Chapter LXXXII: A Queen of Spades

One hour later.

It was not still there.

Weylan now gripping his chair, fully cognisant of what was happening, but entirely helpless to do anything about it. Miss Jeanne Antoinette having little more to say on the subject of her tell when she could simply thrash her opponent into dust as her rejoinder. The lycan-master losing the equivalent of a groom's annual salary in the space of twenty-five minutes, after which he began increasing his debts in the form of memorandums. Each written on the back of a card flicked into the centre of the table. Like a king burning his wealth to stay warm. Unable to see when he'd gone too far.

Lord Foster bowing out early—citing a preference for horses over cards—thereby leaving the six of them: the lycan-master, Miss Jeanne Antoinette, Rena, himself and the Cavendish twins. Currently styled as the Honourable Matthias Cavendish and his sister, the Honourable Hannah Cavendish. The only loose ends left at the table, despite their invitation to Hangrove suggesting a long history of familial discretion, if not loyalty.

Two of the society darlings, whose parents, like Master Raze and Lady Allegra, represented a new mark of affluence. A generation whose lives were boldly lavish behind closed doors. Often closeted from a less honourable mortal world where their skin colour was not welcome—and by that virtue, associated with wealth. The brother possibly open to a bribe considering his lack of nuance; while the sister seemed more a passive figure—one who'd do anything to avoid embarrassment, thereby providing a point of leverage for any with the right connections.

Which he had.

Indeed, the more Weylan thought about it, the more he realised the entire night could be salvaged. That rumours were simply rumours; and provided he gave a true and exacting report to Master Raze, they could easily convince Miss Jeanne Antoinette to return her winnings before the following evening. Thereby sweeping the entire matter into the same hole where they'd buried all the lycan-master's other problems, confident that in the grand scheme of immortality, history was written by the Lycan Privy Council, not the Line Rumour.

All of which sounded very official on paper, but rapidly burned when subjected to the fire of circumstance or how quickly news could travel from a second-floor games room to every corner of the den. The lycan-master starting the fourth round just as Miss Hannah suddenly got to her feet. Smelling of extreme embarrassment. Causing the rest of them to look past the lycan-master's shoulder to where Miss Freyja Gottfridsdotter was now standing in the door.

Beautiful in her evening wear. No longer the Northern garb she used to wear during the initial visits, but the long draped panels of the south. Satin and velvet paired with a geometric necklace made of ivory. Like a marble statue come to life, save where the fractures were starting to show. Her fingers wrapped so tightly around the other hand as she stepped into the room. Seeing all that was occurring and looking momentarily bereft…

…before she smiled. "Hannah, could you please inform Lady Allegra that we've finished in the Great Hall?"

Miss Hannah was not slow. "Yes, milady."

The lady gave a graceful nod, now gliding to the sideboard. "Matthias, would you escort her?"

It was like a waltz.

Matthias having missed the mood, clearly a bit miffed to leave the game, but willing enough to see his sister on her way. The twins leaving. But only three of them watching as Miss Freyja retrieved the decanter, bringing it to the table to refill the glass of her lord before she said it. Unable to look at him.

"You bet the watch?"

He continued dealing.

"I did."

The aloofness causing most to drop their eyes. But not before Weylan saw a most peculiar sight. Miss Jeanne Antoinette staring at Miss Freyja. Her expression filled with something he had not seen before. The veil typically masking such moments and her scent one he had never fully understood. Not like the lycan-master. And yet there it was.

Pity.

The look gone as soon as she abruptly stood, stepping back from the table. "Fortunate that he won it back," she said.

Weylan nearly melted.

"Yes," he added just as quickly. Agreeing with as much gusto as he could with a single nod. "It was very strategic of you, sir."

"Well, I live to please," said the lycan-master. There was a palpable lack of sincerity in his tone, but he seemed to have moved beyond the point of trying. A vague gesture towards Miss Freyja the most he could muster. "Would you like to join?"

"Perhaps another time, milord…" She looked ready to crack. "…I am feeling very…tired."

He moved on quickly. "Nette?"

But she too had taken another step back. "I'm done."

It was painful to watch.

The way he grimaced, his eye holding onto hers for too long. As though he'd lost all sense of perception, the impact of his actions on the one behind him. Eventually putting his cards down, yet in true form, reaching for every rock while in a state of free-fall. "Any other takers?"

It had to be the alcohol affecting his behaviour. For though he was often negligent in his manner, he seemed to be reaching an undeniably new level of detachment from his surroundings. The man seeming to have missed the absence of the twins. Rena shaking her head once in answer. And Weylan feeling momentarily torn before looking at his own watch. "I should probably bow out, sir."

"That would be wise," said Miss Freyja. Her tone one of a light suggestion, despite the weight she seemed to carry. As though the decanter was heavier than pure stone as she placed it back on the sideboard. The lady holding the glass handle for too long, staring at it until she took a deep breath. Letting go and heading for the door.

"Goodnight, milord," she said.

Her steps softer than the sound of his silence as she left. And Weylan wishing he was anywhere but that room. His decision to finally focus his attentions on learning not just Classical Latin, but the Medieval Latin that they often spoke…far too quickly, having put him in a problematic position.

Because…

…blood, it was awkward.

Miss Jeanne Antoinette staring at the door for as long as it took to hear it shut. Only then turning towards the lycan-master, her voice speaking in a whisper, yet cutting in its tone. "What is wrong with you?"

He looked pensive. "You keep asking me that."

"And?"

There was a long silence. Almost too long as the man studied her. His thumb tracing a pattern on his glass, a symbol that no one else could see, before he finally chose to speak.

"Nothing," he said, starting to gather the last cards up. "I merely made a wrong assumption about your tell." He reached for the gold-inlaid card box and dropped the deck inside. "But you won the game. Fair and square."

She shook her head, turning away again. Taking her drink up but unable to even taste it. "I am not talking about cards, Lyosha."

"Neither am I," he said. Closing the box and then picking up his watch. "Do you want this?"

"Of course not."

He put it in his pocket. "I'll keep it for you then."

She could have seared him with her look. Putting her glass down across from him and finally saying it—the words they were all thinking. "You should go after her."

He swilled his drink. "And say what?"

Oh blood.

Weylan coughed.

He could sense they were not done. But the twins were coming down the hall. Lycan etiquette requiring them to return upon completion of their task, but neither of them old enough to sense that Miss Freyja had already left the room. The door opening to reveal the pair, Miss Hannah smelling markedly agitated and young Master Matthias having once again missed the mood. Walking with the nonchalance of one who'd never been poor. "Who won?"

The lycan-master smiled, almost cruelly, raising his glass to the other end of the table. "Reinette."

"Well played," the boy said. Quite happily looking over his own pile of losses. Perhaps thinking that—in spite of having no formal introduction with the leader of their world—his earlier presence at the table made it appropriate for him to sit down again. "Does that mean we're done for the night?"

"We're done."

It was Miss Jeanne Antoinette who said it. She looked furious. Retrieving her glass, leaving it on the sideboard and stalking from the room, trailed by Rena. All of her winnings left on the table. Leading to what he could only imagine was a momentary confusion for the twins. Miss Hannah looking as though she would rather die than take back her bracelet, but young Master Matthias holding no such misgivings.

"Is she not taking her winnings?"

The boy smelled genuinely curious as to why everyone was behaving so oddly. Causing even the lycan-master to make a face, turning in his seat to regard him. His expression suggesting he could not tell if a pup was actively trying to bewilder him. But then he gave up, getting up briefly to retrieve the decanter before seating himself down again with an aimless shake of the head.

"Splendid," the boy replied, reaching for his share of the coin, but leaving Miss Hannah's bracelet behind, forcing her to reach a hand forward. Though it seemed to pain her.

Very much.

Weylan again rehearsing his next move. The best manner of suggesting they all retire for the night. Particularly the lycan-master, who was meant to be hosting the first afternoon tea of Hangrove in less than nine hours. Not pouring a fifth glass from the decanter after having downed his fourth. Like he was trying to make up for the coming days of abstinence by ensuring his veins contained more alcohol than blood.

The argument with Miss Jeanne Antoinette having left a perceptible mark on his mood. Not so much bitter as aimless. The man still nursing his fifth glass, but now blatantly staring at the twins. An unclear thought seeming to permeate through his brain. Right until he pointed at them, as though their existence was now bothering him. "Sorry—do I know you?"

"Indeed, sir." The boy put his hand out. "Matthias Cavendish—and my sister Hannah."

"Cavendish?"

"Yes, sir."

It was an uncomfortable moment.

For all of them.

Weylan and Miss Hannah in particular. Formal etiquette seeming to have gone out both sides of the window. The words 'sorry—do I know you' something he'd hoped never to hear coming from the ruler of their world. Yet it would seem they had reached that point of the evening. The lycan-master reaching for his gold-inlaid card box again, continuing to stare at the boy rather than take his hand. And Matthias eventually lowering his hand, but seeming to hold no embarrassment at the slight. He also seemed to have no comprehension that he ought to have elaborated on his background.

Miss Hannah perceptive enough in the realm of lycan etiquette to have understood, but looking horrified at the prospect of continuing any conversation under such bacchanalian circumstances. In the end, propriety won out. The girl seating herself gingerly beside her brother…and then taking a hesitant breath. "I believe you knew our parents, sir—Lord and Lady Cavendish—they work for the Privy Council in Berlin."

The lycan-master pondered it…

…and said nothing.

Now flipping through the black deck. Searching for a card. Possibly because the man did not care. Or because he could no longer pretend he had any idea whom the person in front of him was.

Weylan took a step towards clarifying the situation, while attempting to sound intrigued. "Is your grandfather—the former Lord Cavendish—still based in the Foreign Office?"

Miss Hannah's smile became glazed. "Oh yes," she said, awkwardly moving her hands from her lap onto the sides of the chair. "He's still there."

"Good to hear it."

And hopefully…

…time for them to move along now, thought Weylan. About to carefully yawn and suggest they all get some sleep before the first afternoon of Hangrove. In theory, with the shift to half-mornings, the lycan-master was not even meant to be awake at this hour. But again, he was foiled. The young master Matthias no longer admiring the card box from afar, but instead, sitting forward to address the lycan-master.

Directly.

"Is Sabine attending the ball, sir?"

Miss Hannah's right eye twitched.

And for good reason.

Not Miss Sabine.

Sabine.

One who had no title nor stood in line for succession, yet everyone knew whom she was. Miss Hannah again quickly entering the conversation so that it might be clearer as to why they were referring to her in such a cordial manner. "Please forgive the familiarity, sir." She swallowed uncertainly. "…my brother and I used to be old acquaintances of Miss Sabine—"

"How exactly?"

It was a treacherous position, having to answer questions from one who could easily bury one's family if the wrong slight occurred. The lycan-master had paused in his search for the black card. Continuing to stare without mercy, seeming less bothered about the form of address than the subject-matter. The only subject that could easily snare his interest. And not in a good way considering that he was now eyeing them both suspiciously.

Particularly Matthias.

Miss Hannah again glancing at her brother. Perhaps wishing he would interject. So that at least if one of them gave the wrong answer, they could blame the one with no societal compass. But the younger master seemed to be more interested in admiring the card box again. Thereby forcing her to press on through the minefield that was her answer.

"Oppenheim," the girl managed to say. Her voice had gone a bit softer on the last syllable. "…our parents received an open invitation, sir."

"From whom?"

"Baroness Herrmann."

Oh dear.

Weylan had a sense of where this was going. The lycan-master hopefully too intoxicated to make the connection between the year the Baronness left and the events leading up to that moment. And yet the man was now flicking the black card he'd found between his fingers. His interest once again piqued, picking up his glass again and using it to point between the twins. "So why do I remember the two of you, but not your parents?"

"Well, you…" Miss Hannah appeared to be unsure of how to proceed. Possibly questioning all the choices that had brought her to that moment. And subsequently regretting them. "…you spoke to us in a hallway, sir?"

"Did I?"

"Yes, sir."

He put his glass down. "Just the once?"

"No, sir, we…" Miss Hannah was now looking remarkably sweaty for a society darling. Her curls shivering slightly as though they could sense danger. "…we also saw you play chess," she finally said.

"And whist," added her brother.

Happily as a butterfly.

And yet his sister winced at the addition. One who'd spent her life, arm in arm, with a brother who had decidedly…interesting…methods for navigating societal conversation. Even Weylan feeling her pain now. Matthias happy to have provided additional context, but the two of them, he and Miss Hannah, waiting for a reaction. Because no one…ever…mentioned the Annual Lycan Whist Tournament of 1907 in good society. Not after the glass incident.

But the lycan-master seemed unaffected by the comment. Their entire society based around the whims of a man who was dangerous at his worst and unpredictable at his best. Tapping the black card with a hand. A pattern of sound like he was playing something. Still staring at them…

…and then abruptly snapping his fingers.

"Staunton," he said.

"Quite right, sir," the young man responded. His tone suggesting he'd just found his best friend in life. Quite happily nudging his sister as though it meant something. And indeed it must have. The likelihood of being remembered by not just an Elder, but the ruler of all Elders, starting to descend in spades the younger one was. Weylan confused by the reference, but the lycan-master waving all that aside, in favour of pointing at Matthias hazily with two fingers. "You said I knew your great-grandsire."

"Yes, sir."

He was squinting. "Was his last name Cavendish then?"

"No, it was…erhm…" Matthias had leaned back, tapping the table. Perhaps hoping the sound could drum up a memory. Trying to come up with the name; and of course he could not think of it.

But his sister could.

"De Lorraine," she offered. Hesitant in her tone.

It earned another squint. "Alphonse?"

Matthias clapped the table with a satisfied hand, causing his sister to flinch at the sound. "That's the one."

"You're the great…grand-children of Louis Alphonse de Lorraine?" asked the lycan-master, leaning back in his chair with an intrigued expression.

Matthias beamed. "Yes, sir."

He gave a disillusioned laugh.

"Fascinating."

Miss Hannah breathed out. Looking profoundly relieved. As though a great test had just been passed. Her lungs starting to work again for the first time in twenty minutes. Causing Weylan to glance at his watch again, preparing himself to once again interject with his opinion on the hour. Only to once again be foiled…

…this time by the lycan-master, who it would seem actually wanted to talk to the twins now. The man again filling his glass. His sixth now. Capping the decanter and sitting back to regard the two. As though they were a hazy window into his past. His sentences spoken in the abrupt tone of one who would be better off drinking from a bottle rather than a glass. "You know, he was an abbot when we recruited him," he remarked, pointing a hand towards the ceiling, as though it were a direct conduit to the heavens.

Miss Hannah appearing momentarily confused by the information. But then landing on her feet quickly. Like one used to being agreeable whatever the cost. "I often wondered, sir," she said. Still keeping a watchful eye on her brother. "…we have an abbey in our coat-of-arms, and our grandfather always said it was the source of our title."

"And for good reason," said the lycan-master. "The abbey had a latrine building on its grounds," he explained, scratching his beard. "…and we used it as a safe-house."

Weylan had been about to open his mouth, but he quickly shut it again. There was no going back from that statement. Not in polite conversation. And yet far from being disgusted, Miss Hannah was looking genuinely intrigued. The details causing a great deal of excitement in her scent. Like a scholar seeing something wondrous in front of her. That moment when an Elder shared a moment of real life in one's own history.

"A latrine building?"

"Stank to heavens," the man said, now staring into his glass as though it had hidden answers. "…but one could hide in it…and then hide again…because it had this…" He made a gesture of revelation with his fingers. "…space between walls."

Miss Hannah looked confused. "You mean like a room, sir?"

"Not a room," he said. Putting his glass down so he could again retrieve the card box from under Matthias' nose. Taking out the red deck this time. Proceeding to build two identical card towers, side by side. Unnaturally quick as though he'd built them so many times in his life that he could no longer do so in a manner that could cause one to fall. "It was…exactly two by three feet…and I was in there…" He slipped his black card between the two structures. "…between the walls."

"For how long?"

He held up the right number of fingers.

Which was saying something.

"Two weeks."

"Gracious," she said. "…that's a long time."

"It is," he replied. His tone unexpectedly temperate in the face of her wonder. As though finally, he'd found someone who could comprehend the magnitude of what it meant. Weylan already aware of the lycan-master's obsession with 'the space between walls,' but not entirely sure how he felt about him sharing such details with a lycan youth. She'd forgotten to address him as sir. But both seemed to have gone past that point once they'd started discussing the latrine building.

Whereas on the other side of his audience, young master Matthias looked positively chuffed over the earlier reference, taking the opportunity to nudge his sister as though an unspoken bet was being won. "But you actually do remember him, sir?"

"Who?"

"Alphonse."

"No," the man admitted. Almost sadly, as though he wished it were different. And then he put his drink down, starting to make a new tower. "…but I do remember his sister."

Time to change the topic, thought Weylan. Noticing the slight wrinkle in the nose of Miss Hannah. Understandable considering the man in front of them had no plausible reason for remembering the mortal sister of an 18th century abbot other than the obvious. Unfortunately, Matthias was again failing to pick up on her cues. Instead sitting forward like they were perusing the family album. "Marie?"

The lycan-master shook his head. "Could have sworn it was Charlotte."

"Was she the younger one," Matthias asked quietly, leaning over to converse with his sister.

"Might have been," the lycan-master said, failing to notice that he was not the one being addressed. Miss Hannah looking as though she wanted to climb a wall, but forced to remain present, given to whom they were speaking. Attempting to say something, but unable to come up with the words. Instead, she nodded, her smile looking very uncomfortable. Possibly because her desire to hear stories from the lycan-master was now waning thin.

Weylan cleared his throat, quickly taking another stab at changing the topic. "Is your great-grand-sire still alive?"

And again it became clear how connected the twins were. Matthias now looking for Miss Hannah to answer the query. However she seemed to have frozen. As though the slight nausea in her face was gradually descending into her stomach. And now possibly on its way up again. "No—I'm afraid not," said the young man after a spell. "I think he was…"

He clearly had no idea.

"…guillotined?"

Not that it mattered.

"Mm," the lycan-master nodded, raising his glass in condolence. "…that was an…abysmal…time."

"Hear, hear," said the young man. As though they'd both been there. Weylan feeling a momentary tinge of jealousy at the number of years since he'd shared a toast with the lycan-master. But determining his position as a teetotaller of the night was a far safer one.

Neither Matthias nor the lycan-master seeming to be aware that Miss Hannah had given up on subtle cues and was now very specifically gripping the arm of her brother. Likely exhausted by this point, but forced to remain in the room given the hour. Miss Freyja able to come and go as she would now that she'd achieved sixty. But most unmarried ladies of the younger generation, even in the safety of a green zone, requiring an escort if they were to return to their quarters without censure. A different story for a young man, of course…

…although upon reflection, he was sensing the system might be unfairly rigged against young women, thought Weylan continuing to watch and wait. Starting to feel quite sorry for the young lady, for it was now clear that the only way the night would end would be when either the lycan-master or her chaperone, young master Matthias willed it so. The one too intoxicated to care and the other too wrapped up in his own activities. The clock having to strike the hour before one finally stood up with a stretch. His movements quickly matched by his sister.

"Well," said the young man, as though they'd all just come back from a jaunt in the woods. "Perhaps we can do this again soon, sir."

"Perhaps," the lycan-master said, staring pensively into his glass more than anything else. Hardly seeming to notice the departing twins. Miss Hannah throwing a curtsey in for good measure, but nearly dragging her brother now towards the safety of the hallway. And Weylan pleasantly bidding them farewell with a hand, while waiting impatiently for the door to shut behind them.

Waiting.

Still waiting…

…and shut.

He sprang into action. His ability to handle the lycan-master in all his states much improved over the past two decades. Quickly gathering the rest of the glasses. Returning the decanter to the side-board and then, using his shoes as rudimentary brooms, clearing the path of any fallen cards, chairs or other barriers between the table and the door.

The night finally over…

…and the morning soon to come.

A full two hours after they'd entered the room. Meaning it was his duty now to get the lycan-master back to his quarters in time for the half-morning shift. Hoping to blood he could somehow explain this to Master Raze without having to deal with the consequences. That being the embarrassment of having to call Langley, Master Raze or in a worse case, the Lady Allegra. Master Singe having long since refused to be called out of bed for anything less than a cadaver. Which…honestly…the lycan-master was starting to resemble.

"Still awake, sir?"

The lycan-master shifted. "I am."

"Did you need a hand?"

"No."

The man got up.

And then he threw up.

On the carpet.

Gobs of blood-alcohol streaked across a potentially priceless 18th century Wilton carpet with a trellis of vines covered in hand-woven grapes. One that had been installed in what was clearly the wrong room for avoiding stains.

Not ideal.

"Good to move again, sir?"

"In a minute," the man said, lying back on the carpet.

Specifically on the vomit.

A minute it would be, thought Weylan. Trying to avoid breathing the smell too much. Surprisingly, the man was still holding his glass in one piece. The rest of him lying on the remains of his fallen tower. A disarray of cards. All of them red save for one. Curiosity causing Weylan to pick up the black card, cleaning the flecks of bile off with his sleeve before studying it.

The Queen of Spades.

Possibly the worst card one could have in the lycan version of Speculation. Even Weylan capable of seeing when things were not going quite the way they were supposed to. Like a black queen living in a tower of red cards, he thought, looking down at the man. No longer sure he knew what the right answer was anymore. How such a connection could be sustained—when to do so would be to invite a political disaster on their hands. And yet he could see the man was unhappy. As though he'd given up on maintaining appearances and was instead raising an empty glass to the general populace. His choice to serve the lycan-master…and not the populace…making it easier to ask the question.

"What was the tell, sir?"

It was a long pause before the man stirred. Getting onto his knees. Using his glass, now stained with vomit, to indicate a corner of the room. The same corner where a certain guard had sat for the entire evening. Directly across from Reinette and in full view of all players…

…and their cards.

Rena.

Ah, thought Weylan.

"So they cheat?"

"They do."

Interesting.

He put an arm out. "Shall we try again, sir?"

The man nodded, reaching up to take the arm. Getting to his feet and looking remarkably like he wanted to empty his stomach again. Three feet from the door. But closer to one of the rarer pieces, a painting of water-lilies, which if vomited upon, would cause great distress for Master Raze. Or in the words of Lady Allegra, better to only move him when necessary.

"Down again, sir?"

"If you would."

Down they went.

Three more minutes passing. The lycan-master on his back, still refusing to let go of his glass and Weylan continuing to wait on his haunches. They'd get there eventually, he thought. Determining to keep his chin up. No longer sure what to do about the card. Eventually dabbing it dry on his coat…and then placing it on the sideboard before resuming his position beside the lycan-master. "So you play them even when you know they cheat?"

"I do," the lycan-master said, opening his eyes. Staring at the ceiling for a good minute. Before again attempting to extricate himself from the floor. Eventually standing up but tripping slightly over a chair.

"Why, sir?"

The man shrugged.

"Because I usually win," he said, leaving the glass on the chair. Removing his vomit-riddled coat and dropping it on the floor.

Drunk…

…but capable of walking.

Making his way to the sideboard.

He picked up his card.

And he left.

A/N: Pheeww, updated in the same month! That is incredibly fast for me! A huge thank you to all those who are still reading and reviewing (I will try and answer each one going forward). On that note, onwards! As always, feel free to read and review.

Books-n-Harleys: Thank you! (And thank you for being the first one to review. It always makes my day to know people are still out there. Even better if they enjoy the chapter too!)

The Shy Scorpio: I'll try and get the next one up soon so you can keep scrolling. ;)

Guest: I will keep trying to interact!

Celine: Hehehehe, she got the watch. (Even if she didn't take it with her.)

Malik: I TOO hope they share more than a cigarette too. (I will try to get Jacqueline in there somewhere. At least we know she's definitely in the house since her husband, Lord Diggory Foster keeps making appearances.)

Barbara Dias: I adore Matthias too. I'd been hoping to get the twins back in for sometime. We'll see where it all goes...

Ursiearielw12: Thank you! So glad you enjoyed Hannah and Matthias. (Also I love where you mind has gone with regard to Lucian's finances. We'll see what happens ;))