Chapter XLII: A Stubborn Act of Will
A week later. 3:45 am.
It was not alright. His skin felt like it was on fire, his mouth felt dry, and for the most part, he was agitated. To make matters worse, Singe has prescribed him a tincture of St. John's Wort. It was a herbal extract meant to combat depression in humans. As though the name were not bad enough, it also had a nasty habit of causing skin irritation in animals…
Best of both worlds. Neither of which could run itself…so rather than dealing with the symptoms in his quarters, he was seated in the study, keeping his peace as a Line commissioner reported on the state of affairs between Monaco and surrounding France. The words starting to drone, the lycan potentially aware that he was losing his audience, having stuttered twice; Allegra circling the room, the sensual line of her back perhaps having much to do with the stutter. He himself was only paying a quarter of his attention to the man. A quarter on how much he wanted to flog his own skin off, and the rest still on that blood-slide.
Reinette.
Their wager. The catacombs. He had spent the morning in talks with Raze and Allegra, discussing the consequences. If she did pass deep enough into the catacombs, if she did find her escape, could he do what was necessary? Could he hunt her down as he ought to do? His answer lying in the affirmative, but his conscience at times swayed, not by politics or logic, but the distorted principles of a former slave. Principles he had tried to set aside only to find they were ingrained in his being. Simply put, he wanted her to choose to be on his side. Whether out of necessity, temptation or under duress…the reason for her choice did not matter to him; only that she had to choose.
First impressions were telling and he had not forgotten hers. Like poison, the scent of malice and spite directed at Tanis. The first sign that, however docile she might seem, Reinette had a rather…intense…capacity for hatred. Something one had to keep in mind when caging an immortal. Not just the initial imprisonment, but the years that must follow…
Years that presented him with two paths. The first, the way of the catacomb, opening the door now and forcing her to see how much better life was in the golden tower he—or rather Mrs. Fulligan—had built her…or lock the door permanently and spend the next hundred years watching her grow in bitterness, waiting not only to escape, but also to stab him in the face as she passed. No doubt with something blunt…and poisonous; aconitum, if he was any judge. Stabbing aside, however Raze might vie for the second option, for himself, he chose the first. Her decisions occurring quickly, hinging on circumstance, fate, and whatever trust he could build before the year's end. Hours, days…weeks spent crawling in the dirt of an abandoned maze of tunnels…the sight-holes still intact from the days when they used to trap their enemies and shoot them down from above…
…eventually she would have to break.
It was only logical. She would be cold, frightened, alone…her people extinct, her future dark if she did not accept his aid. Her existence causing him to wonder at times how many, if any, had survived Viktor's onslaught. His memories of the time brief, but potent …images of bodies lying in a pit, awaiting the sun. An act he had never quite resolved out of his list of sins… so that it did not seem to matter that he had been a slave at the time, that he had been the victim of a cruel master. Only that for a time, he had believed in the will of Viktor. He had hunted bloodseers. He had aimed his weapons, he had stalked their tracks…and he had killed them.
Brutally.
It was on the cusp of this last thought that he began to notice how quiet the room was becoming. His inner thoughts dying away and as a result, his awareness of how uncomfortable he was rising in its strength. The Line Commissioner had long since finished, his eyes on the ground, his scent one of nerves and anxiety. Allegra was smelling of the opposite. Looking the opposite. Calm and at her ease. Her lips pale today, stained only by the blood of her glass. She was watching him watch her. Always aware when his mind was not on the subject at hand. She raised an eyebrow.
Yes, he thought, eyeing her back with the same expression. Can I help you?
His look prompting her to laugh, a faint tinkle of laughter from her throat, his capacity to pretend he was not dying on the inside always a source of amusement. She looked at the door, and then again raised an eye casually at him, the message clear. If he was not going to be useful here, he may as well be useful out there. Her lips resuming their place near the glass as she began to stride about the room again. The curve of her back finally catching his attention.
Her knowledge of his mannerisms still intact after all these years. The exchange almost giving him a touch of nostalgia. Memories of a time when he and Allegra had been good together…when they spent their days in bed and their nights in council. And despite having subsequently tired of each other's company, he was for the first time in a long time, willing to admit that…both love and hatred could sit beside one another. And it could not be denied she was already proving helpful in the matter of Reinette. Not to say he was entirely in favour of her conversation tactics—from his perspective, specifically suggesting to Reinette that he liked her company was akin to telling her he enjoyed having her decapitated head on his wall—but if it helped him win that wager, Allegra could say what she liked.
As to the subject at hand…
He sat forward on the settee, moving his glass to examine one of the marginally tattered maps on the table. French territory, the Line drawn in red along the map and therefore likely to be burned after this meeting…. "Dupont, correct me if I am wrong…" He squinted at the map, having little patience for skirting the point. "…but Monaco is officially recognised as a sovereignty, is it not?"
"Yes, sir."
"And after thirty years of sovereignty, do the lycans of Monaco consider themselves French?"
"No, sir."
"And the purpose of the Line?"
The lycan dared to smile for the first time. "Communication between the Horde, sir. Scent markers are used solely for the designation of safety within the boundaries of lycan territory. As of late, France has been unwilling to recognise Monaco's connection to Nice, despite continuing to use it as a scent-mark."
"Well, that's just rude, isn't it?"
The lycan exhaled, his scent giving way to a relieved albeit short laugh. "Yes, sir."
"Right you are," he replied, accommodating the man with good humour, starting to thumb his beard. As of late, France was getting out of line. Literally. Inhaling deeply, he looked up. "Allegra, shall we sign this thing?" He held a hand out for the report. "I can only assume it needs a second signature." His back was getting itchier. Although bearing the man no ill will, he felt his smile evaporating, the briskness taking over.
Allegra sighed, continuing to wander around the room. Her blood-red drink in stark contrast to the white that she was wearing. Lace. A human would have been freezing in the garment. "I've already signed, Lyosha. Poor Monsieur Dupont and myself have been waiting for you."
"Indeed…" He sniffed, taking the report, placing it on the map and signing. His official signature not so much a name as a code. "…let me not keep you waiting then." Dotting the last line, he handed the report back with a warning. "You may meet with opposition, Dupont, but the signatures should be sufficient to hold you in position until the Gathering. In the interim, I would suggest you bring this to the Horde ministers' attention and request an official listing in the agendum while you are here. You are free to go on your way."
"Yes sir, thank you, sir." The lycan had the look of Christmas come early. "Thank you."
He nodded. "On your way."
The lycan saluted twice, backing away from both of them and then footing it out the door as soon as he was clear of the wood. Likely they would hear his heels click in the next half minute. Prior experience leading them both to wait an obligatory ten seconds before Allegra casually reopened the door, taking a peek outside to make sure there were no immediate listeners. Both sentries down the hall. The candles burning and the shadows empty.
Everything in order.
She closed the door again softly and turned around, her back still perfectly sloped but her walk no longer as graceful as it was. They had been at this for seven hours. Every messenger, every request, every political report under the sun had found its way to the study…the signing potential of two leaders under the same roof causing many to travel to London for the sake of an audience. It helped that Allegra was a touch more approachable than he was. Taking a seat on the edge of a rather plush chair, she picked up the schedule. "I think we still have two more…" Her scent suggesting she meant three more, but preferred to break the news to him later. "…how are you holding up?"
He inhaled, gingerly sitting back on the settee. "Not so bad…" His sentence felt very gritted. His shirt chosen for comfort rather than style…the fabric still making him cringe. He was used to ignoring pain. Wounds, scrapes…anything immediate…but this was just…irritating. Constant. Everywhere.
Even his face was itchy.
"Poor dear." She looked sympathetic. "Singe says the symptoms will pass."
"Did he now …" He was starting to rub the sides of his temple, trying to regain a level of comfort. "…I suppose if you called Raze, we could just…" He gestured lazily at his arm. "…remove it…"
"Yes, but then you'd be missing all your skin, Lyosha, and you would not be nearly so strapping, would you?" She leaned forward, touching his shoulder. Rising from her seat to walk around the settee, her fingers moving over both shoulders, slowly but surely starting to knead the muscle. "Have you tried relaxing?" She worked out a knot in his shoulder. "Perhaps you could focus on something else for a couple of days." Her voice was very inviting. "Something useful."
Something useful. This was the second time this evening that she was giving him that impression—that of a cat winding its tail around his leg—and Allegra never sought his attention without reason. The knowledge making him feel…circumspect. "Define useful."
"To help when help is required…" Allegra inclined her neck to look down at him from above. "Needless to say, I am very good at what I do, but there comes a time when honesty becomes paramount to success, Lyosha…and to speak with honesty…" Keeping her fingers poised, she came around, taking a seat beside him, gracefully aligning herself with the cushions and continuing the massage from the right side. "…your little bloodseer is becoming a little less inclined to sharing her personal details." The thought seeming to cause a slight crease in her brow. "Of the domestic side of life, yes, she speaks, she shares…even occasionally entertaining an opinion on certain inhabitants of this household, namely you…but…" She sighed. "…anything prior to her Awakening, she shuts up like a book."
He was having severe trouble caring at the moment. Like being scratched behind the ears. "Well, open the book," he muttered. His eyes were starting to close. She knew the exact…spot.
"I have tried, Lyosha." She sounded both amused and frustrated, amused over how her fingers could still affect him in this way and frustrated over their integration of Reinette. "The woman either feigns an inability to remember or she pretends to have misheard the question. Her hair may be silver, but her hearing is not that old."
"Mm…" He was getting more relaxed. A shiver of warmth seeping into his shoulders. Despite this, he had to prepare himself to move away from the…fingers…on his ear. His jaw. Any minute, Raze could walk in…and then he'd be in trouble, not Allegra. Him. He just had to…get up. Right…now. Her fingers moved down, just below his collar-bone. Blood. Right. Think. Scratching felt so good. Reinette. Her memories. On his last visit, flipping through the book he gave her…the alphabet Roman, the language unknown, but the hand well-formed, like one taught to write in a time when paper had been precious. "Did you ask her about that journal…on her desk…"
"Of course," she murmured in his ear. She seemed closer, her body having moved several inches in his direction. "…but she will not share. So unless you're planning to employ someone who can read all that she writes each morning, Lyosha, in five months' time, we are going to find ourselves standing in front of a council with a book and little else."
"Define we."
She laughed as though he were being silly. Frightfully. "You and I, Lyosha…" She took a sip from her glass, adjusting the skirt of her dress. Somehow between spending seven hours in a room with her and her scratching his ear, he had ended up with his head on her lap. Not good. Really not good…"…I may have banished you from terrorising the ladies of the East Wing, but there is no reason I cannot call the wolf back from his lair."
Focus on the cloth. To be on the cloth was not to be on the long, soft, supple legs of Raze's wife, who had no understanding of personal space. Or rather, she had a full understanding of it and used it to her benefit. "And supposing the wolf does not care to come out of his lair…" He knew what she wanted…and he was not doing it. Every time he entered that room, he ended up…talking. Too much. And Reinette was not that closed. Granted she had been noticeably quiet the last time he had seen her, but he had assumed it was because of that tiff…with Allegra…who apparently was willing to put aside her differences for the greater good.
"Oh come now…" She was stroking the side of his head. "…just a small visit, Lyosha. You could be in and out within the hour." Did she have to choose that particular wording?
"No."
"Just something to get her talking again." She was practically cooing. "And you know how much you vex women…she's bound to yell something in the heat of the moment." She rubbed his arm lightly. "For all we know, it might even be pleasurable."
"Does it look like I am getting any 'pleasure' right now," he grunted into the pillow. It was like dealing with a growth on his arm. Another thing he wished Raze could remove. Without looking, he pulled the back of his shirt collar to the side, pointing with his index finger. "Go on, tell me…"
She pealed with laughter, staring at the raw skin on the back of his neck. Scratched. Red. Not healing. "I suppose not…but you could always return her missing drawer. It's been almost a week now…and where is she supposed to put her things? How can a woman survive with only two drawers, a wardrobe, and a bedside table, Lyosha…it is incomprehensible."
His position on her legs was incomprehensible.
Dangerous.
He exhaled, trying to think of something else. Where had he left the missing drawer? He'd left it somewhere. About to fix it…and then he put it down…and wandered off. He hadn't the faintest idea. Was this what getting old meant? He could remember the exact number of days since he had done anything with anyone against a wall…and everything else was like chaff in the wind?
"Hallway." She stroked his ear one final time, before carefully moving his head off her lap and standing with a line that begged for attention. She always knew the exact moment before dabbling became adultery. "Second staircase near the library," she added. "And don't forget to fix it. "
He was not fixing it. He was at peace with himself. No guilt. No need to appease Allegra. No need to appease Reinette. "Right," he muttered, turning over so he could sprawl the length of the settee. "…I'll get on that after shoeing her horse and shining her corset."
"I am being serious, Lyosha." She reached down, touching him on the cheek. "It will show her that you care for her well-being. You built that cabinet. And one of the chairs in your library…I think you could sand a piece of wood after seven centuries…"
"Still not fixing it."
Allegra hated the word 'no'. Her eyes were starting to reflect. Clearly she had planned this down to the moment when he forgot himself by virtue of her legs, which fortunately was not going to happen. She stopped, several feet away from him, and then turned, her hands demurely on her hips. Ten brief seconds passing before she jumped on it. "You would do it for a wager then?"
Would he do it for a wager…
…the answer taking a fraction of a second. The only means of getting him to change his mind, if only for the brief interest that gambling held for him. Still watching her from the settee, he thumbed the side of his lip, removed a hand from beneath his head and inclined it towards her. Speak.
"Terms." Her hands reached seductively across the curve of her hips. "If you fix that drawer, Lyosha…she will talk about her past. If she does, I want you to get something for Raze this year…" She raised a finger. "Something nice. Expensive. Hand-made in your forge by your hand. None of that tripe that you gave him last solstice."
He rolled his eyes. It was not tripe.
And given her past occupation, she ought to be well-versed in how many married men actually enjoyed that tripe when their wives were not present. Perhaps if Raze had not left the tripe lying around, he might have been able to keep the tripe instead of being forced to hand it over to his nanny. But he digressed… "Fine." He waved a hand. "No more tripe for Raze. What's the alternative?"
"If Reinette does not open up to you in some manner…" She idled over to his desk and picked up a thick piece of paper that had been lying there since noon. "…I might be willing to renegotiate some of the lower numbers on that hunting commission you've been wanting me to sign. In your favour."
"The key word being 'might' or 'will'?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Will."
"Done."
He'd have to make time for it in the morning. It never failed to amaze him. She had been married to Raze for almost a year now and he was still doing the odd job around the house for her.
o…o…o
December 4, 1899. The next day.
Reinette was pouring blood from her teapot. Not from a dying hare. Not from a leather script or a metal samovar…but a porcelain white teapot. After a moment, she put it down, still somewhat estranged by the rituals of this household. Everything that entered her room was clean. The ebony tray polished, the teacloth spotless…someone had even shaved some red marrow onto a plate, should she wish to add some depth to her meal. She had spent much of the evening in the armchair, occasionally looking up as Rena took care of the winter airing. Rolling up the carpet and bed-linens, dusting the furniture, sweeping the floors and finally, disappearing with the textiles.
Alone for once, she was looking forward to a quiet evening, her lessons having been cancelled inexplicably. Singe arriving briefly to take a blood-sample, the needle leaving a nasty bruise. Usually he was careful, but he seemed to be in haste these days. She yawned, turning the page. Two pages through the English reader and she had used the dictionary for every second word. Not exactly a shining example of linguistics, she decided. But neither was it an embarrassment. She was being forced to learn more languages in two months than most vampires could consume in a year…and as the past week had told her, she would need…English…to get back to the mainland. So learn it she would.
Of course, her evening was not to be quiet.
Not in this household. Behind her, she heard the key turning in the lock, the sense that she had less than a second to move. There had been no footsteps. No sign that the person outside that door was carrying a carpet. Swiftly, her hand reached up, pulling the veil over her face as the handle turned. Her back was facing the door, yet she knew it was him. She had not seen him in a week…and why should she care? She would not greet him…and she would not acknowledge his presence. Unstable and volatile. A drug addict, a captor…The door shut behind him. The sound of his footsteps taking him to her desk, following by something heavy placed on the floor. Heavy. A box perhaps…a wooden box?
Despite holding the silence, she found herself waiting for the expected greeting. He always started their conversations. The sarcasm, the jibes… Temptation calling for her to turn in her chair. Look. Observe what he was doing, observe the source of the sounds.
She forced herself to turn the next page. The words on the page starting to run together, the train of her thoughts making her…uncomfortable.
And what did she care if he was silent? Lycans were…not…of her kind, the dreams of her mentor at times providing a rock on which to stand, only to find herself falling as soon she woke. The realisation of how unstable her feelings were in this household. At times, feeling like a child, stumbling about this world, trying to understand all that is unknown.
More sounds.
Surely he would speak first. Was he waiting for her to speak? Or did he not care? Was this his way of punishing her, entering the room and going about his business without paying her any mind? What was he doing? The book providing little more than a cover as she tried to see from the corner of her eye. Quiet movement now. The temptation growing in leaps and bounds. She had to know.
Nonchalantly, she closed the book and placed it on the side of the tea-tray, before stretching her arm and by happenstance, finding herself glancing over the back of her chair. She was not engaging in conversation with him. Merely stretching.
As usual, his choice of evening activities taking her aback. He was crouching in front of her desk, one eye closed and an arm outstretched, lining up her missing drawer with the enormous gap he had left behind in the furniture.
He was fixing it.
Here.
She frowned, unsure what to do with this scenario. His back was to her…his garb largely informal. A simple white shirt paired with a waistcoat and breeches. The boots were recently shined, but scuffed around the edges. His hair getting in his way even as he leaned forward. She sat back down again, this time leaning over the arm of the chair, watching him until…
"You're fixing my drawer." It took her a moment to realise that she herself had been the one to speak, her mouth working faster than her mind. What was wrong with her?
He seemed to have the same question in mind. Turning around to stare, the crease in his brow indicating more than a little sarcasm, before he nodded. The rosewood requiring a fine touch, one that he appeared to possess despite his earlier mistreatment of the wood.
He was leaning over again.
The view from her chair proving far more interesting than her book, the speed with which he worked, the meticulous nature as he measured, squinting before making any marks on the side of the wood. All of the work done quickly, with efficiency, so that before long, he had turned around, taken a seat on the floor, and pulled the drawer up close between his legs. He still had not said anything. Retrieving a small piece of glass-paper from the box, he touched the surface with his thumb and then started to sand…very lightly…across one edge of the drawer. He always spoke first. Why was he not speaking?
She could not help it… "I thought you were a blacksmith," she said.
He made an affirmative sound. This time with less of the sarcasm. He held up the drawer to the light for a moment, and then resumed. Apparently, he was not…talkative…today.
"Do you often work with wood?" She was blurting things. Wood. She had just asked him about wood. It was not…right…why was she trying to start a conversation with him? It felt like she was falling from that rock again.
He shrugged, as though that explained everything and then pulled the wooden box closer, sorting through what appeared to be a collection of tiny metal sticks, the majority of them bent out of shape. After a moment, he found the pair he wanted, balanced them on each end of the drawer and lined up his sight with the edge. The silence would continue. She'd never seen anything like it…out of him.
Perhaps a jibe.
"I suppose wood breaks before it bends," she murmured thoughtfully. "…does that not suit you more than metal?"
It was like water glancing off stone. He squinted at the drawer. "Only if I can build something with the pieces, Reinette." The balancing continued. "Only if I can build." He had answered her in Latin. Like an old soothsayer meditating on the foothills of Corinth. The calm of his manner causing her to scowl beneath her veil. He was not biting. The thought throwing her brain into chaos for a moment. Why did she want him to bite? The silence lasted another minute, before again, she felt compelled to break her stance.
"Why are you doing this?"
He looked up with a vaguely surprised and entirely thoughtful frown, flicking the metal pieces of his balance back into the box."Doing what?"
"Sanding that wood, fixing my drawer." She was standing before she knew it, pointing at the desk. He was doing it on purpose. Aggravating her with his serenity. "I never asked you to fix anything."
The expected reply taking its time. He was in no hurry. The glass-paper carefully placed to the side, as he inspected the final stage of his work. The long pause before he rose from his crouch, hoisted the drawer and started lining the edges with the desk, only speaking when he was certain the one was perfectly level with the other.
"First of all," he said, sounding rather satisfied. "…it's my drawer, Reinette. Not yours…" He slid the drawer in and took a step back, surveying his work. "…and second of all, this room is mine. That desk." He pointed. "That bed. And this drawer. So let's be frank about this…" He brushed off the wood-dust from his shirt. "…until you choose to stay here, I can fix anything I damn well please."
The veil was becoming an inconvenience, the material half-sticking to her mouth. She flipped it out of the way. "You cannot fix me."
"Oh ye of little faith…" He was examining the other drawers already. "We have the means, Reinette. We have the resources, the intelligence, the time. Imagine what we could do in a year…or even two." As though he had no need to say more on that particular subject, he stepped back from the desk…nodded…and then leaned over, picking up her tarnished book. The Count of Monte Cristo. "Do you want this replaced?"
"No."
"Are you sure?" As though she had not spoken, he began flipping through the pages, examining the damage. Upon reaching the centre fold, he frowned, raised an eyebrow and then closed it before holding it out to her. "Half the pages are illegible…"
Only because you dropped an ink-well on them, she thought bitterly, replacing her veil. She had said more than she should. She was not going to be riled by him. Not this evening.
Staring at his hand for a moment, she looked suspiciously at him and then plucked the book from his hand, stepping back again, turning away briefly to run her palm over the back cover, checking its condition. He had been holding it by the spine. It was fragile. His tendency for ransacking this room leading her to think twice before leaving anything within his reach. Where to leave the book? Her eyes going from the desk to the bedside table to the wardrobe. In the end, settling on the bedside table, where she placed the book and then herself between him and the book. The awkward silence as she waited for him to leave.
He moved…
…but not to the door.
Taking a position against the wall, he crossed his arms and continued to survey her. His head slightly cocked to the side, completely still save for the movement in his eyes. He was thinking. And after a moment, he spoke, the words suggesting he was perhaps familiar with some of the unease his presence could cause. As usual for one with a chip on his shoulder, he assumed it had to do with everything but his tendency to shove, push, and break everything around him. "Reinette…you do realise I'm not going to bite you?"
She looked up. Firmly. "I am not afraid of your bite, Lyosha."
"Then you are angry…"
"I am not angry."
"Is it England? Lycans? Are we that foul?"
A simple apology would have been enough. She could feel her jaw tightening. "No…"
"Is it the quarters…" He jerked from the wall, picking up the wooden box, setting it on the table and starting to organise its contents. "…because you will get larger quarters, Reinette, I promise you, ten years from now, this entire wing will probably be yours. You will be drowning in dresses…"
"I do not need another dress…"
He turned around, looking her square in the eye. "Then what do you need? What do you need to make this place your home, Reinette? What can I offer you that compares to…" He squinted, seeming unable to use his imagination to come up with the answer. "…what? What is out there for you?" To speak with such flippancy, one who was comfortable with ripping apart her past for the sake of his curiosity. "Are there other exiles? Do you have a family? What are you looking for other than a deathdealer's knife slicing through your…"
He never finished the question. His words cut by the sound of breaking glass, the outcome of an inkwell being smashed against the floor. The sound surprising her for she had meant to use her lungs rather than the inkwell.
She had meant to scream at him. Scream at him to be quiet. Be silent. Leave. Her hand shaking, and the world showing itself in blue and silver. Even her eyes had Changed. Her nails grown and her teeth bared. She had not meant to throw it.
She breathed, lowering her hand, staring at the carpet. The blues fading into colour, the adrenaline carrying her for only a short time. Why did he have to be so intrusive? Her evening ruined. Her words cut in half every time she tried to say anything. Why could he not just let her be?
From his vantage point, he watched her, his eyes moving from the veil to the broken glass. Grey eyes contemplating her Change, thinking…pondering…and then he gestured, calm as the sea. Speak. Even when she Changed, he did not react.
She swallowed the thought and then looked at the door, feeling…tired. Exhausted. Somehow it was easier to speak that way. At times, this room leading her to forget the world outside. How far she had come in just two brief months, the feeling of…seclusion, the reformation they were slowly but surely drilling into her mind.
Her fingers touched her veil. "I comprehend that you want me to be content in this life, Lyosha, but…" It took much to say the words. "…I had a life before this…before Tanis…before…" She could not bring herself to say it. The Awakening. That devilish Awakening that stripped her of mind and body. "…all that has happened. Am I to give up on it?" The question going unanswered. "Am I to assume that there is nothing…and no one…waiting for me simply because I cannot remember them?"
To say it out loud.
That fear. That loss of hearth and home, made all the worse because she could not remember…and to say it in front of one who had seemed so cold by her first impression. His expression suggesting he was attuned to her words, his arms remaining crossed, yet his manner…open. The silence continuing for a time, perhaps until he was certain she was finished…and then he gestured with a hand, the question indicated with an eye. Almost as though he were requesting permission to speak.
From her.
Estranged, she found herself nodding. To acquire permission from a prisoner…it was no surprise that she was having trouble finding her balance in this cage. Why could he not act like a warden?
He uncrossed his arms…his fingers already more interested in lining up her pens than staring at her face. His tone was surprisingly temperate. "I want you to listen carefully, Reinette…because I will only say this once." The brief pause as he inhaled, and then gestured at her veil. "Whatever you were before Tanis and that catacomb…whatever you looked like, sounded like…whatever your beliefs," he said. "…as life would have it, something happened to you in that monastery and as a result…" He took a grip on the side of the desk and then looked at her. His gaze direct, the grey orbs for once holding a drop of pity. "…whether you accept it now or in a hundred years, you are changed. You are not the same person. You may never be the same person…"
"I am the same," she said forcefully. To feel so small, his words almost lulling her into thinking he was on her side. As though he were saying these things to comfort her when truly, he only wished to break her with the knowledge of what was happening. Age…memories…her name, even without those things, she was still herself. She still…owned something in this place, even it was only that conviction. "I may be unrecognisable, I may be at your mercy, but I am still…myself."
It sounded so weak.
"Are you?" He seemed to see right through her veil. His question so simple and yet so trying. "Two months ago, you feared me as though I were the spawn of the earth." He shrugged. "Now you're willing to stand in a room and discuss furniture…is that something you would have done twenty years ago?"
She would not shake her head. She would not give him that much. Her mind racing, trying to find her balance in the conversation. He unbalanced her. That was the problem. "Perhaps I no longer fear lycans as I once did," she admitted. "…but that does not make me your tool." The room felt hot. "You expect me to drop everything and agree to be part of this war when…"
So many memories lost.
"…do you know I don't even understand the war," she said abruptly, looking over her shoulder. Bitterly. Her own words making her want to turn, flee into wallpaper. The embarrassment of saying it out loud, admitting the simple details that she found confusing.
The parts of her mind that were missing.
She shook her head, wanting to pace, wanting to escape the confines of her cage. "I know the war is there, I know, for whatever reason, lycans and vampires kill each other, but…it is not my war. I have no allegiance, I have no side, and you are…" Mentor, give her the strength to accuse those who would persecute her. She forced her chin up. "…you are holding me here against my will."
"And what would be the alternative?" He had taken a seat on the floor, his legs crossed at the boot. His back still against the wall, continuing to observe her in stillness. "Supposing I had never arrived on Tanis' doorstep, Reinette, what would you have done?" Words spoken without malice or anger. He made everything seem so…simple. Open. As though she were the irrational one.
The stubborn one.
She made herself speak the words. "I could have woken…" She breathed. "…I could have found my way."
"Could you?" He appeared willing to play what was clearly a game to him. "Why not take it a step further," he asked. "Supposing Tanis had let you leave the monastery…" There was no threat in his tone, yet his words were cutting in their logic. "…with clothes and blood…which I highly doubt," he added. "You would have found your 'way' into three possible outcomes."
He reached across, picking up one of the glass pieces of the floor and holding it up. "One, death on the slope as the sun rises." His hand came beneath the glass, letting the ink drip onto his hand. "Two, capture by lycans, the filth of the earth and without me on your side, Reinette, I'm afraid dinner is served…or three…"
He flicked the glass into the fire grate. "…capture by your people which I believe involves a little something called 'absolution for one's sins against the coven'…" Again, that sense that he had moved beyond such trivialities. "…case closed. Sun rises. Stake cleaned. Am I missing anything?" And for a moment, he seemed to be seeing through her. Flint entering the grey, so that she found herself staring into…darkness. An abyss that held the nothing he once spoke of. The moment passing so quickly that she might have imagined it.
The rest of her protests unravelling as she realised he was in far more control of this argument than she was. Standing with her instead of above her. Using words like we and us. Giving her a name and then using it so much that she began to think it was real. That her name was Reinette, that she had come to life on his ship…that her place was here. But it was a fabrication. He was fabricating this life…and though she was starting to believe in the security of its walls…she could not be caged again.
The sentence off her tongue before she could stop it. The weakness. The shame of having reached that point. But she was tired of these games. Tired of this place. Tired of this warden who cornered her with words. She did not want to be here. "Lyosha, you have not used me with your council yet…" She was pleading with him. "I am no danger to you. I will probably be dead within the next ten years. If you let me go, I would tell no one of your identity…"
"You would plan to tell no one," he said clearly, the tone suggesting that, by his estimation, plans had a habit of falling through. But he seemed to take in stride. "…and should you escape, you would be a danger to my cause, Reinette…" He was staring at her, the attention almost forcing her to look away…and then he raised a hand. "…but I am trusting you and in two weeks, I am unlocking this door and giving you free reign in the catacombs. You may find the exit…you may even breathe the air outside…but I believe, without doubt or reservation, that you will turn around."
Her hand became a fist. "I will not."
"Yes you will." He was frowning at the floor, starting to rub one of the defects with his thumb. His voice one of clarity. Honesty. One who had nothing to hide. "You were born in a catacomb, and now you must choose your path. On your left, a world fraught with danger, and on your right, an ally that wishes you well if you would but trust him."
"A catacomb is not a symbol of trust." Her back was as straight as she could make it. She was a blood-seer. She could not be caged. She would not be used by a tyrant simply because he knew how to talk her into seeing his point of view. She would take the escape if he gave it to her. She would leave England. She would get out of here…
"I believe it is, Reinette." Across from her, he had already taken hold of her doubt. "A second Awakening. The terms harsh, but the same had you never met me…and all you have to do is choose. Choose my way. See what you could become in just a few years if you are patient. You would have freedom to roam without a blindfold. You could interact with those around you, even leave the grounds with an escort." His manner so sincere, outlining it as though it were real. "You would be fully integrated. Included in our culture, our people…"
"I have no people."
As soon as she said it, she knew it to be true. The bloodseers were buried to the last bone. All of them save for herself. Her words seemed to catch him off guard. The declaration causing him to…stop. She did not understand what she was seeing in his eyes, that which caused him to look away.
Scowling at the broken glass, he seemed to pick himself up, so that within seconds he had regained his standing. "This is another thing that I am only going to say once, Reinette…" So firm in his conviction. " …my people can be your people. It is a lasting offer, one that I will stand by…" His words like a rock in the face of her stubbornness. "…and after twenty years, woman, who else do you think is waiting for you?"
She felt her back stiffen. The words in the air now, forcing her to look at the hard truth of life. Twenty years. Someone must have known her destination…yet in twenty years, no one came looking for her. The concept of being alone finally starting to hit her across the face. And again, she found herself falling from the rock. No more strength to fight against what he was telling her. No more strength. But… Mentor give her strength. She did not need for him to believe. Her allies might be dead, her resources gone, her ties cut…
…but she was leaving this place. Whatever he said, she was leaving. Not even bothering to wipe her cheek, she made a brief sound, acknowledging his point, before retreating to her chair, picking up the English reader and finding her place in the book again. The argument was over.
For all intents and purposes, he had won.
But though it should have been his cue to leave, he still had not moved from the floor. The space behind her chair growing uncomfortable. A series of sounds as if he were packing up his tools, about to say something and then cutting himself off. The long interlude suggesting he was considering and throwing away topics of conversation as quickly as he thought of them. His voice finally intruding on her thoughts again. "So how is the English coming?"
"Fine," she murmured in Russian. And then… "Good," she added…in English. The one word she could say comfortably. Everything else sounded garbled.
"Good," he replied. The word far smoother when he said it. He was clearly trying to leave, but in the end, he stepped around and dropped himself into the seat across from her, scratching his neck beneath the beard. The skin was looking raw. He was scowling. "…I think I ruined your evening," he said abruptly.
She did not look beyond the page. "It was ruined already," she said softly, masking her surprise with coldness. The veil. "…coming in and simply telling me the facts of life does not make the facts worse."
"Yes, but…" He seemed almost perplexed by the words coming out of his own mouth. "…I regret that the facts are…as they are…" His hand reaching up to loosen his cravat. The silence weighing for a moment before he exhaled. "…and they are probably still alive, you know."
She shook her head. "Not the bloodseers."
"No, I know that…" He seemed lost in thought. "…but I meant…whoever else was waiting for you. Immortal or not, they could still be alive…" He thumbed the side of the armchair. "…and as they say, disappearance is sometimes better than death. Whoever they are, I'm sure they would be relieved to know you are alive and kicking."
Better than crying. She sniffed, making herself say something. Making herself pretend that everything was fine. "I do not kick," she murmured. She knew he would latch onto it. He would bite and she would bite, and for a brief moment, she would forget that she was his prisoner.
He leaned back in his chair, surveying her. "You kick in your sleep. You kick when you're drunk…and you kicked Raze," he said…and then without warning, he laughed softly, as though thinking of something that had just happened. "Speaking of kicking, why were you so quiet around Allegra the other day?" He started pulling the cushions off the chair. "I asked you a perfectly normal question, and you clammed up like a virgin on Sunday." He seemed to consider keeping the last cushion, only to sniff it, scowl, and subsequently drop it to the side with the rest. "I hope she's prompting you to speak your mind."
Blood, he was worth an eye-roll. She exhaled, turning the page. "Lyosha, I think you're the only one that prompts people to speak their minds." A virgin on Sunday indeed…
"I should hope so," he muttered. He was looking behind her at the door. He clearly wanted to leave, yet something was keeping him. Perhaps the guilt from having crushed the mental state of two women in so many weeks. "So on the scale of feeling better, are we talking about a five or a seven out of ten?"
"A two."
"Right." He had that look of impatience. Staring about the room as though it had the answer to how he might leave it. After a moment, he cocked an eye at her. "Do you want to hear something funny?"
"No," she said, a bit more firmly. She was starting to see where Sabine had gotten her persistence. She was old and after the evening's conversation, she was not in the mood for 'something funny.' It only made it worse that he looked young. Active. The entire world was his oyster and he was offering her a pebble.
"Come on, Reinette…" He hooked the back of his boot over the other, leaning back into the chair. "It really is funny." He stretched, forcing his arm into a position it really should not have been, doing the same with the other before letting it hang from the sides. He was getting comfortable. "Least I can do for telling you how miserable life is."
This could go on all night.
Certainly into the morning.
She let the book fall in her lap. "Fine."
Her answer met with his approval. "Excellent." He slapped his knee and sat forward, laying things out with a hand. "Tell me if I'm going too fast," he said. "Corporal enters the barracks. He says 'Lycan…" His voice rose. "…these rifles have not been cleaned in six months. What do you have to say for yourself?' And the soldier says, 'But, sir, this is no fault of mine…you know I've only been stationed here for three months." He emphasised the 'three' and then paused, waiting for her reaction. "Three months, Reinette. Get it?"
Barracks humour.
It would be.
She exhaled. "Yes, Lyosha, I see the humour."
"The hell you do…" He grinned briefly, at the same time looking genuinely perplexed that she was not guffawing on the floor. "You think you have something better?" He raised a hand, inviting her answer. "Please, woman, astound me with your abilities."
Woman. He always called her woman. As though they were still living in the dark ages. The book found its way back in front of her face. "Do not go seeking for things you would rather not know, Lyosha."
He smirked. "Go on then."
Ugh. She turned a page. This household was affecting her…though ladies were meant to be sweet and polite, she had things to say that would curl his ears. "The title of the joke is a lycan, a dog, and some bear testicles…are you sure you want to hear where it goes?"
He slapped his knee again. "See that's funny, Reinette…" Difficult to tell whether he was being sarcastic or not. He stood.. "…you could have a whole den of lycans slapping their knees at that one…" He shrugged. "…and it's not all bad. You like the room, you like the company. We're making progress."
She continued to read. "Who said I liked the company?"
He squinted, cocking his head as though she had made a joke, shook it and then stalked over to the desk, retrieving his wooden box. Only when he passed her chair did he answer her question. "I said it…just now. You look like you like it…you smell like you do…and the only reason you're keeping that book is because I left a saffron flower between its pages. Correct me if I'm wrong?"
She looked through her veil. Coldly. It was happening again. Standing on the rock and finding herself falling on the wrong side of reason. She was a bloodseer. She was not a creature of a lycan household. She was…She forced herself to speak. "Lyosha, has anyone ever told you there is a mild odour of conceit on your person?"
"Many times, Reinette, but I think…" He was at the door already, the tools under his arm. He squinted, looking at the ceiling again, as though the very concept was altogether too deep for his person. "…yes, I think, you're the only one that genuinely likes it." He shrugged. Sarcasm incarnate. "Funny how that works…"
The door shut behind him…
Leaving her with…her fists…curled into…little balls. The most foolish reason in the world to look forward to these meetings, the fault of weakness. Shallow reasoning and…vulnerability. She was vulnerable without her memories. Vulnerable when her mentor spoke of one thing and her…her emotions told of her something else. Warmth. That flicker of warmth…of all the things to be experiencing in the midst of her imprisonment. Her final thought causing her to fling the English reader across the room, the book hitting the wall with a resounding thud.
Why could he not have been ugly?
A/N: A few days late with the chapter (promised in a week and arriving a week and a half later) but a lot earlier than usual. Still planning to proofread some more over the next day or so (but no major changes). Anyway, next chapter, into the catacombs! Many thanks to Sheen, Celtic Aurora, Kassandra203, Mackenzie, lillytuttle, and jimmysdeathgirl for the reviews and story alerts! As always, feel free to read and review.
Sheen: Glad you enjoyed it! Have a feeling Raze might be keeping that dog-whistle (and some ear-plugs) for future use. _
Celtic Aurora: Always loved the notion of him being slightly (or rather, very) in denial, despite having a keen talent for pointing out all the defects in everyone else's life. At least Singe is getting him under control. Hopefully. Bound to be one or two hiccups along the way (especially once he gets down the really really really low dosages...I shouldn't be looking forward to this with such glee... ;))
Kassandra203: Raze is indeed a good friend...and I think Lucian tries to be a good friend, but he's just a bit...crap...at it. But he tries. (Glad you enjoyed the chapter!)
Mackenzie: Alas, no healing yet...but don't worry, there's a cunning plan in the works ;) (one that I think Lucian might find just as surprising as Reinette will.)
lillytuttle: Thanks! I'll do my best. _