked at her back and nodded, slowly. "Next week," he said softly, and strode out the door, not bothering to open it but simply passing through the walls. He looked back once he was outside the cottage and sighed, heavily, before opening his wings and heading for SaDiablo Hall.
He was hoping that the witches would be there – one witch in particular, to soothe his frazzled nerves. They were always raw after visits with Luthvian.
Next week, perhaps, things would be better. Maybe next week Saetan wouldn't come up. Maybe next week there wouldn't be blame and bitterness and pride. Maybe.
But it was a very slim chance.
He didn't even know why he bothered to continue to come.
