Chapter XCIII: A Fiery Rumour
Eighteen minutes later.
Lucian had moved to his study. One of three places on the grounds that he could rely on for giving him solitude. Or at least lock whenever the sound of footsteps suggested visitors were coming. His focus on keeping himself…specifically…where he was. Taking his time with packing up the last of his personal effects. All his things that would travel from one sinking ship to another. And the house thankfully quiet now they were closer to leaving, and for the sake of his mood, he was grateful. His need to mourn everything that he needed to leave…and let go. For the good of his Horde…and his grand-daughter. The only sound coming from the fire, the burning of pages…
…and a small scuffle occurring on the floor below. A short one. Causing his brandy to shake briefly and his hand to reach forward, stopping one of his pens from rolling off his desk. The second scuffle louder and this time accompanied by footfalls. Boots lightly announcing their presence by striding up the staircase and down the corridor, only stopping once, likely to adjust the angle on a portrait frame that had been straight—but in the interest of driving him insane—was now tipped ever so slightly to the right. A sure sign that the instigator, Miss Jeanne-Antoinette de la Roche, was getting perturbed.
Reinette entered.
The force with which she did so threatening to take off one of the door hinges. Fully aware that he knew the problem and therefore skipping to the more relevant question.
"Lyosha, did you just sign on my fucking behalf?"
He considered lying…
…and then failed to see the reason anymore.
"Yes."
She looked astounded.
Holding up the financial transfer. Her citizenship. Her Line ticket. Pages that ought to have been with Yarley. But that…somehow…were now in her possession.
"How could you do this?"
How could he…
It was…
…ludicrous that she could be asking him that, he thought in wonder. Trying to…not…engage. But forced to confront the utter insanity that could exist when a sense of entitlement crossed his path.
"Reinette, do you have any idea how much it costs to live in a lycan green zone," he asked. Counting the expenses on his fingers. "Papers for travelling, guards for your protection, blood for when you depart, blood for when you arrive, funds for securing an estate…"
"I did not ask for an estate."
"Well, you have one," he said.
His volume had risen.
As had…
…other…things.
But he just needed…everything…to relax, he decided. Taking a careful seat and refusing to meet her eye now. "So you will leave on the next transfer," he added. "When you arrive at the Line crossing, Rena will escort you where you need to go…and you will choose…whatever life…you wish. We can accommodate a change of hours, but not days. Do you understand?"
She looked vicious.
"So you…replaced…the decision I made with…one of your own making…and you are…asking me to be grateful?"
"No, Reinette, I am asking you to be reasonable," he said. The quiet and the calm of putting things in order starting to take hold again as he emptied another drawer. "To accept …everything…I am trying to give you…and make a life for yourself in this world."
"You completely went against my wishes."
"Yes, I did," he said serenely. "…because we only have two hours and…" He looked at his watch. "…sixteen minutes before your train leaves...and they need to get the travel box…to the station…before that happens."
"I am not getting in that travel box."
"Nette, you are getting in that travel box," he warned. "…whether I have to nail you in it myself or get McNally to do it."
"You can try it," she said, slapping the Line ticket on the desk.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Only in typical fashion, she'd broken the handle, thereby causing it to swing. After which, McNally, now cowering in the hallway, peered around the corner and glanced awkwardly at him. "Should I, sir?"
"Oh for fuck's sake, no," he grimaced back.
Staring at the door…
…and then flicking her Line ticket in the fire.
The train would be gone anyway.
o…o…o
Twenty-two hours later.
No one was saying anything.
All of them seated at the breakfast table as required by a civilised lycan household, but the remaining guests, the few still on the night schedule, opting to mimic the servants in their desire to avoid being seen. In other words, no one, other than five souls, was willing to be in dining room. Rena choosing to stand, but the rest trapped there, still pretending to be at their ease in a setting that was becoming more and more unstable. Both Raze and Mister Weylan Jones now conspicuously absent from their numbers…
…but the table continuing to be set, regardless of how close it was to being sawn in half by the tension. The lycan-master seated at the head, brooding over his regular newspaper, while Reinette sat at the foot, ignoring her regular newspaper, which for the past two decades had been a duplicate. Instead, she was quietly reading the January issue of Vogue, recently supplied by Allegra who for once in her life, appeared to be wearing a wool cardigan. Neither of them mentioning Erling, but Allegra seeming eager to do penance by providing forward-thinking options rather than apologies.
A stark contrast from Lucian, who had instructed the household staff to clear as much from the quarters of Miss Jeanne-Antoinette de la Roche as they could, short of killing her. The curtains still hanging, but the bed already taken apart for the sake of encouraging her to leave. All of this shortly after their argument, which apparently had been heard by half the den and had resulted in her travel box being placed prominently in the downstairs entryway, along with a box of nails and a hammer. A threat which he had yet to follow through with…
…but Allegra quick enough to latch onto the contrast by opting for a more graceful approach. Her quarters still empty, but an offer to spend time in Vienna now on her newly-made travel cot, along with an accompanying second folio—this time wrapped in silk—providing a sampling of her future life. Paint swatches and fabric samples. The expected catalogue of dresses, beautiful…and crafted specifically for her form. Suggesting the woman had been hard at work over the past three weeks. But the offer poorly timed after the incident with Erling. And once again, she had that sense of being swept into a box. None of them knowing quite what to do with her now.
Like they all preferred to ignore it…
…or move on.
An entire culture based on keeping their pain in the shadows and as a consequence, surviving the war, she thought. Unable to muster joy even for the meal at her lips. The new game of temptation occurring on her tongue now that the cook had resumed her duties. Each course serving to express just how decadent life could be in a house where boiling hot stag's blood could be served with a wreath of bleeding ice in its centre. The taste changing as she breathed, feeling a pull towards the heat. Wishing one could exist without destroying the other, but her melancholy telling her it was impossible. That she ought to be reasonable and for the sake of her future…
…get in the travel box.
Which brought her back to the table.
Lucian ignoring her presence and she refusing to show an interest in either the travel box or Allegra's offer. While Sabine sat between them, looking very off. Clearly wanting to say something, but like many of their household, opting to stir her blood rather than eating it. Mindlessly playing with the necklace around her neck…and then abruptly giving into the impulse. "I'm going to India."
"Excuse me?"
Lucian had looked up.
Finally.
She put her spoon down. "Only for a month," the girl added. Looking at him…and then unmistakably at Reinette. "…Dante says they're setting up a new green zone…and they need volunteers, and…well…you're both always saying I need to start making my way in the world."
"I don't recall ever saying that."
"You did."
The paper flipped down.
"When?"
He did not like the challenge.
And the two of them would be at each other's throats for the next hour if history was any clue, thought Reinette. Turning a page on her article and choosing to let matters rest, given that she'd washed her hands of several situations and if he wanted to ruin his relationship with the girl again, she would not stand in the way of it.
"Four years ago," said Sabine, holding her ground. "Right after you banned me from the stables," she added. Bravely picking up her spoon and then betraying her nerves by stirring her food again rather than eating it.
He folded the newspaper.
"I thought you were heading to Vienna."
"I was," said Sabine. "…but if I finish a tour, Hannah says it can count towards a Horde service qualification."
"I'll think on it."
"I've already bought my ticket."
"Have you," he said.
Oh blood.
Reinette nearly got up.
Unable to stop herself from looking at him. Able to see his eye. To pinpoint his fears…and her own. That the girl would be rash…and headstrong. That she would throw herself into situations, so eager to help that she might hurt. But the girl was thirty-three…
…and just because he wanted her to stay close, it did not make it right.
And he knew it.
He breathed…
…and then visibly shut them all down, as he so often did, tersely unfolding his newspaper again.
"You go to Vienna," he said. Perusing the next section as though it were of more interest than the crestfallen face of his grand-daughter. And she knew why the girl had brought it up in that moment. That once she could have relied on that look to help him see reason. But there was a split in their household…and no way to mend it with only a day to spare. Each of them going their separate ways…and for the best this time.
Sabine continuing to stir the blood…
…and then stiffly getting up.
Leaving the table.
Realising that she'd have to wait until she was sixty before Lycan society would give her freedom to do as she wished. But more likely preparing herself to go on the trip anyway.
And Reinette finally closing her magazine, no longer able to feign interest in an article called Clothes for Trips by Trains or Ships when she'd be travelling in a box rather than a rail-carriage.
"I'm going for a walk," she said.
"Gripping news," he responded without looking up.
She stopped…
…and then continued walking.
Rena falling in line behind her.
Leaving Allegra to watch them from her seat. Seeing more at play than she wished, but relying on the good sense of several centuries to know they'd found the correct path. Finishing her tea and bringing out her black book again. Out of them all, the only one to notice that Lucian was not reading the newspaper, but rather the latest issue of the Line Rumour which had been tucked between the pages.
"How bad is it?"
He shrugged…
…and then passed the publication over to her.
Taking the opportunity to refill his cup while she assessed the damage. An early printing of the January edition. Taking in each scintillating word…and then handing it back to him so he could fold it a second time…before thwacking it against the table. According to the Line Rumour, not only was he conducting an open affair with Reinette, he was also in the process of marrying Sabine off to Erling, so he could be freed from the engagement. All of his work on the quadrille…and the Northern Pass…seeming for nought if he'd expected it to change the rumour.
And only a matter of time before someone leaked news about the funds being transferred to Miss Jeanne-Antoinette, she thought. The history she once had with him allowing a certain familiarity to their next moment. She primly sitting forward and he purposefully sitting back, while looking at anything…and everything…else. As usual, she taking the matter in hand and speaking for all…or in this case…both of them. "Aleksey, have you considered reversing the transfer?"
He scoffed, dropping another teaspoon of marrow into his cup. "Absolutely not."
"Well, the Rumour thinks something is occurring…and unfortunately, if they think it, the rest of society tends to follow suit."
And she knew the look.
Like he was being pricked by minuscule insects while trying to fight a war against a behemoth.
"But we…" He paused…and then rearranged the sentence before it could become more damning. "…I was under the impression that if we just…got to the end of the season…the rumours might peter out."
"They might have…if you had…not…returned to Durness."
As she'd advised him not to do, she did not say.
"Has Raze left already?"
Allegra sighed…
…and then nodded.
Saying nothing of the thunderous look on her husband's face as he left that morning. Giving her no sense as to where he was going, but his sign indicating he would return as soon as possible. Touching her hand to his lips before he left.
And yet, now…
…Lucian asked for Raze.
Always after it was too late, she thought, watching him get up, pick up the Line Rumour again and use it to indicate the fire. His tone suggesting a bitter confusion of all things. "Do we not have some control over this?"
Allegra found a purposefully open expression for her face. "In what manner?"
"An order."
"What kind of order?"
"They retract the article."
"And then what?"
"It stops the rumours."
"How?"
She could see he was not liking it.
His future.
His responsibilities.
The awful realisation that on occasion, yes—the future of their world could be dictated by a society rag. One that could be thrown into the fire, but would still wield power in a way that he ironically failed to understand. That it was not he who held the power in that moment…
…but the people.
And to her relief, he seemed to find his way back. To see all that she'd been trying to show him for the past month. That for the sake of his people…and his grand-daughter, this was the world in which they lived.
"Her train leaves at midnight," he said, staring at the pages…and then folding them in with his newspaper. "She will be on it."
"Good," said Allegra.
Glad they had reached it. A place beyond anger and disappointment. But the prompt necessary if she was to keep things moving. "Are you nearly packed up?"
He nodded…
…continuing to stand there.
Looking utterly lost, she realised now. Taking the warning signs in hand as Raze would have done if it had been him.
"What's left?"
He seemed to wake up.
"Just the forge."
"Best get to it," she urged.
Her scent filled with warmth…and encouragement. Hoping they could keep the momentum. As far from Miss Jeanne-Antoinette de la Roche and the Line Rumour as the Council could send him. Away from temptation and all the morsels that could contribute to his societal downfall, though he'd not know it for another twenty-four hours.
The long journey that he would soon be on…
…to America, she thought sadly, tucking her black book away.
Sadly but with confidence.
For it was just the place for him.
A/N: Thank you to those who are still reading. As always, if you enjoy the story and you wish to encourage, feel free to read and review (or just a note to let me know you're reading.) It does help me write faster. We are in the land of Underworld where writers need to keep their chins up due to the twenty years that have passed since the films came out, so every bit of encouragement is worth a million hearts. That being said, even if the comments are few (or nil) I intend to finish the story, so...on we go!
