Blair rung her black hair out as best she could, letting the drops of water fall to the floor in front of the fireplace. She hated rain. And it seemed so unnecessary, after all the snow they'd already had. She wouldn't have stayed at the procession at all, if it had been up to her. But Edith insisted. We will stay to support our king and country, she'd said icily. Anyone who does otherwise might as well be a traitor to the crown.
So they'd stood there, in the torrent of rain, for nearly an hour just to watch a bunch of men trot by without a word to say for themselves. Though, as she rubbed her hands together and moved closer to the orange flames, she supposed it wasn't a complete loss. Her thoughts lingered on the memory of Prince Ivan as he rode by, right next to her in the street. There was something in the way he sat his horse, the way he looked around...his jawline, maybe. She liked it.
He reminded her, a bit, of...her father. Father. She took in a deep breath through her nose and coughed on smoke billowing out from the fire. She took a quick step into clean air, shaking her head. She wouldn't think of Father. She wouldn't revisit Shinsworth. The days of riding through the open fields and studying the laws of nature were long over. Father was three years dead. Mother was remarried, and they were all relocated to Saimes. Visiting the past was what kept Adelle crying for so long, and she wouldn't cry like Adelle.
"Blair, can I come in?"
Blair sighed. There she was now, her sister. But she supposed it wouldn't be that bad to have company for a moment. "Yes, Adelle," she said at last.
The door opened with an ear piercing creak, and Blair winced as she made a mental note to remind Lane to oil the hinges. For all that Lord Luck was supposedly one of the richest men around, the house certainly wasn't kept up very well. In fact, she had her suspicions that he wasn't really very rich at all; the whole situation made a heap more sense that way.
Adelle was a mess of blonde hair—curls that had wilted in the rain and were now drying into stringiness. Her eyes were red. Blair could tell she'd been crying again, for what reason she couldn't fathom. "What is it, Adelle?" she asked quickly, in a business tone. She didn't want to listen to her sister wail and take up another useless hour of her time.
"I—I just wanted to talk to you, a little. To talk to someone." Adelle paused, biting her lip. When Blair didn't say anything, she went on. "What did you think of the procession?"
Blair crossed her arms and looked back into the fire. "I didn't think anything of it. What was I supposed to think? It was scarcely ten minutes, when we stood out there waiting for nearly an hour."
Adelle nodded, one of her timid nods, where it was never quite clear what she was agreeing with. "I thought they could have stopped, for a moment at least. They could have said something. About Thaddeus."
Blair narrowed her eyes. Adelle seemed to have taken a personal grief at Thaddeus's death, which was ridiculous. The army had been stationed in Shinsworth, by the border, two years ago when they lived there, just before Edith married Lord Luck. They had met Thaddeus and all the royal family, but it wasn't enough for Adelle to be that heartbroken. Blair had probably had just as many conversations with him as Adelle had, and she certainly wasn't sobbing over him.
"Ivan looked so sad, don't you think? I wonder if he'll be all right. He looked so different from how he looked in Shinsworth."
Blair looked at Adelle and frowned. She hadn't noticed any difference in Ivan from Shinsworth and Ivan now. Of course...she hadn't really noticed him at all in Shinsworth, but...that wasn't the point. He'd be fine. He was a prince. He was strong, wasn't he? Of course he'd be all right.
Adelle paused for a moment, staring into the fire, then spoke, "I wonder what he and Madeleine said to each other."
Blair felt her frown deepen. She wrung her hair again, twisting the water out with a vengeance. "I doubt she said anything intelligent. She was probably just being her usual impertinent self. I'm sorry he had to put up with her."
Adelle looked at her for a long moment, eyes blue and watery. Blair frowned at her. She knew Adelle felt sorry for Madeleine. Sorry that she was burnt, sorry she was a servant. It was silly. Why shouldn't Madeleine be a servant? If she was going to dance in the streets like a pauper—aspiring to be White Flame, honestly—she might as well do the work of paupers.
Blair had felt sorry for her once, when Edith took Madeleine's room away, when she had to work so much harder than the rest of them, for no reward...but Madeleine deserved it. She had such a sharp tongue, and she was lazy really, and if her father didn't even seem to care what happened to her, well, that had to mean something. And anyway, it was just the way things were now.
"I saw Rafe in the cavalry," Adelle said at last.
Blair glanced at her sister, blinking at the change in subject. Yet again, something she didn't want to talk about. Something she could scream about, if it wouldn't have seemed so childish. "Yes," she said with practiced nonchalance, "I saw him also." And he was his usual stupid self as well. He'd seen her watching Ivan, and then gave her a look like—like—well, one of his looks. Like he had a monopoly on who she looked at.
"Are you still upset that he didn't write to you?"
That was just too much. She turned on Adelle with a vengeance. "No, I'm not upset that he didn't write to me. I wouldn't care if he never wrote to me. I wouldn't care if I never saw him again. He could have died in the war for all I care!"
"Blair, you don't mean that," Adelle said quietly, her eyes large. She stared at Blair for another long moment while Blair breathed heavily, and finally she went on. "What I really wanted to talk about, though, is...do you think Lord Luck will come back?"
Blair paused a moment before answering. She didn't need to think about her answer, but Edith wouldn't have said what she was about to. And if their mother didn't say certain things, no one said them. But it was the truth—they all had to know that by now.
"No," she said finally, firmly. "He won't. He doesn't care about Mother. He doesn't even care about Madeleine."
Adelle sighed. "How do you think she'll take it—Mother, I mean?"
Blair shrugged. She didn't think it would change much. Edith was always the same—proud but soft spoken, demanding but calm. "The same as she's ever taken anything. Without a fuss."
"I don't understand why he married her at all if he was just going to run off like this."
"I think it was for money," Blair said, finally putting words to the suspicions she'd had for a while now. "Mother was rich."
Adelle frowned, not connecting the ideas. "Well, so was he."
Blair rose her eyebrows at her sister, crossing her arms. "Supposedly," she said, tilting her head to the side. But there was the ill kept house, the fact that they only had two real servants and couldn't seem to get another. In Shinsworth, they'd had dozens of servants.
She watched Adelle's eyes widen in horror. "You mean he was really broke? Do you think he took all of Mother's money? Are we going to be poor and have to do our own work like Madeleine—or work for someone else to make money?"
Blair shrugged, inwardly rolling her eyes. Adelle always overreacted to everything. "I don't know about that. But I don't think he'll be back. Maybe he stayed in Aschare."
"Who did?" came the soft, composed voice of their mother. The door was open, and Edith walked in, black eyebrows arched across her smooth white skin. She stood with her back straight, taking small, even steps towards them, as ever, a lady. Blast Adelle for leaving the door open.
"Mother—we were just talking—about the soldiers—"
"Which ones?" their mother asked calmly.
Silence filled the room, a hush that seemed forbidden. Blair could have snorted. It was so absurd, that they couldn't speak about the simplest of things. Well, she'd speak of it. Better than Adelle's stammering. "Lord Luck," she said finally, in a steady voice. "He won't come back, will he?"
Edith stiffened. It was barely visible, wouldn't have been noticed at all by an outsider. But Blair knew her mother and could see the way her jaw tightened more than usual and her shoulders were abnormally square. "Oh," she said after a moment. "Arthur."
The two of them said nothing. Blair held her breath, watching her mother for any sign of a stronger reaction. She ought to badmouth him, relinquish him as her husband even. Her eyes were focused on the wall at the other side of the room, holding steady.
"He's still with the army, I suppose. You stepfather is loyal to his country. I expect his return soon."
Edith didn't go on, but Blair kept watching her, a sinking feeling beginning to settle in her stomach. Of course. Edith wouldn't say anything about Lord Luck that would paint him as less than perfect. She knew he didn't care about her. She had to know. They hardly spoke to each other when he was around; he was clearly cold toward her, but more than that she had proof.
At Autumn Festival—before Madeleine got burnt, before anyone knew Madeleine was a fire dancer—he'd been there, in the crowd. Blair had seen him first. They'd locked eyes, and then he started to walk away, but before he did, Edith turned, and she saw him. She knew he wasn't with the army, knew he'd lied to her about that much and who knew what else. He'd never written, not so much as two lines.
But Edith was too much of a lady to acknowledge it. If she knew he was in a brothel every night, she wouldn't have breathed a word. It seemed an impossible weight to bear, being a lady.
"Blair, I came to tell you that you have a visitor," Edith said, looking at her now. "Lane let him into the parlor. He introduced himself as Sir Rafe Thornton." She smiled, just a hint of curve in her thin lips. "And Adelle," she said, turning to her younger daughter, "I thought we could take tea together, in the drawing room. Come, dear." She took Adelle's hand, and the two of them strolled away.
Blair watched them go, and then was left alone in her room, blinking. Rafe. The last person in the world she wanted to see right now. But he was sitting in the parlor. She supposed she'd at least have to go down and say something to him.
She stared at the orange-red fire for just a moment longer before making her way out the door, down the hallway, and onto the spiral staircase, considering just what that something should be. Composure seemed like a good tactic for the moment. Edith could stand anything without even raising her voice. If she could just be like that...
She stood up taller as she reached for the door handle, taking in a deep breath. When she saw him, she'd simply say, "Leave," in a very flat, very monotone voice, and she wouldn't let him try to persuade her into actual conversation. She opened the door slowly.
"Blair!" Rafe jumped up and shouted her name before she could utter a single syllable. He had an absurd grin on his face, and he was still dripping wet. She could see he'd nearly soaked the settee already. She wondered what else he would ruin before he left.
"Rafe," she said finally, after just staring became significantly awkward. She then realized that she had not simply said "leave" as she intended.
"Well, are you happy to see me?" Rafe asked. "I'm gloriously glad to see you."
"I'm sure you are," she said, coming a bit farther into the room and closing the door behind her. When he said nothing, she went on, raising her chin a bit higher than usual. "Mother said you introduced yourself as Sir Rafe Thornton. Did they make you a knight? Even with all those desertions?" She raised an eyebrow at him, intending to be cruel.
His lips twitched into a smile. "Indeed they did. Rather a ceremonious title only, I'm afraid. Well, not afraid. I would hate to actually be in full service to the crown every day of my life. As it is, I simply have the honor of knowing that I fought bravely in battle and may go to the royal court whenever I wish. I believe they are allowed to call on me for duty at some point in time, but I doubt they ever actually will. I'm not sure I would answer if they did."
"How very noble of you," Blair said dryly. Rafe was such a blackguard, really. She wasn't sure what she'd ever seen in him.
"Yes, well, I do try," he said. "I did fight like a hero. You would've been proud to see me."
"Somehow, I doubt that. Though at least you only say you fought like one, rather than actually being one. It makes your case somewhat more believable. Not much."
He smiled, a gentle, pleasing sort of smile, until she half wanted to go up to him, stand on her tiptoes and smooth his hair down, run her hands through it until it was dry.
"Blair," he said, in a softer voice, "do you know it's been a year since I've last seen you—to the very day?"
She rose an eyebrow at him and shook her head once. "I didn't know."
"Isn't that something?" His eyes locked on to hers, and she couldn't look away. She felt her heart in her chest—not pounding, really, just...beating, firmly, slowly. She cursed Rafe for always having such an undesired effect on her. Really, he was nothing! There was nothing at all wonderful about him and a good many of awful things about him, and she wished he would just go away.
"It should have been longer than that," she said, just to say something, as he stepped closer to her. "If you'd stayed with the army the whole time like you were supposed to."
"But how could I," he asked, "when you were here all alone?" His hands took hold of hers, and they were warm like the heat from the fire. He was always so warm, and she was always so cold. "I missed you, every day that I was gone."
She looked up at him, into his black eyes—to match his black heart, she always said, but he looked down at her with just that hint of a smile, and all the years of memories seemed like just yesterday. If he'd been gone a year, well, what was that to the twelve years she'd known him? He started to lean down toward her. Their lips met, and for a moment, she just stood there, letting him kiss her. His lips were so warm.
And if it had been like years before, or like the night before he left, she would have wound her arms around him and kissed him back with equal warmth. But it wasn't. And before another moment went by, she remembered precisely why she hated him. She reached up and shoved him away from her. "Get out, Rafe!" she screamed at him. "I never want to see you again!"
He blinked at her a few times and then laughed—a loud guffaw. "My, my, Blair. Prickly. But then, I've never really seen you be pleasant for more than a few minutes at a time. Would you mind telling me, though, what exactly it is that you're so upset about?"
She glared at him. "Everything. I despise you wholly." She walked past him and stood in front of the hearth at the far end of the room. Not that she need the heat quite so much now, but it gave her something to do that looked purposeful.
"Haven't heard that one before," Rafe said with a dry tone, and she glanced at him with a hard frown. He had to throw it in her face that she threw him out and took him back time and again. Well, this would be different. He'd been gone a year, and she was over him. She wouldn't let herself fall into the same traps so easily.
After a moment, he came to stand next to her. She didn't look at him, but she could feel his eyes on her and saw him stroking his unshaven chin out of the corner of her eye. She wouldn't look at him.
"Did you fare well, while I was gone?"
She glanced at him then. He had a thoughtful expression on his face, and she hated him a little bit more for pretending like he actually cared. "Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?"
"You don't look very...happy."
"That's just because you're here," she said, simply, as if he was the reason for all her troubles. She even smiled a little as she said it. He might as well be.
He was silent another long moment, before asking, "Did you enjoy the procession?"
She gave a dry laugh. "No. It was long and cold and miserable."
"Funny," he said, and she could hear the hints of a chortle in his voice. "When I happened to see you, you didn't look all together miserable. In fact you looked rather...serene."
She glanced at him but didn't say anything and looked away again just as quickly. She didn't care about Rafe, so there was no reason for her to explain herself to him. He never explained himself, anyway.
"I believe the object of your attention was the crown prince. Jog any memories?"
"He's not an object," she said, taking a step away from him. She glanced around, before sitting down in the large chair by the bookshelf. "I know you tend to think of everyone as objects, Rafe, but remember we're not all like you."
Rafe stared at her. At length, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Insults aside, Blair. You...fancy him?"
She shrugged. "What does it matter to you?"
He took a few steps toward her. "As I recall," he sat down at the footstool in front of her, "darling, last time I was here, your fancy was caught elsewhere. Or have you forgotten our beautiful vows in the moonlight?"
She laughed, rather merrily. Rafe always tried to make it seem like there was some sacred bond between the two of them. If it was so sacred and beautiful, he could have at least tried to keep in touch with her. "I don't recall making any vows to you, beautiful or otherwise. The only think I recall is you promising to write to me, which you didn't, ever. So as far as I can tell, all vows are off."
"So that's what you're so miffed about!" Rafe said, slapping his thigh. He stood up in a jovial manner, smiling again.
"I'm not miffed about it," she said, frowning at his sudden apparent happiness. She had been enjoying the way he seemed nearly distraught. "I was just pointing out a fact. If I was ever miffed about it, I'm quite over it by now."
He laughed, again. "My darling queen of ice, you are quite miffed about it still. I can tell. But tell me, Blair, did you ever really expect me to write to you? I mean, honestly, me, writing letters?"
She frowned a little harder. "Well—you did promise." She knew her strangled tone wasn't quite believable. And she supposed, deep down, she knew he'd never write to her. Not Rafe Thornton. He didn't write letters. He didn't care enough to write letters, and he certainly never meant half of what he said to her. That was what she hated him for, really, making her swoon against her better judgment—and she hated herself for actually believing him.
"Yes," he said, "but a promise is only a promise, you know. And I've never enjoyed writing. Surely you realized I'd never actually sit down and pen a letter."
She squared her jaw. "Well," she said in a practiced light tone, "it doesn't matter much anymore. I'm moved on from you, Rafe."
"Onto bigger and better things?"
She sniffed. He had to make everything sound so vile. "Well. Why shouldn't I?"
He gave something between a snort and a sigh and sat down again on the footstool. "Blair, I feel I should warn you. About Ivan."
Now it was her turn to snort. Rafe looked so serious about it, too. "What about him? Is he a werewolf, or something?"
"He has nightmares," Rafe said, ignoring her humor. "Horrible nightmares that make him shout in his sleep and wake in a cold sweat. And...he's not...there, all together. Oh, I don't mean he's stupid, or even slow, but...it's like he's in shock. Like he just can't quite believe where he is or anything that's going on around him. He's stuck in his own little world."
"Well, his twin brother did just die, Rafe. I'm sure he'll be fine eventually."
"He hasn't gotten over it these seven months. Isn't that a bit abnormal? When your father died—"
She flinched a little at the mention of that, but Rafe went on.
"You recovered much quicker than that. Your mother—she remarried in little more than a year. I'm not saying anything bad about him. I like the man, but Blair...he's not for you."
"What do you mean, he's not for me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. She was annoyed—annoyed that Rafe seemed to have this fixed idea that she and Ivan were not the same type of people, that she and he were. "He's for anyone he takes a fancy to."
"Well, it won't be you. It couldn't be. You'd overrun him, Blair. With all your sharp words, and you've problems enough of your own without having to bother with his."
She rolled her eyes. "Rafe, if you're going to sit here and insult me all day, you might as well just leave. Actually," she said, sitting a bit straighter and smoother her skirt, "you might as well just leave now. I don't want to see you anymore."
Rafe stared at her for a moment with the same tense expression on his face that he'd had this whole time since he'd begun to speak of Ivan. Then he seemed to shake it off and gave a short laugh. "I hope to never forget your face when you're pretending to be a dignified woman, Blair." He stood up. "Just one more thing before I go. Has your stepfather returned yet?"
She gave him a sharp glance. What did he know about her stepfather? "No."
He stroked his chin again. "Funny," he murmured. "I'd think he'd want to keep up his charade."
"What charade?" she asked, leaning forward in her chair. "If you know something about my stepfather, Rafe, you'd better tell me."
He glanced at her and smiled. "Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about."
She snapped up from her seat and grabbed onto his arm with all the force she could manage. She wouldn't be patronized. Not by anyone and certainly not by Rafe. "Don't you pretty little head me, Rafe Thornton. Tell me what you know, and tell me now."
His smile just grew. "I saw him, is all. In the forest. Rather apart from the army. It seemed suspicious. I hadn't seen him at all until then."
She stared up at him, not quite grasping the situation.
"In any case, I should think he'd be back soon, if my suspicions are anywhere near correct. Tell your mother that, if you will. Not the suspicions bit, though. I've really no idea what he's up to; I just know he's up to something. Now, dear, I will leave you, but first—" He leaned down and kissed her on the lips, not quite with the passion as before, but a firm, definite kiss. It was over before she had the chance to slap him, and then he simply swaggered away. Out the door and gone.
She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. She would have asked him what he meant about Lord Luck if he'd stayed a moment longer, but...well, good riddance.
The step family. And...Rafe. Do tell me what you think, and as always, thank you for reading.