Chapter XXXV: Ten in the Morning
The East Wing. Ten minutes later.
"Reinette."
With a half-muffled snort, she sat up, still half asleep."Rena," she mumbled. Why was Rena's voice so deep?
Her bed-curtains were pushed aside, the light of a candle blinding her. Something was wrong with this picture. She squinted, trying to wade through the sleep, the mugginess…trying to understand why Rena…why Rena looked like…
No.
She had to be dreaming. Blood, let this be a dream, it was… Her fingers went for the bedside table, the small timepiece on the wood. She opened the clasp… a quarter past ten in the morning. She tried to say something…mumbled. "…Lyosh…a…ten…morning…trying to…"
"I've had an epiphany, Reinette." He was shirtless, tapping his thumb against the book in his hand. It was an announcement…one that did not seem to take into account that she was trying to sleep. "…all this time, I've been letting nature hold the reins. Observing without remorse, believing you are meant to be in this state…" He gestured at her face and body. "…old, decrepit, weak, lacking in memory…believing there was nothing I could do to help you…"
She tried to speak, but the words were stuck at the back of her throat. If this was how he woke his mistresses in the morning, then by her decrepit, old face, she felt sorry for them.
"…but I can help you," he said as though they were having a conversation, crouching by her bed, rubbing the spine of the book against his beard. "I can pick up the pieces, I can allow myself to take an active stance before the Horde, to do all that I can for you…"
"Mmhmm," she managed, hoping he would now leave.
Instead, he lightly thumped the edge of her bed. Like patting a dog. Using the book as his pen, he began outlining his ideas in the air. "We will have a system of research. A firm grasp of the problem, a strong plan of attack." It sounded like he was getting an army ready for war.
"Mhry…insightful," she said against her pillow. Also the Sami word for 'dog,' but he didn't hear that part. Thank Rena, she was wearing a chemise.
"Of course it is," he grunted, putting his hands behind his back. "…but we've wasted time, woman." He was so loud. "The time is now. We seize the day. We trigger the mind and we take back what is yours. Memories, youth. All of it. I have a plan…and by Victoria's head, I will see it through." The candle was suddenly in his hand. He held the light directly in front of her face. "…come, Reinette." His fingers on her hand. "…are you with me?" Reddish-grey eyes looking deep into her soul, a voice of strength and resolution, so clearly a leader of men. It was a moving speech…
…but she was so…tired. Did he honestly think she was going to leap out of her bed? Her hand went to her forehead. She groaned. "Go…away."
Too late. The match had been struck. He was lighting candles about the room, stopping at the door to hoist a pile of books. "Too much at stake," he said, shaking his head. There had to be at least twenty of them. Small books, large books, at least one atlas…and a pillowcase on the floor. "You're awake, I'm awake…" He stacked all of them on her desk and then turned, arms outstretched like a lycan messiah. "…we work. We research…and you, woman, are going to write down every memory that you can think of."
She tried to break it to him slowly. "Lyosha…I have only had…two hours…of sleep. Honestly…your concern is touching, but at the moment, I do not care…"
"Do not care?" With a single pull, he ripped away her blanket, her sheets. "I almost named you after a ship, woman. Do you know how cheap that is? A stinking whale of a ship with an eel for her captain." He was leaning over her. "There is a rich history in your veins, Reinette…" He took hold of her arm, gradually starting to ease it away from the pillow. "Your past, your history…that 'H' on your side…that is your past.…and if you would just…"
She snapped. "Get your dirty fingers off my wrist, Lyosha…"
"Reinette…"
Her nails grew. "I am…not…" She dug them deeper. "…leaving…this bed.…not for you and not for some drug-induced crusade either. Kill me if you must, but blow out the light first."
"…for blood, woman, stop being so childish."
"Go mate with a dog."
"Will a bitch do," he growled, his fingers staring to make marks on her skin. Like a harness, his hand was tied around her wrist, trying to make her come…yet weakness could be strength when bones were involved. Even he was not willing to pull too hard…
…leaving them at a standstill. "Come on, Reinette…" The voice of gritty reason by her ear. "…this is undignified. Get up, wash your face and…"
"No."
"I could rip your arm off," he said, clearly in the hope that a threat would make her let go.
"Do it, Lyosha, and I swear, I'll strip so fast you'll have to explain to Rena why you have an armless, naked, old vampire clinging to your chest in bed," she said, gritting her teeth against her pillow. "…screaming and naked…is that dignified enough for you?"
He visibly shuddered, her wrist dropping in a split second. To be more precise, it was thrown. Looking disgusted…and a bit surprised that he was being forced to abandon what should have been a clear situation, he took a deep breath and backed away from her bed. "That was by far the most inappropriate thing ever to come out of your mouth," he said. "…so while I wash my mind, you have ten minutes to pull yourself together. More than I'd give a half-dead lycan with consumption…"
She almost hissed. "Do I look like a lycan?"
"Not in this light," he yelled, shutting the door with a bang.
That…
…drug-induced, half-mongrel piece of excrement. Thank the sunlit heavens, he was gone. A vampire awake in the morning. Whoever heard of such a thing? Blowing the closest candle out, she wrenched the bed-sheets back over her head, almost wanting to sing curses as she pressed her cheek back into the pillow. The rest could burn for all she cared.
Blessed sleep.
o…o…o
The next morning. 9:30 am.
He must have fallen asleep for it was not until the next day that the door opened. A bucket of ice-water splashed in her face…and ten minutes later, she was seated by the firegrate, attempting to wrap herself in something dry. How had she ever doubted herself? She wanted to kill him. She knew she could kill him now. She pulled the blanket closer round her shoulders, trying to get warm. He was lying on her bed, a pen in his mouth, crossing names off a sheet of parchment. Still off his head on laudanum, all the while running after some hare-brained scheme to make her remember more.
"Agnes?"
"No."
"Agnetha?"
"No."
"Aina, Andrea…Anja…Anna…"
"No, no, no…all of it, no." She wanted to rip her hair out. "…can we not do something else? Something less obvious in its futility?"
"Excellent point." He got off the bed. "Far quicker to read than be read to…though I suppose in theory, if we are to state the obvious, then one must be literate." Closing the cover, he left both the book on the table and stood, parchment in hand, stretching out before adopting the familiar pose. Arms behind back, attention on eyes.
He aimed the parchment at her. "First assignment…" He sounded like a general dictating to his secretary. "…you are to attack a different letter every night. Read every name, and if it sounds in any way familiar…write it down." He turned, waving the parchment about like a stylus. "Same goes for every dream, every powerful memory, every sensory thought…" He tossed a second book at her feet. A small, leather-bound journal, the mirror of the one she had seen on the ship. "At the end of every day, just after sunrise, we discuss what might have triggered the memory. Understood?"
"No, lycan-master. I find something so simple to be confusing." Deciding to feel like a rock, she leaned forward, picking up the book and flipping it open. Empty. "What makes you think…" She tossed the book back to him. "…that I have any intention of letting you read my memories?"
He caught the book. "I never said you had to give the actual memories to me." Instead of throwing, this time, he stepped forward and handed it back to her. Almost polite. "Keep the book…write in gibberish if you must, but beside each entry, I want you to write down exactly what triggered the memory. It can be a smell, a taste, a sight, a sound, a touch. Any number of things."
"Why?"
"Lycan tribunal in the coming year, and though as usual, I shouldn't be telling you this…" He paused, a thought seeming to cross his mind so that for a moment there was light in his face. Something funny. He chuckled and then let the matter rest. "I suppose if you escape, the lycan council will have bigger problems," he said, "…but that aside, when the Horde gathers, one of the topics under discussion will be your head."
"What?"
"Oh keep your hair on. It's not that serious." He gestured to the desk, the bathroom, the walls. "We'll just show them what you're capable of, give them some history, prove you're an exile, present you before the Horde…you should be fine."
Should be…
"But I am an exile…"
"…who knows my name."
"I haven't told anyone."
"So far."
She felt floored, her legs not working. Tired. Unnerving having to remember who he was. That perhaps to him…the question of whether she would survive the year was not one he would lose sleep over. "But…" Her head. "…if you keep me alive, that is your decision, is it not? You are the final vote?"
"Of course…" He was speaking more to the bedcurtains than her. "…but if the Horde is going to use you the way I want it to, they have to trust you. Therefore, hence, etc., we have to prove to them…and me…" He seemed to be contemplating her again. "…that you're a much coveted, albeit old, exile in need of shelter and employment."
"Says the wolf to the helpless lamb."
He grinned. "Says the spoiled meat that killed the wolf."
"But I…" She closed her mouth and then opened it again. Why did he always prompt that reaction? "…I know what I am, Lyosha. You know what I am. Even if my memories are ruined, I have the mark to prove it."
"The mark is fresh."
She shut her mouth. Etched into her side, stuck on her skin, reminding her of…Hrafn. The H on her side stood for Hrafn.
"Seared in the last century, I'd say." Oblivious to her discomfort, he was twiddling his thumbs, going to and fro with his head, thinking aloud. "…likely a foreign coven by the letter, which makes me think you were captured, branded and as was or is the custom, I should say, slated for execution." He started eyeing her bedside table, as though trying to see through wood. "But why no record…and how did you escape? When? Where?" He was definitely studying her…like a sample. "Were you set free? And if you were, did you exchange something for that freedom?"
Well, aren't you the village blacksmith, she thought, choosing to meet his eye. "These are all pertinent questions, Lyosha, but if I were in some foreign coven, you can be sure I was sitting in a foreign cell," she said. He was right up to a point. A snow-covered fortress in the North. A coven of wildlings…led by the one who branded her. She knew that much…
…but should she tell him what she knew?
"And why head to Budapest," he muttered, opening her bedside drawer and with his pen, scattering the contents about. There was a stray stocking hanging from the wood, and to her mortification, he held it up, frowned and then flung it aside.
Question answered.
"How would I know," she said bluntly. Even if she did, she'd rot before she told him. Holding up her stockings with a pen…
"Tanis said you were looking for information…" Bored with the drawer, he was kicking pillows off her bed now, apparently seeking some form of flatness. "…someone called Aris…does that ring any bells, Reinette?" He made a come hither motion with both hands. "Aris…come on, say the name with me."
"Not if you're going to serve me up to a pack of vampire-killing lycan warlords," she replied, digging deeper into her blanket.
"Ha." Ignoring the pillows for a moment, he picked up the parchment again, starting to fold the edges. "I know at least one woman who would take offence to that statement…"
"You?"
"Allegra, you piece of ash." He crumpled the parchment and threw it at her. "…but you realise, these are the questions you'll be getting." His voice became serious. "Questions that need to be dealt with before I can use you…"
Used. Always being used. "In a bigger cell?"
"With your very own head…" He stood. "…unless I get picked off in the next year. Then it goes."
"Oh good," she said, picking up the crumpled parchment. If he didn't care about getting 'picked off,' perhaps she should take the same attitude. "…horde secrets, a bigger cell, my neck intact and I get to throw up daily."
"Another reason for you to crack those books right now." Seeming to understand that she was not leaving her blanket, he ran a hand over several covers and then decided on three. He dropped them on her blanket. "Quite a medley, though you may have some difficulty with some of the French ones, but no matter, Rena will help you…" He dropped four more on her blanket. Two more French, one Latin, and one completely useless English one with illustrations. "…and don't forget this."
A map…
…of Iceland.
She felt one of her hairs come out. The next few minutes were a blur of him talking about things he'd read, things he'd seen, a possible means of triggering her memories by sound. It was like watching a half-crazed war pigeon trying to find its way into a hand that did not exist. A minute later, he was gone, closing the door behind him, muttering about some book he'd forgotten in the library. When he did not return, she assumed he'd fallen asleep somewhere, laudanum often starting with adrenaline and ending with lethargy. Sleep. Unable to sleep after the visit, she lay on her bed, thinking, declining her breakfast when Rena brought it. Obviously he was abusing the drug to a greater extent, but why?
o…o…o
Two days later. 8:30 am.
"Reinette."
No, she thought. No, no, no…it was becoming a routine. Worse than being in exile. It was like…hell. Every morning for three days, waking her, forcing her to read through books, maps, names…anything and everything he had found on Scandinavia. Pure torture. Why morning? Did he not sleep? Should he not be sleeping? It was the third morning. He looked terrible. At least on the surface, his demeanour far rougher than hers, like someone had cranked him through a laundry-wringer. She hoped it was Rena. He stank of laudanum…and to her irritation, blood-alcohol. If anyone needed a drink, it was her. But rather than protest vocally, she took her blanket, dragged it off the bed and tried to make a nest on the floor. Blanket. Sheets.
He wanted the bed.
Fine.
Take it.
"Why are you doing this to me," she mumbled into the one pillow she had left. She had started leaving it on the floor in anticipation of his visits. "I could have been sleeping…and you…" Bastard, she finished in her head. "…you could be…" She scowled. "…dallying with women…and dogs…and dead horses…"
He sounded drunk. "Is that all you think I do?"
"Yes," she said, settling herself in front of the grate. "…and so does Rena."
"No, she doesn't…"
"Yes, she does…" She no longer cared…if he woke her at this hour, then he should expect to hear it exactly as she thought it. "…and so does everyone else, so can you please live up to their expectations…" Hand over her eyes, she blindly indicated the door. "…mate with someone…not even a dog…a dally-woman…a mistress…anyone?" Anything.
"If I had a gold bar for every woman that charged me to go mate with someone else." Despite her slurs, the half-grin had found its way onto the rough surface. "…and for your information, you old prude, just because I allow myself some of the physical pleasures of life, it doesn't mean I'm a bona fide hedonist."
"Then what does it mean?" She was not so much in the conversation as continuing a line of words that did not involve her reading a Scandinavian census from the 16th century. Shocking what kind of books he had in his library.
He paused. "It means…" Silence doing the thinking, the frown starting to come back. "…that there is pleasure…and then there is pleasure."
"One…" She yawned loudly. "…reflecting the other?"
"No."
To answer or not to answer. Her situation separate, yet having little and everything to do with what he was saying. It did not mean she would sympathise with him. The words fell out of her mouth. "A disparity between the physical and the mental then."
He looked down at her and then sat forward, his legs hanging over the edge. The bed was certainly tall enough, though he looked unsteady. "Yes." A deep, unassuming laugh, for once not on the heel of sarcasm. "…and between the two, if one is absent, though you might have chosen differently in another life…you now have a choice between nothing and that which is left over."
"Physical for the physical, and mental for the mental. The states do not coincide," she murmured. "…and as a result, you suffer a disconnect."
"Suffer…" It was as though he were working out the syllables, right there, in all his drugged-up glory. "The word is too strong…how can one suffer when there is no emotion?"
"A lack of emotion is still an emotion, Lyosha." Perhaps the census was better than discussing his love-life with him. She got up. It looked as though he'd be staying here for the morning again. May as well get dressed then. With the closet open, she flicked the hangers past, one by one, choosing the blue skirt. White shirt. Plain.
"Not true," he said, scratching his chest, the picture of a dandy at his ease. For the love of anything, why could he not wear a shirt? "…I miss nothing. I live my life in the present."
"Opium, war and women," she muttered, putting the clothes over her shoulder "Two empty pastimes paired with work, all used in favour of nothing."
"Who has time for nothing," he said, staring at the wall. "…we keep to the shadows and survive the war. That's what lycans do, Reinette." His voice was getting deeper…slower, whatever adrenaline he had was finally drawing to a close. "If I were to dwell on nothing, I think I'd be…" He looked up, searching for her and then giving up when it must have become apparent that she was blurry. "…fucked…royally, and not in the way of Victoria…"
He was not paying enough attention to notice that she was now in the bathroom…
…and to be honest, no longer listening. With the door closed, she stripped quickly, putting the clothes on without bothering with the undergarments. More comfortable, and less time-consuming. She washed her face. Combed the hair forward, trying not to notice too much the bath's reflection, her face like a craggy mountain. She could hear him, through the wall, his sentences breaking now and then, a man trying to weigh his own thoughts. The last words she caught…
"…and nothing is such a harsh word. Is Jacqueline nothing?" It was becoming painfully obvious how tired he was. "I know she's young, but…she just keeps talking…all the time." It was like a concept he was unfamiliar with. "On and on and on…not that I hate talking, but…" He seemed to be nursing the word. "…am I nothing?"
She'd had enough.
"It means…" She opened the door and stuck her head out. "…when you are screwing your mistress, Lyosha, you may as well be screwing an opium plant. Your pursuits mean nothing, yet they are used in favour of the true nothing that might replace them. That does not mean you are nothing. It just means you are drunk, drugged, and likely overdosing right now."
Rather than be offended, he gave another deep laugh, this time ending flat on her bed. "Honest and blunt," he said to the ceiling. "…though I've yet to find an opium plant that could take the kind of copulating you think I do, woman."
"And Rena."
"…and Rena," he agreed woozily, looking up at her with a sleepy, disarming grin. She might regret it, but she found herself returning the favour; as expected it only encouraged him. He tapped his chest. "See? Not frightening at all. Merely capable of killing you."
"Very comforting."
"You are…" His eyes were starting close. "…jumpy as a horse before breaking…" He was drifting, occasionally putting his head up. "…and I expect progress, Reinette." He tried to point. "Answers. As many memories…as you can think of…"
He was falling asleep…already. "Lyosha?"
"Mm…"
She came closer. And then under her breath, so even the walls could not hear, she said, "Lucian?"
He inhaled, the faintest sense that he could almost hear her, one of his hands falling off the end of the bed, hanging there like deadweight. With her index finger, she prodded his shoulder. He made no sound.
Asleep.
It was not fair. Exhaling, she went to Rena's door and knocked softly. Time to call in the infantry. She stepped back as Rena came in the room, followed by Raze, the large man ducking his head so as not to hit the doorway. They had been doing this for the past two days. Raze seemed to follow him wherever he went…and whether it was his expression or the way that he went about his business, it always gave her the impression that this was not new…and that for many years, Raze had been the one to pick up the pieces. That wherever Lyosha might end up…Raze was the one to swing him over his shoulder or direct Rena or whoever happened to be nearby to take the feet, while he took the arms.
She watched them pick him up.
Officially no one would tell her what was happening…why he was raising his dose or why he was awake during the day. All the same…Rena had made a point of not mentioning last night that perhaps…Lyosha might not have a tendency to act odd, dare she say, fairly mad just before he cut his ties…and that perhaps…the spoiled tart might not be around much longer. Which, of course, could probably not mean…in the words of Rena…
Fireworks.
Oh yes please, she thought, hearing the door lock behind them.
A/N: Finally back on schedule. Will be rereading chapter tomorrow morning for typos, inconsistencies, etc. On that note, hope everyone enjoys latest chapter. Many thanks to Celtic Aurora, mas, Sheen, keili77, FemmeFatality, trestreschic, xtremediva3, Ra'iira The Fiend, m-m, XDeadlyImprefectionX, k, LollipopZombie13, Constance Bleu, -Rubikins-, Songorita, sasukelover1010z, and T-Squared34 for the reviews, favourites, and story alerts!
Celtic Aurora: Indeed, Kolya is more than charm...though even in his deviousness/murder/etc., I like to think he remains charming and polite (albeit dangerous.)
mas: Glad to hear it, and in answer to your question, many, many chapters. (It's turned into a hobby.)
Sheen: That's okay, Kolya blends with the walls. He doesn't make much of a fuss. Does his work, earns his keep, whether that means murder or filling a lamp with oil. :)
keili77: Reinette is definitely being forced to deal with some of Lucian's character flaws. ;)
FemmeFatality: Thanks for giving me an extra incentive to write this week! (And yes, when she gets young, Lucian will have his hands full, particularly if his hands are already full with someone more proper in the eyes of the den than Reinette. Choices might have to be made on his part...Reinette or mystery lycan lady...what to do, what to do...)
trestreschic: Thank you! Many connections indeed (might have to start using string on wall-chart beside computer.)
xtremediva13: Welcome to the story, and very glad that you loved it! Updating soon.
Ra'iira The Fiend: Thank you!
m-m: Updating in about two minutes. :)
XDeadlyImperfectionX: Many thanks!
k: Very soon! ;)