Chapter 7

Present Day

"I'm leaving again tomorrow morning."

It had been just under two weeks since Illumi had come home – a few days of unsettled, uneasy routine. There had been Chiara's appointment with the family doctor, refilling her medicine bottles and being told nothing new, and then there had been the visit from Mother's tailor, swathes of silk and velvet and brocade flung shambolically across the bedroom floor. Each night, Illumi came to bed late, and Chiara's tulip-stem legs would tangle themselves between his; her fingertips would come probing through the darkness, tracing his face as though searching for something she'd forgotten.

Killua remained in his cell, Illumi did not go to see him.

Mornings, he would watch Chiara dress, pretending not to and ignoring the burn it inspired in his stomach. Afternoons, they'd walk through the garden or the forest, and Chiara would play with Mike (after so many years, she'd finally convinced the guard dog to catch a ball… now he wouldn't leave her alone).

Through it all, a suffocating sense of anticipation followed Illumi – making him expect, at every moment, some sign of plotting to ooze through Chiara's sweetness.

She had spoken to Grandfather about leaving the mountain. The thought disappointed and irritated Illumi: after everything, she thought she could leave. Just like that. Worse, Father showed no remorse in blatantly disregarding Illumi's instructions: that Chiara was his wife, and so was his concern. Her health. Her movements. She was his to oversee, and until then, the rest of the family had been perfectly cooperative. Now, however, Illumi couldn't stomach to watch Chiara and Father speak at breakfast (how Father smiled as though she were a small animal, how he would sometimes press his hand to the top of her head like he did with Killua); Illumi was loathed to think that his control could have been slipping.

It was necessary to make Chiara forget the idea entirely.

Immediately.

That afternoon, they played checkers on a picnic blanket and drank from one of Mother's red wines. The rose bushes had yielded pastel blooms that smelled potently of raspberries, and the grass was comfortable, yet to be trimmed.

It was in the clearing where the hole had once been – now long filled and hidden beneath the grass, yet still retaining the same sanctity from all those years ago. Chiara and Illumi came often, left to their own devices. Milluki seemed to think they fucked here.

Illumi told Chiara he would be leaving, and she paused over the checkers board for a while.

Then she looked at him blankly. "So soon?"

"Tomorrow," he repeated. "I have a job to get back to."

"But… your arm…?"

"All better now." Illumi opened and closed his hand in emphasis. "I'll be back again in a few weeks."

"Weeks." She returned her gaze to the checkers board, placing a piece. In the trees' thick shade, shadows fell across her face like blotches of ink: in half-moons beneath her eyes; austerely down the ridges of her cheekbones. Humming, she took her wine glass, and sipped. "You were just gone for a few weeks, Illumi. Why are you rushing off again so quickly?"

He curved his arm around her back, wound a lock of hair playfully between his fingers. "Come now, don't be like that, Chi-Chi-bean."

"Can't somebody else go?"

"This job requires a Hunters License. I already told you."

"But – Illumi, we didn't even–"

He knew without her having to finish the sentence what she was referring to, and that was not the direction in which he wanted to steer the conversation. Gentle and decisive, Illumi cut her short, "It's only a little while. It won't even be as long as the Hunters Exam was."

A pout. Another pointed sip from her wine. "And after that? How long will you be home for before you have to dispatch another target?" Face flushing unhappily, she twisted away to face him as he lay on his side across the picnic blanket. "Or, more likely," she continued, "how long will it be before you have to go running after Killua again? Hmm? If it's not a job, it's him."

Again, this was not where Illumi wanted the conversation to go. Killua was always the last thing he could discuss with Chiara. It put her in a sulk, though she would never say why. Naturally, Illumi said nothing, and so only stared at Chiara with biting disapproval. He drank from his own wine – a cabernet, bitter as vinegar and sweet at the same time – and let his gaze wear her down. Until she sighed. Until her taut, tiny back unraveled into a resigned slouch.

She asked, "Can I come with you this time?"

And there it was.

Illumi cocked his head. "Why would you want to do that?"

"I just–"

"You know you're not nearly well enough to leave here." He lifted his hand once again to touch at her cheek, the skin smooth as porcelain and terribly kissable. "I would have to spend all my time looking after you rather than getting my job done."

"You wouldn't have to look after me though."

"Of course I would. I've told you before, there are people out there thirsty for Zoldyck blood. You'd be able to do nothing for yourself if such a person were to get hold of you. You'd be too weak for that. And too lovely – I can't stand to think what sorts of things people would want to do to my cute little wife if they could." Illumi tapped the pixie-tip of her nose. "And anyway, you've spent so little time outside the mansion, you wouldn't know the first thing to do with yourself if I were to leave you alone."

"I wouldn't need to do anything," Chiara objected. "I'm just always alone here at the mansion ~ I want to come with you. Please. Please, Lumi."

"I would like it if you could, Chi-Chi-bean. But it just wouldn't do. You're not cut out for it, you know that. Or don't you trust me when I say so?" He smiled as Chiara frowned. "Besides which, you're not alone. There's Mother you can talk to."

"But–"

"I said no."

"But, Illumi!"

Somebody came scurrying towards them through the bushes, and they both looked in the direction of the disturbance. By such an interruption, Illumi wasn't sure whether he was more relieved or annoyed.

Wide-eyed and mousy, Kalluto came to a halt at the edge of the picnic blanket. He held his fan in his lap. He glanced testily between Illumi and Chiara, somehow unsure of himself – had he expected to walk in on something? Was that perhaps why he'd made such an uncharacteristic racket, rustling about in the bushes like some sort of clumsy monkey? When he managed to speak, it was measured and careful. "Illu-nii," he said, "there's some boys who've come through the Testing Gate."

"Uh-huh. So?" Illumi made a dismissive gesture. "The butlers will take care of that."

"Yes, Illu-nii. Canary is busy with them now. But they keep insisting that they're Killua's friends. They want to see him." Kalluto paused, and looked to Chiara as though she could add anything to the answer. "It's the boy you told Mother about."

Slowly, Illumi straightened himself.

So.

It was Gon.

Illumi had wondered how long it would take – truly, he hadn't expected it to be very long, remembering that severe and misguided determination with which the Gon boy had broken his arm. Even so, apparently he had underestimated the boy – in so little time, Gon had already passed the Testing Gate. And apparently, the butlers had done nothing to put a stop to it. At this, Illumi sighed blandly. "My, my," he said, "this is inconvenient."

Chiara poked his side in questioning, "Are you going to intervene?"

"Mother says you mustn't," Kalluto said. "She wants to handle things quietly."

A giggle. "How surprising. That's not like her, to want something done quietly."

"If Mother doesn't want me to handle it, then why are you bothering us, Kalluto?"

"Oh, well…" Looking coy once again, Kalluto opened his fan to cover his face, to hide the childish blush as he said, "Mother actually wanted me to remind you that she isn't watching you. She's turned her visor off for this area. So, you know, you can–"

Chiara cut him short, "Okay. Please tell her thank you, Kalluto-chan." And then, sweetly, so that it didn't sound like a dismissal, "You can go now."

"Nee-chan, I thought the doctor said at your last appointment that you're not supposed to drink wine."

"No. Really. You can go now, Kalluto-chan."

Features tightly concentrated, Kalluto did a bop between a bow and a curtsey before vanishing into the bushes – this time making no sound, smooth as the wind through the foliage. And with him gone, nothing was said. Chiara only drank again and swirled her wine lovingly, its ruby contents glittering and staining the corners of her mouth purple when she sipped, sipped, sipped. Illumi watched her.

When he'd told her about the Hunters Exam on his second night home, she'd had little to say about Gon. She'd been more interested in the places, and the animals, and the weapons they'd gotten to use, and the number of people Illumi had killed and how. Perhaps it had just been an effort to – once again, as usual – avoid talking about Killua. Although, then again, she had also always liked hearing grizzly details: grey eyes brightening to a colour like snow, grin rapt and attentive as Illumi related how to rip someone's heart out without spilling a drop of blood, or how people's faces spasmed when he used his needles on them.

Did she really have nothing to say now, though? It seemed she did. Lips tight and curling peculiarly, she looked to be tasting her words before she spoke. Illumi waited. He drank his own wine, considering when to bring up the matter of the doctor's orders.

At last, Chiara asked, "Are you going to see Killua because of this?"

"Mmm. Perhaps I should."

"Okay," she shrugged, dourly, "then you can go."

"We're not finished our game."

"It's fine. I was going to win anyway."

"Is that so?" Illumi considered the board. "You've been practising then."

"Mmm. I have lots of time on my hands, you know."

"Don't sulk, Chiara. You know this is what you agreed to when you married me," Illumi stood, and snatched Chiara's glass away as he did so.

The shape of her lips dyed the rim, thin and purplish as blood. She tried to object, reaching up with a squeak, but Illumi shook his head. He poured the remaining wine into the grass. Of course, it was only for show. He knew full-well she'd go on drinking, regardless of what the doctor had said. It had been the same when she'd been told to limit her sugar – she'd only bossed the butlers around more with demands for cake and sweets. And when she'd been told to eat more vegetables, she'd eaten less, flushing with ire if force-fed.

These were harmless rebellions that Illumi allowed. After all, he knew less sugar would do nothing to help her recovery (and doctor knew it too). But to let her get away with little victories kept her satisfied enough to not go chasing bigger things. Like leaving the mountain.