Chapter XL: Fireworks and Ivory
Nine hours later.
He woke to find himself still breathing. Alone with only a Ming dynasty tea bowl to suggest he was still unwell. His head pounding until he chose to silence it, searching for his drug until he realised how thorough Allegra had been with his quarters. Choosing then to accept the pounding in his head, he bathed, dressed, and by seven, somehow made his way to the dining hall without hurting himself. By eight, he was starting to regret his decision to sit near a china cabinet. By ten, any regrets that he might have had were now dying along with the faint hope that he might leave this room before midnight.
In a word, sublime.
He tried to focus on the present. Jacqueline. She was pacing between the wall and her quarry of porcelain, her dress barely able to keep up with her nails. By logic, this was a problem that needed rectifying. "Jacqueline…" He knew it would be a mistake to look at his watch. "…if we could just sit down and discuss this like …"
Crash! An immaculate 17th century Japanese Imari vase hit the wall, shattering into eight concentric pieces, the point of impact suggesting an aim that required improvement. "Are you calling me a child, Alexander?"
Was he calling her a child, he wondered. No.
Yes.
Perhaps.
His eye twitched.
In previous years, he might have been good at this. Knowing what to say and how to say it. Knowing when to stand and flinch and drop his shoulders. Knowing how to demonstrate that this moment was as 'painful' for him as it was for her. But it was hard to flinch. Hard to engage, even with the graveyard of broken china; the most he could conjure being a vague sense of not regret, but cold awareness over how distraught Mrs Fulligan was going to be come morning…
…and even that was measured.
"No," he said. Hardly a point in masking his scent, but then he'd rather lie and spend three hours explaining himself than tell the truth and spend six. The dining hall was deserted save for themselves, the tablecloth soaked in blood, their meal long since abandoned in a field of war. Only a single glass standing. "I am…" It was taking all of his patience not to raise his voice."…merely indicating that if you sit down and listen to what I am saying…" Broken glass everywhere. He was running the palm of his hand along the table. Maybe he could cut something by accident. "…then perhaps we can come to some…"
A plate crashed to the floor. Wedgwood. 18th century. "…because I am not a child…"
He stared at the plate. "Hence the reason I answered in the negative…"
"Then why are you doing this?" Her voice was getting scratchy. The prim English accent marred by a stuffy nose. "…why would you say such things?" She moaned wretchedly, looking up at the ceiling with red eyes. "I am…always trying to connect with you…always…but you never give me a chance. You never want to talk to me."
"If you could sit down, maybe we could talk about it," he snapped.
"Sit down?" She made a sound, somewhere between a fuming sob and an incoherent whine. "Sit down, Jacqueline…slow down, Jacqueline…our lives are always about your pace…"
He never said that.
She was growing hysterical, pacing back and forth, the frenetic buzz riding on a wave of despair. The tears were flowing again. "And you think I don't know what you say behind my back?" she asked. "I try to be patient. I try to be there for you…and this is what I get?" With a sob, she sliced off her glove, holding her arm out for the world to see. "A bracelet," she sobbed. "A golden bracelet, while some hag walks around this household with your ivory…" Another plate struck the wall. "…don't even try and deny it, Alexander. I know she still has it…"
Right.
He was getting very tired of this room.
Never mind that it was Sabine that gave Reinette the ivory. Never mind that it was a perfectly common gift for a lycan child. A symbol of blood. The kind of symbol that remained in one's family unless one happened to be looking for more family. Never mind that he, in the spirit of a moment, had reached out and handed it to a blood-forsaken nine-year-old for jumping out of a train. That she…not him…had walked into a prison and handed that gift to a vampire.
No.
They all skipped that step.
They all jumped to 'Lucian, why does a vampire prisoner have your entirely-distinct, everyone-knows-that-once-belonged-to-you ivory comb? Did you hand it to her?' For bloods' sake, it was farcical. Under what moon would he avoid matrimony for almost five hundred years, and then inexplicably hand a stranger a piece of ivory? Not just any stranger, but an ancient, foul-mouthed piece of vampire ash…
And for once, the thought truly gave him pause. For she, out of all the women he had explained this to, was probably the one person who would understand the issue. She would see the air of the ridiculous. She would grasp the joke, probably even scoff at this point…and without any awkward hints of "did you really mean to give that to me through Sabine," she would hand him the comb and they would be done with it.
Hell…
…she had even offered to give it back to him. He was massaging his temples again. He had to stop doing that. It gave away his stress-levels to the enemy, and in this case, Jacqueline was the enemy. He should have just taken the comb back…but at the time, he had been lying to himself over the kinds of conclusions people could draw from an old vampire and a strapping "young" lycan sharing a blood-forsaken ivory comb.
"I hate you…" Jacqueline sniffed, wiping her nose roughly against her arm. "…and I hope you enjoy her." He almost laughed out loud at that. Things were getting ugly. She was jumping between hatred and pleading. "And why would you give it to her?" she asked. "Have I not satisfied you?"
"For the last time, Jacqueline, I did…not…give it to her…" He was massaging his knuckles. The bones were starting to tighten. He had already factored the reasons for retaining decorum in this matter, despite his feelings on the subject…despite his general lack of feeling on the subject… "…I gave it to Sabine." He looked up, enunciating the name. "And Sa-bine…who is nine and therefore in possession of very few faculties…gave it to our most recent guest."
She moaned to the ceiling. "Then you knew…" Her face was on the verge of crumpling. "…all this time, you knew what I wanted…and you gave it away to that child. Like it was meaningless. You used me…"
"Used you?" He narrowly avoided scoffing. "In what century did I use you when our first meeting involved you crawling naked into my bed after climbing up a balcony window…"
"I earned my place in your bed." She pointed bluntly towards her chest. "…I earned it."
"Oh for blood's sake, Jacqueline…" He could feel his face threatening to spasm. "…is that all this is to you? Earning your keep? Honestly…tell me you enjoy it because I'm having difficulty understanding the difference between your tactics and that of a first-class…"
Before he could finish the sentence, a tremendous knock drew their attention to the ceiling. As though someone had accidentally dropped a giant weight upon the floor. Failing to understand the significance, Jacqueline sniffed and then picked up another plate. Fully aware of the significance, he grimaced at the ceiling, which by chance happened to be directly under Allegra's quarters, and then sat back with a roll of the eyes.
Fine.
They had discussed the subject of civility in the minutes before dinner…the minutes before Allegra had abandoned him to the dogs before dinner. Regardless of how comfortable he was with ending his own life…regardless of how incensed he was that some bastard was murdering exiles on his watch…regardless of that, he needed to remember that not everyone had the capacity to sustain his current mood.
Least of all a girl of twenty.
Her lips cracked and parched. Once so innocent and now strained by something she had not known she could feel. "Jacqueline, it is over," he said. "…and to give you any other impression would be…wrong." He was almost sorry for it. "You were of…great comfort…to me in the past year, but as time passes, people grow apart…"
"But we have…"
Very little in common, he realised, cutting her off with the scrape of his chair being pushed back. "Do you want to know what we have?" he asked. He was trying to be civil about this. Trying to say this as kindly as he could. But he was tired. He was ready to go back to his murder inquiry. His shoulders starting to hang, his head starting to slouch for he was tired of discussing this issue. And why discuss it when he could just show her?
All of it.
The one thing she had never smelled on him, a scent that had clung to him for the past five hundred years, instilling fear in every lycan soldier that happened to cross him in the Underground; something he had gotten so used to hiding that it had become second nature for him to keep it under wraps in polite society.
He raised his arms. "That is what we have," he said. "Every day, every hour…that is what you do not see." The histories had once described it as the scent of death walking. To him, it smelled like ash.
Her lip was quivering. She was starting to smell it, but there was a stubbornness in her scent. She did not want to believe. She had picked up the bracelet again. "But you gave this to me…on my birthday…you gave it to me…" There was an awkward hiccuping sound coming from her throat. "I-I thought you were going to…" She could not finish, choking and sputtering on the sentence. "…I thought you loved me…"
"Well, that's unfortunate, isn't it?"
He said it easily. Hardly the cruellest of words…and yet he could have heard a pin drop upstairs. Half a second later, he began to realise that perhaps he should have answered differently…and yet why should he? Why should he pretend that he was anything but brusque and callous?
That Jacqueline had not gone white. That the more she stared at him…the more she took in his scent, the more he realised that she had not even suspected. That she…in all her innocence and flippancy…had seen him at face-value. She had believed his lies. The net of furs and seduction wound around her shoulders…and then without expecting to, he began to feel a small niggling sense of not regret but, doubt over his actions. His conscience starting to count how many lies he had told her in the past year. How many times he had disregarded her when she was trying to share something with him. The lady even going so far as to spend time with a child that she could not stand. How many times had he…
No.
He did not have time for guilt, and he did not have the energy to count the ways he had been cruel to Jacqueline. For that matter, he reasoned to himself, it was not cruelty. It was a wake-up call. A reminder that life was not always kind, and that to expect was not always to receive; if there was anything he could teach anyone about life, it was that.
"Enough, Jacqueline." He was finished with this evening, and his voice did not waver. "Your gifts, your clothes, and for the winter, your rooms are your own, but the night is almost over…what more would you have from me?"
There was a long silence. A stunned silence before she started to shake, the anger slipping away in the wake of a harsh truth. He was ending it. Powder and paint mingling with tears, her beauty, for the first time, marred by turmoil. "I can…" She was hugging her arm. "…I can be different…"
"It would not matter."
"But…" She looked lost. The tears turning into a waterfall."…how c-can you do this to me," she asked softly. Her body racked with sobs, her fingers wrapped around the bracelet he had given her a week ago, holding it tightly. Her legs gave way. She slid to the floor, sobbing into her dress.
…and there it was. The final note of their swan song.
Fuck.
o…o…o
He left soon after.
And yet he did not get very far. The long walk through the dining hall taking less than thirty seconds. The act of getting his scent back in order taking a mere ten. The moment of doubt taking one as he listened to the sobs behind him. The three seconds that it took to open and close the door in relative silence. And then, with the door closed behind him, the split-second that it took to sense a presence…so that without even looking, he reached out a hand, took the girl by the arm and pulled her out from behind the dusty threads of a French pastoral tapestry. Red hair. Grey eyes.
"You." Leaning down, he tapped her on the chin. "How long have you been listening?"
She shrugged, rubbing one of her eyes. "Not long." Silver globes in the dark. "I'm tired."
"You're lying, that's what." Eager to be gone from this hallway, he started off in the first direction he could think of…right. Sabine dutifully followed, but her attentions were not moving in the same direction. What the devil was wrong with her? She was a child…and children had simple needs. "Have you eaten?"
She shook her head.
"Why not?"
She mumbled something. 'Because…' Hardly an explanation.
"Because…you were…" He spoke slowly, trying to coax the answer from her. Like questioning a prisoner that he could neither mistreat or insult; needless to say, it was difficult.
She mumbled the sentence again, rubbing her ear this time. Completely unintelligible. He gave up. They turned the corner. Her stomach growled. Oh for fuck's sake… He turned around. They'd have to go back the way they came…past the dining hall and down to the kitchens. Servant's entrance might be quicker…He felt a hand tugging his shirt. He looked down. Grey orbs. They were nearing candles. Easier to see in the dark.
She cocked her head, squinting up at him. "What does…" She stumbled over a word. "…mean?"
"Say again?"
"Faculties…" She sounded the word out slowly, a single English word in the midst of her German. "You said my name, and that I was nine and something about 'faculties'…" She scratched her ear. Almost healed. "…what does 'faculties' mean?"
Right. He'd actually said she had 'few faculties', but that was beside the point. He stopped, leaning over so they were eye to eye. "It means you were standing behind a tapestry during a private conversation, and by some coincidence, you became completely deaf in both ears and heard nothing." He touched her ear. "Understood?"
She nodded.
Excellent. They set off again. At best, he could leave her with Bess. At worst, one of the kitchen maids. Not to say that he was not inclined towards spending time with Sabine, but…
…he was busy.
Depressed. Suicidal. And to be honest, it was starting to dawn on him that…really…he was not the greatest influence on children anyway. Rena was a drug-addict and the last time he spent time with Sabine, it had ended with her being forced to jump out of a moving train. In fact… He quickened the pace. …it would probably be best if she spent the majority of her time in the company of Allegra from now on…which was good. He was doing the right thing for once.
The kitchen was directly in front of them, yet before even reaching for the door, he felt the hand tugging his shirt again. Blast. She was like a leech. He exhaled and looked down. Grey orbs. Identical to his own. "What now?"
She squinted. "What does 'fuck' mean?"
Right.
o…o…o
The East Wing. Twenty minutes later.
Reinette was standing on a stool, trying to look over her shoulder. There were no mirrors, but she was still curious. Unable to control herself, she reached behind her. "Is it…"
"Not yet…" Allegra lightly tapped her fingers away. She had a mouthful of pins, but that could hardly stop her from talking. "…you'll see in a minute. Rena, the other colour, please." She pointed. 'Yes, the darker one. Quickly now before we are bombarded by men."
From behind, she heard a quiet rustle. Rena was holding the cloth up against her waist, the silent helper as Allegra pinned everything in place, her hands as capable as any seamstress. It was all very…strange…but certainly worth it for the sake of doing something other than languages and memory. Plus…she liked Allegra. She had not meant to like her…but she did.
It had started this morning. As was her custom, while waiting on Lucian's pleasure—whomever that might be at this hour—she had turned her attention to the memory book—blood knew why she tried—when there was a knock on the door.
A quiet knock.
Which in itself was hard to decipher. Her teacher, Singe, was always escorted by Rena…and her captor, Lucian, was unfamiliar with the concept of knocking. It was out of his jurisdiction. He fiddled with keys, he entered in silence, or he barged loudly. He never knocked. In the interim, she had looked to Rena and Rena had looked to her. Neither of them was expecting any one. So Rena had listened carefully at the door, asked for an identification, heard a reply…and then shrugged, opening the door to reveal their guest…
Allegra.
To say she had been surprised was an understatement…the woman had been kind to her in Vienna, but they were hardly long-lost friends. Plus she was… She had almost sighed. …attractive Particularly this morning. Not exactly the kind of person one wanted to entertain when one had the face of a septuagenarian and had just woken up. And yet…she had been charmed. The woman had entered the room, embraced her like a daughter, and…"visited" was the word.
Instead of roughly handling her things, Allegra had pointed, requested, and admired. For the first time since Lucian had locked her up, she felt like she was…home. From there it had been one thing after another. Rather than keeping her awake all morning, Allegra had suggested they continue the visit in the evening when she would be better-rested. And true to her word, she had returned just after seven…with breakfast.
Spiced blood, a small gift of soap from Vienna, a few garments that Allegra wished her to try on and before she knew it, every detail of the past month had come out of her mouth. The highs and lows, the occasional dreariness of being in the same room, the lack of companionship at times…and then there was the pendant. A subject she hesitated to speak on…for what was there to say? And who was there to say it to? Who was there to care that she felt unnerved and distrustful when she remained a prisoner in the household of strangers? To offer a complaint over the loss of an item bordered on the ridiculous.
Even now she was thinking about it. Was it important? Not really. Would anyone care? Not really. Rena had not even told anyone. And even if she had wanted to speak, she lost her chance…for behind them all, the door opened, revealing…well…they all knew who it was.
He was looking particularly grim, if not harrowed around the temples. There was blood staining his cravat. Without comment, he kicked the door shut with the back of his boot and stalked over to the one of the chairs, shoving off most of her belongings and taking a seat. He then proceeded to stoke the grate, the absence of heat seeming to offend him on some level. Not that anyone expected him to say anything. He was clearly there for the sake of not being somewhere else.
Allegra snipped a thread. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"How is she?" There were still pins her mouth.
"Fine."
"She did not sound fine."
"How would you know?" He sat forward. "For some reason, I can't remember how you phrased it in that letter of yours…but oh wait, let me think…I know. 'I will comfort her, Lyosha. Wait until I arrive, Lyosha'…why the devil was I supposed to wait if you weren't even going to be there?"
"I was going to be there…" Allegra smiled warmly. "…but then I promised Reinette I'd spend the evening with her…"
"Yes, because that was my biggest concern this evening," he grunted. "While I step on the dreams of this twenty-year old child, can you make sure Reinette's hem-line is looked after? And oh…by the by, send Sabine round to do some spying." He paused. "This may be a shock for you, but she's in bed…" He pointed at himself. "I put her there…"
"Well done, darling," she smirked. "…would you like an ivory bracelet?"
"To hell with your ivory," he said curtly. "…and I don't care if he's your mate, Allegra—I don't care if he's my mate—if I ever find out how you made a high-ranking officer stand directly above a ceiling and eavesdrop on his superior, then you will rue the day you choose to have children…"
"Oh for heaven's sake, Lyosha, what do you take me for?" Allegra rolled her eyes. "Sabine snuck out of bed, and you know full well I would never have asked Raze to do something so vulgar…" She poked around in the small box Reinette was holding, finally settling on a slightly sharper and much longer needle. "…and it's not like Greta doesn't know you can be vicious, Lyosha…she was merely keeping an eye on things…"
He inhaled. "Greta?"
She nodded. "Yes, Greta. She's been my maid for almost two hundred years now, Lyosha. You once propositioned her while we were still together, so I'd think you'd remember her name by now…" She started searching for another pin.
There was silence.
Reinette continued rolling the box's ribbon around her finger. Between them, Allegra and Rena had already filled her in on the details of what was going on below. Lucian seemed to have already taken it as a given that she knew…but for some reason, she had a feeling that "Greta" would not go over so well. His eyes had changed slightly. The vein in his neck starting to throb…
…and yet when he spoke, the language was beyond her reach. Starting to burn on his tongue, so that only by imagination could she suspect the subject matter had something to do with privacy, environment, and perhaps eavesdropping. German, she decided, trying to keep up with the words. Willst du mich, she repeated silently. Willst du mich verarschen…it was a question. The language rising and falling like an empire, his hand directing itself to the floor, the ceiling, herself, and then the blasted door, before visibly forcing itself to relax. Each nail retracting slowly, making her wonder at what point she'd begun to think more on language than the beast who spoke it.
"Alright, alright…" Allegra was already answering in Russian, barely giving him an eye before flicking her hand, like a fan waving away his teeth. "…case closed and it won't happen again." She drew herself up, turning to point at the new dress. It was dark-red, almost blood-red… "Now what do you think? It's about time we dressed her in something other than black and blue, wouldn't you say?"
Apparently, he would not.
He eyed the dress, rolled his eyes, stood up and started picking through her pile of books. About three went on the floor before he picked up the one book she ought to have put away this morning. The small leather-bound book he had given her as a journal. She had only written a few things. It did not matter. He could not read it. She had written in Saami. He was…he was flipping through it.
Her heart went into her stomach. She felt sick…he could not read it. What if he could read it? What if he had lied to her about his ability to read Saami? He dropped the book, moving on to something else. She relaxed. Almost. Now he was going through her studies, flipping through her English work…her French work. Going so far as to take a seat at her desk and start fiddling with the left drawer clearly having trouble accepting the fact that one side was a millimetre shorter than the other…
"Have you ever considered that maybe…she likes black," he muttered pointedly, out of the blue.
They all looked up. Rena looked at Allegra. They both seemed to be having the same thought process. This had nothing to do with clothes, he was in a bad mood and treading softly would not go unrewarded. There was a wary silence as he continued to examine the drawer, nudging it this way and that; and then Allegra indicated Reinette. "Of course, she may like black, Lyosha, but everyone enjoys change now and then…some variety of colour…"
He shut the drawer with a bang. "Colour?"
They were definitely not talking about clothes anymore.
Rena was staring at the wall. Reinette was trying to look at the wall, but finding the whole endeavour unsuccessful. And this was so much more fascinating than wallpaper. He appeared to be still going through the same phase as the last time she saw him. He was riled. Uncomfortable. Dissatisfied. Entirely sober. The smell of laudanum was almost…normal…all in all, it served him right. She had slept like a baby this morning, and no thanks to him.
Allegra spoke patiently. "Lyosha, I do not think this is the time or the place to…"
"Reinette, correct me if I'm wrong…" He turned his attention to her for the first time. His eyes were grey, yet unsettling by virtue of their stillness. "…you're a fine lover of misery—if you had a choice, would you prefer attention or fading into the background? Be honest."
"I…" She looked between them. She was a prisoner between two wardens. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rena give a slight shake of her head. Don't answer. She closed her mouth and then opened it again. "…I…don't know."
"Yes, you do," he scoffed. Like he was standing in front of a crowd of naysayers, preaching the rights of the few. "You know exactly what the answer to that is, but you're blinded by the attentions of someone who only cares what you look like on a surface…when really…" He practically hissed at Allegra. "…it does…not…matter."
Allegra took a calculated step towards him, the width of her dress forcing him to step back unless he wanted to be trampled. "I think that is enough, Lyosha…" She was speaking sharply for the first time that evening. "…you may be in a hideous mood, but that does not mean you have to bully the rest of us into tiptoeing around your temper. If Reinette is going to be a member of this household, then she must dress like a member of this household." She turned, practically elbowing him out of the way before straightening the hem. "Now if you would be so good, I'd like to get started on the next dress before midnight."
"So start," he muttered, stalking back to the desk and pulling the entire drawer out.
Allegra turned. "In order to start…" She smiled warmly. Very warmly. "…I need to undress and redress Reinette, and that means you have to leave…"
He emptied the contents of the drawer…on the floor. One of the ink bottle shattered. "In what century?"
"In this century…" She snapped, staring at the mess, clearly starting to lose her sweet composure. "…because that's what polite gentlemen do when ladies have business to attend to…"
He snorted. "Like I haven't already seen all there is to offer in this room and half the ones in this household, and I'll have you know, it's not as tempting as you all think it is…"
"Enough…" There was a sound of extreme frustration from Allegra followed by a thunking sound. She had thrown the pair of scissors she was holding. They were embedded in the floor…and if she had aimed a little to the right, they would have struck his hand. "Lyosha," she said. Firmly. "…you are leaving this room…now."
"Fine." He appeared to be completely comfortable with the request. He picked up his drawer, turned towards the door, and raised his arms. "I am leaving. But just so you know, it would be a good idea to dress her in something dark…and warm…because in less than a month, she's going to want to blend in with the rocks at her backside…"
Allegra narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"Sorry, I thought you knew… He looked surprised, but perfectly happy to spoil someone else's evening since his was already ruined. "…you see, our guest here believes that she has no place in a lycan household. She believes…" And he laughed softly, seeming amused by the very concept so much that he wiped an eye. "…I'm sorry, where was I…oh yes…"
She felt her body freeze. She knew what he was about to say. At the time she had believed it…now she was not so sure. Her cheeks had gone red. Why would he bring this up now? In front of Allegra…
His eyes were trained on her. His voice pleasant to the ear, but his words like flint on steel. "…Reinette believes, and I quote, that lycans are dogs, their habits are unclean, and that she would rather spend the rest of the year in a dark, rat-infested catacomb than become a permanent member of my household…" He cocked his head. "Is that not funny…" He nodded to himself. "…yes, that is amusing because it's not unlike the majority of women that share my company…"
"You are not still doing that, Lyosha…" Allegra's eyes were slits. The syrup had dripped from her voice, and there was iron to be found beneath. "…Raze told me about this nonsense, but he said you were out of your mind at the time. The terms are not fair."
"Life is not fair, Allegra, and yet somehow we all keep breathing…" It was like they had set off something deeper. Something older that had nothing to do with the events going on in this room. Opening the door, he turned and addressed her. Silver. "And don't think your life stops down there, Reinette…we have a few empty cells, I'm sure you can find a table…the lessons continue, the work continues…" He was being remarkably callous. "…you can even take that dress if you like. That's what you want, isn't it…" There was disgust in his tone. "…a dress?"
She felt her throat tighten.
And though Allegra might see it as such, her shock had nothing to do with him putting her in a catacomb. It was the disdain. The scorn with which he stared at her…and why should that be a surprise, she wondered. Why had she been so conflicted over the past few weeks…so that she doubted in her ability to strike. So that she feared his company…the pleasure that she felt in his company.
But no longer.
Her dream had been clear. Lucian was not her ally. And yet…still she wondered, for it was…too much. His emotions were too…volatile. He had been—she could not lie to herself—he had been kind since she had arrived in his household. But was kindness only a means of seeing how much laudanum he was taking? Had she forgotten what he was like in those first days of company? A monster in a carriage, unable to control himself unless his system was tinctured with laudanum?
"Luka, how can you…" On her right, Allegra was sputtering. For the first time, he had made her speechless. "…but the tunnels…the ceiling…"
"Not my problem." He smiled warmly at his nemesis. "If she wants to go it alone, then best of luck to her. She'll have a fabulous life on the streets. An exile among exiles, constantly seeking blood, constantly in danger of the sun…" He looked at Reinette. Directly. "…and good luck getting out of England."
He slammed the door shut.
Leaving silence.
All of them silent until they looked at one another. And yet, she was the only one affected by this deal. She was the one who would have to live in a glorified tunnel in less than a month. He had put a deadline over her head…and for the first time in months, she was starting to wish she had never made the deal. How difficult would it be? A year spent underground in a catacomb after all of this…her bed. Her bath. Her desk…the items from her desk…on the floor…where he had dumped them…breaking one of the ink bottles…before absconding with her drawer…
Reality.
It settled comfortably on her shoulders.
She inhaled, and then stepped down from the stool. On the positive side, she could start calling him 'bastard' again without feeling a single jot of guilt. "At least I'll have a dress," she said, forcing herself to smile at Allegra. Blood knew how she'd come to appreciate this woman in front of her. Both women.
Allegra sat down. "He's had a bad week," she said. She looked tired.
Reinette nodded as though this were actual news to her. The desk spoke for itself. So did the laudanum, the alcohol, and his lack of manners.
Allegra was still talking. "You don't know the half of it, but…" She frowned, as though not sure whether to be bemused or worried. "…would you believe that he likes you?" She almost looked apologetic. "He has to because…breaking a bottle, slamming a door, and then fixing a drawer is only something he does when he's invested in something…whatever that means." She sat forward and reached out to touch her hand. "All the same, I do wish you had not seen this. I will speak to him…and perhaps we can get him to change his mind…"
"No…" Reinette gripped the hand and then shook her head, walking over to the mess on the floor. Trying to avoid staining her dress, she started picking up the pen, the books, the papers, the ink bottles…most of them thankfully sealed. "…I don't want him to change his mind." She started putting things on the desk. "I told you once that I would not be here long…and I meant it."
Allegra was watching her with a smile. "Yes, I believe you did…" The smile faded. "…but those catacombs, Reinette…...that level was closed for a reason."
Reinette was not listening. Rather, she was…feeling very calm all of a sudden. The ink bottle had seeped over her book. She held it up, letting it drip. The Count of Monte Cristo…the inked version. The flower was likely black at this point, but it was hardly worth checking. She breathed out. It was fine. The pendant was gone. The book was ruined. She would be sitting in a dark, freezing-cold hole for the next year…but for now, she was feeling…fine.
She looked back at Allegra. "It cannot be worse than this."
"Oh yes it can," the lady replied, exhaling before she stood up. Even when scowling, she was beautiful…and yet it was not her way to be the devil-woman that Lucian always called her. Instead, she moved on…she kept to the shadows, and she survived the war. Touching her lips for a moment, she leaned back and then picked up the next bolt of cloth. A dark green. Silk. She looked at Rena. Calculating. "…I suppose we'll need something warmer then…"
"Wool," Rena said, almost imperceptibly. They had enough stock for it…
Allegra sighed. "Yes, wool." Grey wool. She put down the silk. "…but so help me, I am lining it with silk. You can be warm and comfortable at the same time. He cannot stop me from doing that." She frowned, playing with the shape of the silk. "And we can look at this as a step forward. There is no one to see you…and you can wear anything you like, Reinette. Something…comfortable. Reformed. Something modern. We will keep you warm, but I'm afraid…" She looked up, appearing to be the bearer of bad news. "…the corset will have to go."
Corset?
Unwilling as yet to break the news to Allegra, Reinette only nodded in agreement, continuing to mop the rest of the ink up with a piece of paper. In truth, this evening had been the first time she had worn a corset in three weeks. That in itself was a good sign. A sign of things to come. She was breaking free…from her clothes, from this cage…from this household. Perhaps in one month, it would be too late for Lucian to realise that life without a corset was something she could do. Whereas she suspected the same could not be said of him and his laudanum.
And good luck dealing with that, she thought with a careless sniff.
A/N: Back again! I'll be proof-reading the chapter again after posting, so feel free to refresh a few times as you read. Huge thank you to all who waited for this next chapter (as a note, I'm hoping to reach "Christmas" in the story around the same time that we reach the holidays in real life. We'll see if I can do it...) Anyway, many thanks to Celtic Aurora, Sheen, Mackep, FemmeFatality, [blank...I couldn't see who left this review, but I appreciate it all the same], Night-Storms, Rae Sweene, and lillytuttle (please don't be late to your classes. Love that you're enjoying the story! ;)) for the reviews, favourites, and story alerts! Usually, I go into deeper review responses, but I'm just going to dive right back into writing this time, so I can get the next chapter out faster... ^_^
Translations:
Willst du mich verarschen? (German) - Are you fucking with me?