Chapter XXI: Snow and the Ivory Comb
Exiles' Quarter. The next morning.
5:45 am.
She was dreaming again.
She stood on a flat plain of snow, the sun blinding her. She remembered this day. Whining and curling into a ball on the ice, using her hands to cover her eyes, peeking through her gloves. She had seen her mother's feet. Beautiful snow-white boots made of the soft down of reindeer skin, the ends curling to meet the sun. Her mother had laughed and bent over to pull at her hands, telling her to get up. She had been mortal then. A mortal child. She remembered being afraid, wanting to stay outside of the cave. They were to going to meet her mentor. She did not want to go in the dark and her mother…her mother had called her name. Her mother had pulled her up by her hands and said…
Icy water splashed in her face, her covers thrown off. Yelling, she instinctively bit out and grabbed at the end of the blanket, but Rena was too quick for her. So much for her name. She was back in Paris…and it was freezing.
The lycan woman grunted something in French, gesturing with the empty pitcher in her hand before bundling the confiscated blanket under one arm. Still lethargic in spite of the water dripping down her face, she tried to process what Rena had said. It was one thing to learn French from a book and quite another to listen and understand.
Giving up, she pulled her sheet around her shoulders and got off the bed, following the woman into the toilette. Rena had returned the pitcher to its bowl and was now haphazardly collecting the toiletries on the table. A rag for cleaning her teeth, her veil, soap, a pair of stockings hanging from a hook, and a small leather bag. Its contents were splayed out on the table…an ivory comb and a small vial of scented oil.
Less than two days prior, Sabine had arrived at her doorstep, looking as solemn as an old maid visiting a Russian poor-house. Dressed in her beloved grey, the girl had sat with her for a full hour, speaking of books, her likes, her dislikes. All they needed was a samovar and the picture would be complete.
Before her leave-taking, the girl had given her a small bag, remarking as she did that hair, in general, ought to be combed. When she opened the bag, she found the ivory comb and the oil. It was easy to deduce where the first item originated from. Either the girl was a thief or such combs were common in the lycan den. It was unlikely Lucian had sent the gift through Sabine, so she would have to return the item when next she saw the bastard.
"What the hell are you doing?" she growled before she could stop herself. It was the first time she had spoken to Rena in three weeks and she was strongly aware she was mimicking Lucian's manner when he spoke to idiots. But when this whore was concerned, she had only contempt.
"Collecting your things. You are leaving." Speaking slower this time, as if to stupid child, Rena bundled the rag, veil, and stockings into a ball and reached for the comb. Before the woman could touch it, Reinette abruptly lunged forward, snatching the comb from the table, holding it behind her back.
"I thank you…" Severe, she held her hand out for the rest of the toiletries. If being polite kept this woman's hands off her belongings, she would do it. She was even forcing herself to speak French. "…but I will pack for myself, if you please."
Rena shrugged. "Be quick." Rather than hand over the items, the boorish woman let them drop on the grimy floor. Before she passed through the door, she pulled the sheet from Reinette's shoulders. Fine. Take it, she thought, shivering with the extra cold. Only a laundry woman runs after dirty linens.
Directing silent curses at the woman's back, she kneeled to pick up the fallen items, yanking one of the dry-cloths from the wall and laying it out, dumping the stockings and tooth-rag in its centre. She added her soap-bar, wash-cloth, the vial, and the leather bag on the table. The comb was not really hers, but she would keep the bag. Tying off the bundle and picking up the veil and comb separately, she returned to the other room. Rena was smacking the mattress with her palm as if searching for dust, the motion only throwing up the occasional piece of straw. Rude woman. She continued to the door. Her bags were already packed, the books as well, and other than adding the toiletries and Lucian's comb to the side pocket, she had no need to search through it. For the past three weeks, she had made a practice of laying out her clothes in preparation for the next day.
Making certain Rena was facing the bed, she pulled off her nightgown and proceeded to dress. First the drawers, her linen chemise over that, followed by her corset. She had to lace the thing up herself. Two petticoats went on top and finally the underskirt, followed by the dress. Black as usual. Making certain her veil was in place, she fastened her pendant over the collar, allowing it to hang in front. It had become a permanent fixture in her morning routine, serving as a reminder to herself and Rena that certain items should not be touched. That certain items belonged to her, as decreed by…
The door opened.
Furious, she twisted on her heel, forgetting every word of French, brashly cursing in Russian. "Damn it to hell, Lyosha, I could have been naked."
"And how would that be unusual?" Tugging his coat-sleeves, Lucian stalked into the room.
"It is common decency."
"Not where I come from." He nodded to Rena, acting all the world as if this were an inspection rather than a departure. He was dressed for travelling, wearing the suit of a gentleman with his moustache and beard carefully trimmed. Eying the dust on her guard's shirt before his gaze again moved in her direction. Taking stock of her person, her belongings, neatly packed, and the room already swept. All of it ready.
Seeming not to notice the glower steaming his back, he walked to the desk and began opening drawers haphazardly. Empty and clean. He headed for the toilette, flinging her cabinet open with a bang, circling the small room and then walking out again. His eyes combing the floors and walls, the whole process taking under twenty seconds. And then, as if she were the one holding them up, he gestured to the door. "Shall we away or would you feel more comfortable in less attire?"
At least he was in the habit of being civilised about his rudeness. If that was possible. She narrowed an eye at him. "Where are we going this time?" Not England, she thought. She did not want to go. How far was it to get there? They were in Paris. England could not be far on their list of stops. Her heart was starting to beat faster. She was afraid of that place.
"Your permanent address."
"Which is?"
"That way," he muttered, gesturing around them with a lackadaisical air. "Give or take a channel. Assuming we can get past the walls, assuming the gaping hole I just walked through is still there."
"You mean the door," she said, aware that argument would only prolong the inevitable. Easy for him to gesture wherever he liked, but the act was life-changing for her. Rena was already picking up her bags, but she did not want that woman's hands on anything that belonged to her. "I will take those," she said firmly, moving over to stand in front of the woman.
"There is no need." He was outside the door now. He held a candle, recently acquired from the floor, the only light in the hallway. "By my request, Rena has agreed to accompany us as your caretaker. She will see to your bags."
"What?" She felt her mask slip. She had longed for this day. She had dreamed of this day, and now… by his request, that illiterate whore would be coming with them. "I was…" Horrified, she searched for the proper wording. "…not aware," she finished.
"Well I think you are aware, Reinette, that I have other functions beyond carting you across the countryside." Momentarily, he stepped back into the room. "You can hardly expect me to complete my duties and look after you at the same time." As if that absolved him of saddling her with the whore who had beaten her within an inch of her life. But she had to be careful. Vigilant. Her calm must not fold.
She swallowed her argument. "Very well, Lyosha," she replied, folding her hands in front of her, bearing the full brunt of his stare without complaint. She had made a promise to herself. She would learn quickly. She would lull him into thinking she served him…and if that meant the conversation was over, then so be it.
"Good…" he said finally, watching her mouth in distrust, but clearly too involved in his schedule to take her to task. And in a manner of speaking, it was wonderful seeing the effect her calm had on him. He had been expecting a fight, even now waiting on the next word, the next bone to snap in two…
And then, as if gaining optimism, he added, "…excellent even. You are adapting." Ironic that he would say this in the patronising tone of one lacking the patience to compromise. He turned on his heel and made a gesture for her to move out of Rena's way. "If it is any consolation, you are in good hands. Rena is a fine soldier, and I expect you will learn to treasure her company in time."
That and solstice.
Keeping her hands folded meekly, she managed to step out of the offending woman's way, allowing her to proceed into the corridor. Had Lucian not been standing there, she might have clawed Rena's eyes out. Instead, she went to the chair and picked up her coat, using the time to take a final look around the room. For three weeks, it had been her only home. A constant reminder of the imprisonment still to come. She blew out the candles, feeling disinclined towards leaving now, but forcing herself to follow after Rena. She would not miss the room. Buttoning her coat up, she stepped through the door and saw for the first time the layout of Exiles' Quarter.
The halls were narrow, the walls stone-cold, the ceilings low. The only light came from Lucian's candle. On either side of a very long passageway, she could see doors…but there was no sound from the other rooms. No laughter. It was morning and everyone was fast asleep. Every other vampire who lived here: those who were exiled from the coven, those who needed protection, those who had chosen to fight for the lycan side. In spite of their new loyalties, none of them were trusted enough to know where a lycan den was. Sabine had explained this all during their visit. It made her wonder what kind of accommodation she would receive in England. A hole in the dark, a prison with no windows?
At Lucian's direction, she started walking down a passageway to their right. Though she had eyes for the dark, with the candle beside them, she could not see very far ahead. Only the breath in front of her face. Winter had come upon them so suddenly. The cold making her hunch into her coat as they walked to the end of the passageway. Another face coming into view by the light of the candle. The face of an angel. A seraph.
Nikolai Proshkov Andreev.
Kolya.
He was stooped against the wall, his hair hanging loose, his skin paler than it was when she saw him last. His clothing rumpled, barely fitting him as if he had lost weight in the last three weeks. Three weeks since she had last seen this man. This murderer who seemed to embody such warmth in his manner. Such calm swallowed by excitement as they approached him.
"Reinette," he breathed, catching sight of her, smiling widely as if they were comrades. His teeth were very white…beautiful teeth. Instead of taking her hand, he embraced her. An unexpected pleasure building in her chest. Despite her new-found knowledge of his blood-memories, she was pleased to see him.
The source of most of her meals, his blood was now more familiar to her than his face, though it had taken her the better part part of three weeks for her to realise that it was through his veins alone that the lycans were feeding her. The taste of his memories making her question his nature. Considering the possibilities in a way that only a blood-seer could and then accepting him for what he was. A dangerous puzzle. One that she suspected even Lucian would not be able to solve.
His voice carrying on, sweeping them all up with his warmth. "…it is so good to see you. Our party together again, at last." He said this triumphantly as if they were all as close as he seemed to think they were. "You are a good man, Mr. Itzhak…a good man for letting us continue on our way…"
By the expression of warning on his face, Lucian appeared to be anything but a good man. He stared at Kolya for a measure of three seconds, and then abruptly pushed himself off the wall, turning into a low tunnel at the end of the stone corridor. The entrance difficult to detect unless one was standing directly in front of it. Rena herding them forward like cattle with a multitude of instructions to keep them in line. Heads down and mouths shut. Follow the light. Stop when it stops. Walk when it moves.
Her surroundings making her hesitate, reminding her of a different tunnel. A darker tunnel, filled with rats and bones in an old monastery. A small space with barely enough room for two people to walk side-by side, let alone crouch while one fed upon the other. Pitch black, save for the light twenty paces ahead. Trying to calm the fears rattling in her chest, Reinette stepped forward, keeping her eyes on the candle. She was a vampire. A creature of the night. She could see in the dark and there was nothing to be afraid of. And yet she could feel it…
Fear as the tunnel became smaller. The ceiling only an inch or so above her head. Cold air in her chest and her feet stumbling over roots and rocks—the gnawed bones reminding her why she followed so dutifully. Their guides seeming to have little difficulty with the tunnel height, as if they were used to keeping their backs curled for long periods of time. It gave the impression of loping, as if at any moment, they could go down on all fours…
Kolya's voice seeming to creep up beside her like a shadow. "You know I worried so much for you, Reinette. I said to my caretakers, where is she? I want to see Reinette." And then he laughed with an ease that seemed to make the shadows melt away. "…and here we are. Is it not good?"
"Yes, it is good, Kolya." She kept her eyes on the ground and her voice low. She could swear one of her ribs was still broken, and she was not looking for an excuse for Rena to add another one. Thankfully the whore was about ten paces back, so it was doubtful she'd stop their journey simply to hit her again.
"You have changed since I last saw you," he added. He seemed to have no understanding of boundaries, and without warning, he reached out, touching her veil as they walked. Seeming intrigued by the silver beneath the black. In her youth, she might have appreciated the familiarity, but she found it disturbing now. Alarming even. She looked old enough to be his grandmother…and for all she knew, silver locks were another reason to take someone's head.
She stumbled over a root. Keeping her pace steady thereafter, yet sharply aware that he had failed to let go of her veil. The edge of the black silk still nestled between his forefinger and his thumb as though at any moment, he could pull it from her head. Unwilling to show her discomfiture, she instead watched him from the corner of her eye, considering whether anything had changed in the eyes of this murderer. Refusing to look over her shoulder, yet inexplicably longing for Rena's presence. Blood, that she could be looking to that whore as a chaperone.
The thought snapped the fear from her bones. "Let go of my veil," she told him with a chastising glance. Pulling the silk from his fingers and readjusting its alignment. He might hold danger in his blood, but she was still older than him. Perhaps in body more than mind, but the vampire would not know that.
Kolya smiled as though she had returned a favour with her severity. "An old head has many memories," he said, releasing the veil like a peace-offering. "This is a good thing."
Only if you plan to murder me in this blood-forsaken tunnel, she thought with some exasperation, shrugging past his hand. Quickening her pace and ignoring the sound of her breath moving faster. Her lost youth trying to break free from some ancient crevice that had forgotten it was made of stone. The warm dimple in his cheek. The fine teeth. The raven locks. Like staring into a window shop when one is poor. Her eyes now seeking the far reaches of the tunnel, looking for the faint glow ahead that reminded her of hardship. A reason to walk faster. Some means of extricating herself from the vampire's company.
Oblivious to his own nature, Kolya had folded his hands behind his back, seeming to think they were out for a stroll, the way he conducted himself. "How long is it that you are keeping company with Mr. Itzhak?"
"Too long," she answered. Her nerves unable to sustain this conversation. He was too close. Too handsome. In truth, she'd moved on like a cat leaping between two fires. Her chances of burning only slightly higher if she landed squarely in the next pit.
"And how long is it that you are…"
Before he could finish his question, she turned on him. Choosing her words with care and lowering her voice so that she could barely be heard. "Kolya, we are friends, are we not?"
"Of course." His head was bowed, but his eyes were shining in the dark, as though another log had been added to the flames that burned within. Like a soul whose fate it was to grovel on the road to freedom, though she herself had had enough of crawling for one day.
"Then I will ask a favour of you." She glanced over her shoulder, indicating Rena with her head. "Do you see that woman?" The vampire failed to nod, so she could only hope that his taste for killing extended to beasts. The words on her tongue tasting of spite. "She is a brutal creature, one whose taste for blood is only greater than her loyalty to Mr. Itzhak."
"You wish to confront her?"
"No." Two starved vampires trying to attack a lycan in a tunnel—it was a recipe for disaster. She sucked air in, trying to mask her impatience with a measure of truth. "But I do not feel safe when she is near, Kolya. If you preoccupy her, I will be able to share my concerns with Mr. Itzhak."
He thumped his chest immediately. "I will do this."
"Thank you, Kolya."
He bowed, indicating the tunnel ahead them. Reaching down farther to loosen one of his shoes, the rocks giving him every excuse to pause for but a moment. Long enough to widen the space between them all. "Go," he said. "Speak to our benefactor. He will know what to do on this."
She could not bury the scoff as she began walking again. He was not her benefactor. But if his presence could keep a whore off her back and a murderer off her neck, then she would stay close.
o… o… o
Two minutes later.
Twenty paces ahead, farther than she would have expected, she found him leading the way, the candle giving his face an ominous glow. He seemed more sinister in the tunnels. His coat made to be buttoned, but as usual hanging open. Wax dripping on his fingers, as though he could feel neither the heat nor the cold. It gave her the sense that she ought to turn back. Every one of them was a walking nightmare, and her choices for company were limited. In any case, she had business to attend to.
She aimed for his right. Towards the candle for she had no desire to walk near his hand. Her face now ancient, but her wrinkles affording her little protection from this world where vampires were spurned. How far had she fallen that she feared the back of a hand…a broken rib…a bruise on her face.
Indeed, it was a tedious thing to heal.
"Lyosha," she called, three feet behind him and refusing to go any closer. Her heart beating as though she were less than a vampire, a creature of the night, a scourge among mortals. She had no reason to fear him. Not the songs of his history nor the stories of his past. Nor the fact that he had heard her, yet continued to walk without comment, she thought with a sigh. "Lyosha," she repeated, a little louder, his name starting to sound like an echo.
"What?"
"Do you still have your ivory comb?" she asked quietly. Perhaps it was foolish to raise the topic. And yet she had little choice with the prospect of a strange den of lycans searching her bags. Finding the comb and beating her senseless for theft while Rena watched in silence.
He glanced back.
The prospect of her company seeming like a dull task he was performing on the road to hell. Its rank somewhere between setting himself on fire and spending the rest of eternity chained to a rock. His eyes continually moving, as though even now looking for an ambush. At least he was no longer pretending she was dirt.
Eventually allowing his attention to descend to her level, studying her in a manner that said 'dirt is dirt and pretending is not necessary'… and then unexpectedly, he moved the candle to his other hand, making room for her to walk beside him. The motion throwing her off guard.
"Yes," he said. Her fears quieting further and her lungs ready to exhale until he stopped. His brow furrowed. "No…" he corrected. This strange case of indecision finally culminating with him turning in his tracks, suddenly towering above her, the candle held far too close to her face, while his eyes narrowed as though she had just confessed to being a death dealer. "…wait a minute…why?"
She held her ground. "Why what?"
"Why are you asking?"
"A simple question."
His voice carried the barest trace of a warning. "Reinette, it is never a simple question with you."
They eyed one another.
Were his eyes going silver or was that the reflection of the candle? Was he about to Change? Every word seemed to dissolve from her head, leaving behind a dull sense of having to explain something without any syllables.
It descended from there...
o...o...o
"Alright, fine," she said. First to break, she felt compelled to start walking again, but could not stop her voice lowering to a terse whisper. "But I just want to be clear about something, Lyosha. I did not steal it—I might have accepted it, but there was no actual theft involved, at least from my end…"
His brow managed to both darken and lower itself at the same time. "Can you repeat that?"
It was at this point of the conversation that it occurred to her that perhaps she ought to have started the conversation with something other than "I did not steal it." However, regardless of how they got there, any suspicions he was now harbouring were greatly unfounded, therefore it was in her best interests to illuminate him.
She turned around and returned to where he had stopped in the tunnel. "Two days ago, I was in my quarters," she said. "I was minding my own business, and then all of a sudden, she was just…there."
"Who?"
"Sabine." She lowered her hand approximately to the height of a toddler. "Just standing there." She waggled her fingers, skipping the part about samovars because why on earth would he care. "In any case, the child digs through her pockets, hands me a comb, and then leaves, only I was sure I'd seen it in your bags."
"You mean, while rooting through my bags," he muttered.
Tempting to say yes.
But hardly a pressing detail, she decided with a wave of the hand. She carried on, this time slower for the sake of appearing more reasonable in her conjecture.
"My point, Lyosha, is that rooting through your bags does not make me a thief, it makes me observant," she said. She was a vampire. A blood-seer. She was not frightened of him. He had a sewing kit, for bloods' sake. "It makes me capable of receiving an ivory comb and realising that a child does not want to be caught with it."
He smiled grimly, the light failing to reach his eyes. "Are you calling her a thief?"
"Not in so many words," she sniffed. He might as well hear it from the horse's mouth. "If she has quick fingers, Lyosha, that is none of my business." She started walking again, attempting to extricate her veil from her mouth. "It might even be an advantage among your kind. But as far as I know, she is swiping your things…"
"Reinette." By his tone, she had become a painfully irksome fly in his path. Easily worthy of swatting. "Despite appearances, ivory and bone are not the same thing."
She nearly laughed.
"It is not bone," she said. As though one could hail from the North without being able to tell the difference between ivory and bone. "My memories may be failing, Lyosha, but my eyes are not. The comb is ivory, at least 300 years old, with a distinct hawk carved into the handle. It is identical to the one on the ship, therefore it is yours. Now what do you want me to do with it?"
There.
She had said her piece. Whether he believed her or not, this was no longer her affair. The rest of her waiting for direction so she could go back to being a prisoner for the rest of her life.
The entire nightmare already unfolding in her head as she ran through the worst possible scenarios: The yellow eyes of Rena on her back, eyes that said there would be no more ribs to break. Lucian delayed again and she, the one suffering the consequences. Her safe-box lying broken on its side. An enormous lycan beating her on a cold floor, yelling 'thief' and 'where is the comb?'
Oh yes.
She knew how these things went.
The sentiment doing little to banish the small knot of fear tying itself up in her stomach. For despite her inward assurances, he seemed to be getting taller. His scowl getting deeper by the minute, his expression all but confirming one of the other points she had brooded on for the past three weeks. Sabine who visited her in Exile's Quarter. Sabine who was doted upon by the lycan master and what surely must be a former mistress. More to the point, only a parent would look that dire when confronted with the notion of their own flesh and blood stealing from them.
"Look, can we just start over," she asked, taking a step back and almost tripping over herself. For the first time in her life having some sense of what it must feel like to be a governess; except her patron could turn into a raging animal by the light of the full moon.
Except his inquiry had little to do with the full moon or raging. Rather he seemed to be caught in a cyclone of thought, the picture of a man putting two and two together and coming back with seven. "How exactly did Sabine give you the comb?"
She frowned through her uncertainty. "Why?"
"Humour me."
By the expression of warning on his face, he was neither a good man nor about to be humoured by her answer. Every sense of self-preservation starting to indicate now that she ought to have remained with Rena and Kolya when she had the chance. Stopping when the light stopped. Walking when it walked...
...but in the end, trying to bring some semblance of calm back into their conversation, she simply told him. Miming the motions with little to no embellishment. "She handed me the comb. I put it on the dressing table. I used it once…and then I put it away again. Simple."
And for the first time, she saw him recoil. As though her words had just stung him like a whip. "You used it?"
"Of course, I used it."
There was a revulsion growing on his face as though he was slowly starting to realise something. As though she had broken the most sacred of rules. An entire lifetime of observations seeming to pass him by before he again settled on the most obvious one. "Why?"
Because it's a comb, she thought defensively. If anyone was concerned about hygiene, it should be the vampire. Refusing to let his opinions affect her, she expelled all of the air in her lungs and started walking again. "Lyosha, can we just get past that for a moment?"
He dared to mock her tone. "No, Reinette, we cannot 'get past that.'"
"I only used it once."
"Once is not the problem here." He had caught up to her. His voice also whispering, yet somehow having dropped into a vat of cynicism. "The problem, Reinette, is that I had a piece of ivory." He was using his hand and the candle to gesture with mathematical precision. As though he was questioning her ability to understand Latin. "It was in my circle, it was staying in my circle, and now somehow…" He snapped his fingers and then narrowed an eye at her. "…you have my ivory. How is that even possible?"
"I did not take your ivory," she hissed. Could he not see how senseless the argument was? It was a comb for bloods' sake—not an act of war. "I accepted it."
"You cannot accept it," he countered, as though even hearing those words was too much for him. "You will not." As though somehow that was supposed to make things more clear. "…and just so we're clear, Reinette, I have no qualms about having you cut into small pieces and then murdered if you mention this to anyone. Is that understood?" And then looking thunderous, he shrugged past her, pointing the candle once in warning, before resuming his walk.
o...o...o
Two minutes later.
"Lyosha, can I just confirm something," she asked when she caught up to him. As though cutting people into small pieces and then murdering them was something new. He was turning a rusty wheel, shoving his back against an iron door until it gave way. As he reached behind him, she picked up the candle and handed it to him. "Are there any ramifications for theft when we reach the next den?"
He took the candle...
...and then stopped. Staring at her with an altogether confounded expression on his face. Seeming about to say something and then abruptly shaking his head, starting to walk again.
"Because obviously I know where it came from," she continued. Following him into the left tunnel, gesturing as they walked. "…and you know where it came from…" She followed him out of the left tunnel and back towards the right. "...but how exactly is the next den going to know that?"
"Oh for bloods' sake, woman," he snapped. Staring at the two tunnels…and then finally choosing the one on the left again. He seemed to now be taking it as a given that he might have bitten off more than he could chew by kidnapping her. The tunnel starting to angle, forcing them to walk upwards, almost to the point of climbing for a measure of seconds. "Sabine did not steal the damned ivory," he said, using his claws to pull himself up, all the while holding the candle in the other hand. "…and if we're being honest, Reinette, your people steal as much as anyone else. Only an innocent would think otherwise, and I doubt you are that."
Interesting.
She looked askance at him. "You knew she had it?"
He bit the air in his exasperation. "Of course I knew."
"How?"
"I gave it to her."
"Oh."
She was at a loss now. The man expecting her to deduce such things herself. Yet it was still a foreign concept to her, the notion of a lycan, a creature of such…disturbing habits…caring for its young. Tales of cannibalism and ruthless cruelty seeming to linger in her conscience.
And in the moment, she nearly slipped. The earth breaking beneath her fingers, the angle of the tunnel threatening to cause injury. But her wrist caught before it could happen. His hands rough, but solid. Pulling her up before she could fall. Tempting her to see the situation in a different light. For it was not so much a child stealing from a parent as a child giving said parent's gift away to the poorhouse. And the answer surprisingly practical.
She dusted off her skirt. "Do you want it back?"
He dropped her wrist.
"Why on earth would I want it back?" he said pointedly. "I gave it to her, therefore it is hers to give to whomever she chooses." And then without waiting for her reply, he turned on his heel, shoulders stiff as his coat billowed in the opposite direction. Catching on the cold draft that was starting to pick up in the tunnel.
o...o...o
And again...
...she ought to have left it.
Their conversation having reached the third level of hell. A stage when any sane individual would bow out, yet she found her eyes trailing after his shadow. Frustrated and yet...
...intrigued.
Like digging her fingers into a wound, she opened her mouth to call after him…and then closed it quickly, sticking her hands deeper in her pockets. Refusing to give into the urge. Leaning into herself, now firmly resolved in her choice to wait for the other two. The murderer and the whore soon to catch up, while the guiding light continued on its dark path. Its opinion of her seeming to have dropped completely into the mud, for no better reason than a worthless piece of ivory. One that his…daughter, for she had to be his daughter…had spurned.
Of course it was no reason to lose sleep, she decided, stretching her arms in front of her. She had survived the conversation. No beatings. No threats beyond murder and dismemberment. For a vampire, she had come out remarkably well. And now all she had to do was stay quiet, hold her head high and remember that lycans were dogs and their habits were unclean.
Simple.
o...o...o
Two minutes later.
"Lyosha…"
At the sound of her voice, he cursed aloud, stopping in his tracks, almost causing her to run into his back. Their entire party halting again in the tunnel, this time before a flight of stone steps cared into the rockface. "Reinette, can we just pretend for a moment that you're not following me?"
Oh make up your mind, she thought, crossing her arms. "You told me to follow you."
"From a distance." He turned and indicated the space between the candle and himself. "It's like a polite form of 'fuck off.' I walk and inexplicably the distance between our feet grows. Explain to me why it's not growing."
"Perhaps because it's being crushed by the enormous chip on your shoulder," she retorted. "Has anyone ever told you that you are touchy?" She had completely forgotten her mantra, even in the face of a man whose eyes had gone unnervingly cold. "And don't look at me like that. I can give the blood-forsaken comb back if it bothers you so much…"
"It's more than just the comb that's bothering me right now, Reinette." He had resumed his climb, but his words were a terse mutter beneath the breath of someone who was clearly picturing murder in his head.
"You think you're the only one," she said, calling after him with the bitterness of her situation. "Between you and that comb, it's like walking around with a constant excuse for a beating."
"Then I suggest you keep it."
"I did not ask for it, Lyosha…"
Above her, the man raised a hand, as though he wanted the heavens to witness that particular statement. "You keep saying that, but then one moment you're not asking for anything, and the next it's 'give me back my things.' Are you not sensing a theme here?"
"Repression," she said with a righteous sniff.
Her declaration met with a groan of disbelief. As though he could not fathom the words—the foolish...utterly stupid words—coming out of her mouth. Even the act of listening to her speak on the subject seeming to require more than he was able to give. So that in the end, he was forced to stop. Placing the candle on the staircase, taking a weary seat, and just staring at her. Eventually wary of where his claws were, staring at his palms and then wiping the blood onto his arm.
"I am going to pretend that you did not just say that," he decided. The man actually appearing dazed. Taking hold of the candle again before pulling himself up. "You can keep the ivory, woman. You can throw it away. It is entirely up to you, Reinette, but I am not continuing this conversation."
Really, she thought.
Thoroughly intrigued now. For it was like studying a beast from afar, watching its mannerisms. Knowing that over time, she would catalogue it all. His habits, his reactions, the points of pressure that would force him to turn left or right. The comb holding more history than he was willing to admit, she decided, studying the set to his shoulders. Following him up the stairs, while idly teasing the veil between her fingers. At first, trying to avoid stepping on the bones...
...and then abruptly crushing the skeleton of a rat with her boot. For if she was going to be buried beneath the ground, she might as well get used to it, she thought. Bending over to pick up the skull and pocketing what was no doubt going to be a token of her death as she called after him. "A final question?"
He didn't even bother groaning this time. "What?"
She put her hands in her pockets. "Well if you really could care less, then you'd take it back, wouldn't you?"
For the fourth time, he stopped in his tracks…and turned…very slowly. And by his expression, he was in serious danger of clawing another part of his face off. An obvious wall of derision rising up, as though he could not fathom why she was still breathing the same air as him. A battle seeming to go on within his soul, one that very promptly lost itself beneath the acid coating his exterior. And then he grimaced, finally giving voice to every monster confronted by a naked Greek youth in sandals. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
She shrugged, extricating one hand for the purpose of untangling her veil again. "Lyosha, believe me, I am not trying to do anything here," she said. Poison, torture and death notwithstanding. But it was like trying to placate an ill-tempered tiger. "I am simply curious."
"Yes, I can tell." His tone was telling. Suspicious. Harassed. He pointed a hand from her to himself. "The issue being that…we, as in you and I, we do not talk about these things. That is not information that you need…"
"I never said I needed it," she countered.
He raised a finger. His back was clearly up. "And yet you keep talking to me," he said. "…steering me towards these conversations like somehow there isn't a chance I could kill you on a whim for it. Do you even remember who I am?"
"Only because you keep reminding me," she said. How pompous. As if lycan secrecy revolved around an ivory comb. "…and for the sake of our mutual clarity, Lyosha, it really is just a question. Answer or not, but there's no need to look so dour upon my asking."
"It's not dour," he said with a precise squint. "I'm just trying to understand who exactly you are to be asking me questions, when half my den thinks twice about asking me if I'm having a good day or not." He raised the candle to his face, emphasising the circles under his eyes. "It's 'not' by the way."
She felt an eye roll coming. "You said I could speak my views. I could be bold. I could express myself."
"Expressing yourself does not involve me…"
"Well, forgive me for assuming a question was not a bleeding crime," she said. What had possessed her to walk after him, she wondered. He was arrogant. Touchy. A hypocrite.
He took a step towards her, his movements suddenly sinister as she remembered the feel of his claws on her throat. The proximity of the walls forcing her to draw into herself. "It becomes a bleeding crime, Reinette, when you start forgetting who I am, when you start imagining that every question I answer is not simply another lock on your door… "
A pause as she stared at him. Her other hand tightening on the rat skull in her pocket. They both knew of what he spoke. The history of Lucian the lycan-master, the sleepless monster whose life was lived in the darkness. An area of conversation that had to be skirted around…
… much like his temper.
"A threat," she said pointedly.
"Not a threat, woman. Merely a reminder… " The words seemingly so careless yet tinged with a hard edge. "… to know me is to fall into this world, and I am telling you now, there is no way up from the bottom."
"You pompous bastard." She couldn't believe she was still arguing this with him. Yet it galled her, the means by which he sought to frighten his peers into submission. "I'm lying in a grave just for knowing your name, and you're threatening me with dirt." Her mouth was threatening to take off again. "I know you take laudanum. I know you were a blacksmith. I think it's safe to know why you keep avoiding a piece of ivory."
"There are worse things than knowing my name, Reinette." His expression was cold, looking into her face as though he could see more than just her veil. "Some day you will look back at this and see that."
"And some day…" She repeated practically, failing to acknowledge his threat. "…you'll look back and realise I asked something trivial and you answered like some tyrannical drug-addict talking about the fall of Rome."
"You say that like it's a bad thing…" He seemed about to turn his back on her, but seemed unable to resist a last slight. "…and didn't Rome fall because of 'something trivial' or am I just hallucinating instead of remembering?" And then he touched his heart in mock sympathy. "Oh wait, how rude of me. You probably have trouble remembering that far back. In fact, maybe in your world," At this, he gestured to the space around her head. "…empires float when leaders throw all their secrets to the common people."
Common people.
The day she heard a lycan use such a term.
"How would you know anything about my world," she snapped back, still in a whisper, suddenly on the verge of Changing. "You barely even know me. You wake me up…purchase me. And then you…" She struggled for the words now, trying somehow to get through to him. They both knew it had nothing to do with the question any more. It was the principle of the matter. "…you plan to use me for the rest of my natural life, poisoning me for answers, only to begrudge me one question… "
"Yes, that is exactly the point, Reinette…" There was a wall of silver over his eyes, and from where she stood, the shadows behind him were tinged with light. "I bargained for those answers… " He started walking again. "…I own them, so unless you are willing to make another deal, personal questions, even trivial ones, are off limits." And with that, he raised two fingers at her as though it meant something and started walking again.
A clear dismissal of one who was no longer worth his time.
With her eyes on his back and no one to see, Reinette abruptly kicked a rock against the side of the tunnel. Not worth his time, she thought. Crouching down for a moment to find the rock and again deciding to put it in her pocket. Another token to remind her of why she was still planning to murder him. The others stretching their legs, catching up to her as she fell back to where Kolya and Rena were. The moving candle once again leading them through the darkness. Taking them to hell as far as she was concerned.
Bastard.
o…o…o
Fifteen minutes later.
When they came to the end of the staircase and then the tunnel, they were blindfolded again. Her last sight of Kolya filled with sorrow, for she was starting to wonder if he had not been kinder in the past few weeks than she had been towards him. Too late for she had only time enough to say 'farewell' to him. The world descending into a true pitch, and the rest of her senses leaping forward to compensate. She felt a larger hand take hold of her arm. Raze. She heard water, the sound of boats knocking against one another. The laughter of a child playing along the edge. Sabine. Grey-eyed girl wandering about close to the lycan-master. She had to be his. As for Lucian… only silence.
It was Raze that brought her to the box, picking her up and carefully laying her inside as if she were glass. The blindfold coming off and the dark lycan's staring down at her. Snow on his shoulders. Behind, she could see the ceiling of a warehouse above them, the windows blackened and nothing more to tell her where they were. With care, he handed her a single bottle of blood and for once…it was his gravelly voice that gave her a measure of comfort.
"We are leaving Paris now," Raze said firmly. "Sleep. We will be with you the entire time. You will wake in eight hours." The lid came down, followed by the sound of the nails coming into place. She breathed a bit faster, staring into the darkness, again feeling constrained in the small space. She could do this. They would be out in eight hours.
All she needed to do was sleep and the time would pass quickly. It was daylight outside, she was supposed to be sleeping anyway…but instead she opened the bottle. Her stomach reminding her that she was starving. She sniffed. And thank the night, they had given her blood-wine this time. Shrugging her coat off, she downed the bottle, uncaring of the red seeping down her chin.
The blood doing its work in under an hour, drowning her sorrows, making her forget the fears threatening to plague her dreams. Asleep, she lay upon sackcloth, her hand limp beside the empty bottle. Soothed by the wine, but so careless of her surroundings that she would not have noticed if the bottle had broken under her care.
She did not feel as the boxes were stacked upon the carriage. She did not hear the horses drawing them across the countryside to a small wharf near Calais. Last of all, she was not aware that her box was now enroute to England via a small ship chartered by one Mr. Alexander Kerr, a particularly wealthy constituent of London. Mr. Kerr had been abroad for the past three months and it was with great anticipation that his household staff awaited him. Little did they know that Mr. Kerr was returning…
…with guests.
2 May 2011 Note: Originally this chapter ended off with Reinette posing a question about Sabine's identity, however, the longer I thought about it, the more unlikely it was that such a conversation could take place. (Number one: Reinette doesn't like children. Number two: why would she care that much about who Sabine was?) End result...we now have an entire section of new dialogue in an old chapter. Main outcomes remain the same. Reinette is still not completely sure who Sabine is, and Lucian is still a complete arse when people ask him questions. I'll be checking the rest of the chapters over the next few days to make sure there are no conflicts.
A/N: Alright, we're back on again. Thank you to ThranduilsDaughter, Epilachna, Sheen, Czarina15, skylarnmcw, zepplin82, sex on fire, and ladyab686 for the latest reviews, favourites, and story alerts! (Merry Christmas, Happy New Year everyone!) For the next chapter, we'll be either on the ship just off the coast of England (a nice ship this time) or we'll wake up straight in London. The time-table says we should wake up on the ship and then get into London from there. The really-want-to-write-about-Lucian's-house-feeling says we should wake up in Lucian's house and give him a bath. We'll see which one wins when I write the next chapter. (Note: I will be proofreading this chapter over today and tomorrow, so if there are any mistakes they should be gone by tomorrow.)
ThranduilsDaughter: Guess who's taking a bath when he gets home to London?
Epilachna: What with all the curiosity over Sabine, in this chapter, we do learn a bit more about her…in the sense that Lucian really really really doesn't want to talk about her. Now please note, Reinette is only surmising about whom she thinks Sabine is. That is not to say that Sabine is actually that person, but we can all surmise. We will find out later. Thanks for being into the story, and it's nice to know that a reader is thinking about one of the characters, pondering their background.
Sheen: Only twelve more days until Rise of the Lycans! (I've started dreaming of Lucian speeches. They're so much fun to write, though sometimes I have moments when I'm like 'crap…is that Lucian or Tony Blair giving that speech?')
zepplin82: Thank you for the compliment! (I try and update about once a week, so we're making our way pretty steadily through the story. Hope you stick around.)
Reference:
samovar - a type of metal urn used in Russian tea-making
'Did the Roman Empire fall because of triviality' - referring to the 'dole' of the Roman Empire, that is, the official distribution of free grain and entertainment to the poorer classes, considered one of the potential reasons for the fall of the empire.