Chapter LXVII: An Idle Day of Liaisons

Six hours later.

Lucian scrubbed his face with water. Trying to stay awake. Keeping to the river, entrenching himself by the bank and waiting for the prey to find him first. It was the second day of feasting. Although the bonfires were to begin in the evening, the Northerners had already raised a midsummer pole on the green, hence the reason he was now sitting in a forest, trying to avoid being seen.

In truth, he'd been avoiding Gottfrid and Thore since they arrived six days ago, but there came a point when one could no longer plead ignorance to one's surroundings. Their request that he join them for the third and final day of boar-hunting eventually forcing his hand in the sense of Allegra splashing cold water on his face and opening his bedroom curtains.

Breakfast at dawn and rifles at the ready by seven. The timing meant to give room for the evening festivities, but the reality of the situation causing more than one party to bow out for the sake of sleep. An option he had considered until he realised that—in addition to Allegra invading his privacy—there were forty-odd souls dancing and singing around a twenty-odd foot pole directly across from his bedroom window. Thereby limiting his options in that respect.

So in short…

…he could shoot himself. Or go hunting. His inability to relax or even sleep in his own home causing him to pity the next creature to cross his path. His right leg starting to cramp, his stomach grumbling with hunger, but the water still managing to lull him with its song.

Reminding him of days when he'd slept in this forest. His back against the moss and Bess…sweet, auburn-haired Bess laughing as she waded into the water. Blood, he could still see her. Freckles on her back, her skin dappled with sunlight, searching for rocks along the riverbed. Days when he could close his eyes and drift. Forgetting who he was. Forgetting where he had come from. Wishing he could stay in that dream…

…and with a jerk, pulling the rifle to his shoulder and aiming for the copse to his right. The scent trying to hide itself, but age providing him with the advantage. It took her a moment to stand up, her decision potentially sped up by him cocking the rifle.

A woman.

Dressed in shooting attire. About a half-foot taller than Reinette. Porcelain skin. Hair the colour of wheat…and lips to give Allegra a run for her money. She had the exact same rifle as him slung on her shoulder. The Sauer Sohn Kipplauf. The kind of rifle that expected to kill its prey with a single-shot. Likely one of the Northerners, given how few of the lycan women would go boar-hunting. Something to do with the smell.

The bitterness with which he was conducting himself lending him enough patience to lower his rifle, but not enough to temper his tone. "Has no one ever warned you about sneaking up on your elders?"

"Forgive me, milord." She gave a regal bow of her head. "I should have announced my presence."

Milord…

…she was addressing him formally. And speaking Latin to boot. He failed to return the courtesy, opting for German instead. "Do you have a name?"

"Freyja, milord."

Of course it was.

Seven years of reading Scandinavian literature after Reinette had retired for the evening having given him enough sense to know his Freyjas from his Hels. She was blond. Blue-eyed. Beautiful. She smelled of elderflowers. Like bait hanging from a noose.

He stood up. "And is there a reason you are stalking me, Freyja?"

She looked towards the east. Her scent filled with wry amusement. "I don't know what you mean, milord."

Right.

He glanced over his shoulder, practically smelling the other Northerners waiting at the edge of the forest. "So if I suggested a romp in the woods, would you be game?"

She raised an eye, but smiled. Her teeth parting ever so slightly. Leaning against a tree, letting her neck rest against the beechwood. "Of course, milord."

The boar be damned.

Giving up all pretence at hunting, he started backing up the riverbank. "You're Gottfrid's daughter."

"Yes, milord."

He raised an arm, his finger pointing towards the east. "The den is that way."

She laughed softly, seeming to find his candour amusing. Her lashes looking down, but the lips drawn back in good humour. Her scent filled with satisfaction rather than failure. Leaving him out of sorts, feeling as though she'd just rubbed his fur the wrong way.

She turned, moving off into the brush and he found himself squinting. Splashing water on his face again. Not entirely sure what just happened. And in the end, he was too tired to care. Settling back down in his place by the river again. Scratching his neck before giving in to the urge. Letting his eyes close and the sleep to take him. Losing himself in the dreams.

o…o…o

Hearing a branch crack a few minutes later. Groaning as he felt his neck make the same sound. The sun in his eyes. Too high for minutes…

…which meant he'd fallen asleep.

He shifted in the moss, realising he'd somehow moved from having his back against a tree to lying on ferns. His boots were off. His rifle missing. What the fuck had just happened? The scents slow to come. Rabbit. Parched horse-hair. Axle-grease. And then he sat up, chucking the coat under his head across the fire. "Has no one ever warned you about sneaking up on your elders?"

Raze caught it and nodded placidly, continuing to chew on a twig. He was sitting on a log, the rifle on his knees. Tending the small fire burning at his feet and the rabbit on the spit, as though he'd been camping there since the dawn of time. The small pack at his side providing several clues as to why he'd taken so damn long to make it to the gathering. Coal. Smoke. A faint tinge of mortal blood. The journey an altogether different affair for those of them whose skin happened to be a shade darker than their brethren.

Knowing the man would just shrug it off as being par for the course after five centuries, he changed the subject. "Did you give Allegra a key to my quarters?"

The twig went into the fire. Using the knife from his belt, Raze leaned forward, pulling the rabbit spit towards him. "Someone had to wake you."

"She threw water in my face."

His old friend…his oldest friend…started to chuckle, pulling a copper plate from his pack. "It wouldn't be the first time."

Blood, this never got easier.

So rather than admit that he was continually disturbed by how well both of them knew Allegra, he stretched and rolled off his arse, taking a step closer to the fire. Focusing on that which he could control. He was starving…

…and Raze had the food. But he was the lycan-master. He was alpha. Not just an alpha. The alpha. By every rank known to man, he ought to have that rabbit. But before he could say anything, like a lion smelling a hyena, Raze reached into his pack and pulled out a parcel, chucking it across the fire.

Lucian caught it.

Eyeing the man before sniffing his prize. Unwrapping the wax-paper. Carefully. Smelling the age before he saw it. His exploration of all that was old and vile revealing a wad of dried meat starting to green around the corner of one edge. His stomach rumbling in the same moment. Even going so far as to suggest that if he simply gnawed around the green portion, he might live to see another day.

While across the fire, Raze had started slicing the rabbit up. The juices blood-red. The meat roasted to perfection. Raw in its centre with just the right amount of char. A small portion of him wishing Reinette was there, just so Raze would feel compelled to give him first dibs for the sake of keeping up appearances.

He sat down with the parcel. "I'll dice you for half."

Raze shook his head. Starting to quarter the rabbit. Seasoning it with salt and pepper.

"Cards?"

Another shake of the head.

"Dominoes?"

An ear pricked.

o…o…o

It was two hours later that they heard the signal. The dominoes packed up and the camp cleared in less than ten minutes. In the end, he'd received a foreleg for his losses. The jerky already long-since devoured, but the paltry rabbit leg managing to eradicate much if not most of the taste from his mouth. By noon, they had crawled back to the green, finding their way to the game larder where the boar had been strung up. A monstrous creature with tusks. A single shot through the skull suggesting both foolhardiness and precision. The parties all giving praise to the hunter whose shot had won the day.

Freyja.

She bowed her head in respectful greeting, first to him and then to Raze. Accepting the praise of all those around her with a quiet serenity. Even as she kneeled before her father, holding the rifle up with palms outstretched. Her actions for nought for there was indifference on the face of Gottfrid, his scent neither proud nor pleased. The man already turning away, his hands behind his back and his words addressed to Thore. For where the one was, the other was never far behind. Bowing their heads once to the lycan-master before seeking to return to the underground. Both of them dark and grey, scarred by their years…

…but out of the drudgery, they had created light. A perfect child of the North. Youthful. Strong. Beautiful. The picture of grace as she smiled, greeting Allegra with a warmth that suggested more than a week had gone by since their first meeting. Freyja and Allegra. The two of them walking back into the house, arm in arm…and Raze following after.

It was Raze that made him uneasy.

For Raze was a master of his own scent. But after five hundred years of sitting by campfires, he could scent Raze out faster than the man could skin a rabbit. And by everything he was getting, by everything he was sensing, Raze was now feeling the faintest sense of remorse as though he ought to have shared the rest of the rabbit with him before they got back to the house.

The whole affair leaving him with the distinct feeling that he'd just lost a war for the sake of a single battle.

o…o…o

Four hours later.

"What kind of contract?"

Allegra looked to Raze as though she expected him to say something. Her scent seeming to nudge the man. Only for the man to clear his throat and then start stirring his drink. In fact, he seemed very…very keen on stirring his drink.

She sighed…

…and then turned back to him. "Well, it would be a contract," said Allegra. "Through marriage."

Lucian barked a laugh.

He was standing by the drinks cabinet. Starting to realise that Allegra's suggestion that they do afternoon drinks might have come with an ulterior motive. It took him about thirty seconds to realise they were not laughing with him. Staring at them both…and then swallowing the vodka that was still sitting in his mouth. "You're serious?"

Before the one could say anything, Allegra answered on behalf of them both. "Completely."

"Well, it's a no," he said, sitting down with a bemused grimace. "Obviously."

"Is it so obvious?"

He scowled. "Yes."

"Lyosha, it's been…" Her voice lowered. "…five hundred years."

"I can count, Allegra."

He had somehow managed to speak the words without hissing. Yet he could feel his nails threatening to grow, the back of his collar starting to feel itchy. At least Raze had the decency to look as though he was seriously considering using his cocktail stick for an early exit.

"I am simply saying that if all they want is a contract—"

"She's only forty."

"The marriage would not be for twenty years."

"Allegra, you're talking about a juvenile."

"An arrangement."

He stood up. It felt like he was talking to the wall of an insane asylum. "No," he said. "Not now. Not in twenty years. Not ever. It's a no."

"Alright…" Albeit smelling of disappointment, she sat up a bit straighter. He could see her biting her tongue about Jacqueline. "…if you are still keen on the Northern pass, then their other suggestion was Sabine."

His brow lowered. "Excuse me?"

She took a sip of her sherry. "Gottfrid has a son, Erling. He would be willing to agree to the same contract, the same conditions, provided you formally name her as your blood."

He barked another laugh.

Then he left.

Leaving Raze and Allegra in the room. Raze finally opting to sample his drink and Allegra holding her position for an additional ten seconds before she sniffed. Raising an elegant finger to her temples and finally allowing herself to slouch on the settee.

She looked at her husband.

"Thank you," she said.

Pointedly.

o…o…o

Two hours later.

"And why would you find that strange?"

Lucian gave her a disgusted face and then spat into her sink, returning the brush to his mouth and continuing to both frown and speak around the bristles. "Because it's rank."

Reinette was reading the closest book on her side-table. "It's not rank if you're immortal."

His decision to knock these days providing her with just enough warning that she could grab whatever book was closest and pretend she'd not been spending the first hour of her evening screaming into her pillow. As it was, he'd eaten half her breakfast, he'd stalked back to his quarters, retrieved his grooming bag, and was now spending an hour trying to convince her why chicken marrow had no business being mixed with fermented seal's blood.

"It's rank, Reinette." He finished brushing, rinsed, spat once more and dropped the brush back into the small leather satchel that seemed to represent his hygiene. "Anyone who tells you otherwise is either ignorant or lying to themselves."

He stalked out of her bathroom, straightened his cuffs, and made an appearance of checking his watch before practically flinging himself onto her bed, thereby ruining Rena's hard work. Usually he looked quite pleased with himself whenever he ruined her things, but for some reason, he looked bothered. "Sure you don't want to come?"

"Quite sure," she replied.

He pulled a retractable golden toothpick out of his coat-pocket, putting an arm behind his head. "Because you sound like you're not sure."

"And yet if you listen again, Lyosha, you'll find that I am quite sure," she said again, turning to the next page.

He raised his head for a moment, looking at the spine. "Is that botany?"

Not only was it botany, but it was his book, so clearly he knew what book it was, which meant he was just stalling for time at this point. So much for getting him moving.

He didn't seem to notice that she had not answered. He was chewing the end of the toothpick, staring at the ceiling. "I think if I had to categorise you as a plant, 'Nette, you'd be a nightshade. Easy to take root, but difficult to grow." He looked over at her side of the room. "Doesn't that sound like you?"

"Also poisonous."

"I keep forgetting that one."

She could hear the music on the other side of the house. The bonfires. The dancing. The merriment. The actual night of Midsummer Eve starting, the ballroom full…and the first year in six that she found herself wondering if she should attend. And yet of all the Midsummer festivities, this was the one event that he allowed her to skip. Making her wonder if he was simply being…

…kind by letting her avoid it. For it was true, she still could not see fire without occasionally thinking on it. Hearing the sound of Hrafn screaming. Seeing the last inferno that they'd fled. Her breath catching as she remembered the moment.

"Nette?"

She made herself look.

He'd put the toothpick away. No longer lounging on her bed, but standing by the door. Finally on his way out. "It's just two more nights," he said. Grabbing the leather satchel and putting it under his arm.

She stared at him…and nodded slowly. Settling back into her chair as the door closed. Trying to remember how to breathe. Two more nights of merriment…

…and then the Council.

o...o...o

Of course, given how quickly he'd returned to her quarters the last time he left, it was an additional fifteen minutes before the door to one of her wardrobes opened. The wood tentatively creaking on its hinge as a pair of grey eyes peeked out. "Is he gone?"

Reinette exhaled for possibly the first time that evening, finally able to yank out the stockings, gloves and discarded hair accessories that she'd been sitting on for the last hour. "He's gone."

"Can you help me with the dress?"

"Sabine, this is not my jurisdiction."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Reinette…" There was a frustrated groan as the girl pulled the red locks over her shoulder. "…you're starting to sound like him."

"I do not sound like him," she retorted. The words sounded pathetic. In any case, even if she did, then at least she could rest easy knowing she was not the one skirting the line of disobedience. She put the botany book down with a sharp rap before bowing to the force of nature that was Sabine. "Have you considered that he might see you?"

"He won't see me."

She managed to fasten the last pair of metal hooks. Barely able to tell what dress she was looking at anymore, only that it was one of three options the girl had carelessly discarded before the blood-forsaken knock had happened. "How can you know that?"

"Because he never goes."

She turned Sabine around. Burying the urge to smooth the fabric, the silk iridescent in the candlelight. Burying her envy. "What do you mean 'he never goes?'"

Sabine shrugged. Seating herself on a chair, flipping open a compact mirror and adding a touch of rouge to her lips. "He presides over the feast, but he never attends the bonfire."

Really.

She sat down.

Six years of Midsummer Eve conversations suddenly appearing odd under this new light. He never explicitly said he went to the bonfire, yet she'd always assumed the two went hand in hand.

And then she let the matter rest with a principled roll of her eyes. "In any case, Sabine, if he sees you before dawn…"

"Trust me, Reinette." Sabine returned to the wardrobe and found her mask. Fox-fur with the ears to match. She smiled. "He won't see me."

And with that, she was gone.

The candle still alight and Reinette left behind. Feeling the melancholy. The envy as she looked into the wardrobe. Seeing the discarded clothes, the rouges, the stockings that Sabine had left behind…

…and closing the door. Returning to her book. And then dropping it on the floor with a thump, realising she no longer had to read the closest book at hand. Staring at the door. Then very quietly tiptoeing to her bedside table, shifting the table aside and reaching her hand into the space behind her bed. Pulling a book out, dusting it off and resuming her seat by the fireplace. Flipping the cover back open to her previous spot.

'Les Liaisons dangereuses' providing just enough shock that when the door suddenly opened, she found herself folded in half, breathing hard with a hand pressed to her stomach. Feeling as though she wanted to be sick. "Blood, Rena…I thought you were Lyosha."

As ever, the woman failed to make sound.

Only a shake of the head.

The shaking of the head hardly necessary, yet it was the way of Rena to respond in such a manner, honest and direct, even in cases where the answer was self-evident. The woman leaving the dinner tray on the side-table. Showing her true colours by having brought a second meal for one whose benefactor had depleted the first. Taking her time to straighten the curtains. Tidying her things. Failing to care that a great deal of Sabine's possessions had mysteriously ended up on her floor. Seeming to idle for a moment longer until Reinette finally closed the book with a snap. "Have you read it?"

Rena considered the words…

…and then shook her head slowly.

"Here." Reinette handed the book over. "I've already finished it. Twice."

Rena was holding the book as though it held unseen treasures, the kind of naughtiness that one expected to be far worse than it actually turned out to be. "When I…" The words seemed to hide behind a whisper. "…when I was a girl, Lyosha never let me read anything like...this…"

"It's fine," she said. In some ways thankful. Blood knew she'd not be getting any dangerous liaisons anytime soon herself. So it was that she found herself alone once again in a room with a hoard of discarded clothing, rouge, and a compact mirror.

She sighed…

…and picked up the botany book again.

Two more nights, she thought. Just two more nights.