by Nyna Queen
Expecting a hearty welcome would have been foolish. Still, she was used to fear and wariness, but why this silent front of anger? The maids didn’t seem too happy about the fact that she was sitting here with the kids, especially since Josy was looking like something a sadistic carnivore had made a delicious meal of and—
That’s it, Alex realized. They knew that Josy had suffered to save her—a worthless shaper—and they resented her for it. Oh well. That was fine. She was a shaper. They would always resent her for one thing or another, and right now she was too bloody thrilled to be alive to really care.
“Will you come and see?” Max’s question snapped her back to the present moment. Expectant brown eyes were watching her. “Will you, Alex? Pleeeease?”
Alex pushed her empty plate away and wiped her finger on a lacy napkin that looked too fine to be used for something so profane, buying time while she quickly let the last few sentences flow past her memory. He had been talking about some house. Yes. A treehouse that Darken and their father had helped them build at the edge of the wood. He wanted to show her his private lair. Cute.
“I’d love to,” she told him, “but there is something I need to do first.”
She pushed herself to her feet—causing the maids to jump back out of her way—and walked over to Hector, who had been stoically standing beside the swing door like a stone statue guarding a palace. First, she’d thought he was there to keep an eye on her while she was alone with the children, but now, curiously, she increasingly got the feeling that his presence was aimed at keeping the maids in line around her. Interesting, interesting.
“Sir?”
“Hector,” he corrected her mildly.
“Hector,” she repeated, feeling awkward.
“Yes, miss?”
“You said if I had a request, I could just ask.” And I really hope you meant it.
His furry white eyebrows crept up in quiet curiosity. “Yes?”
Alex told him what she needed. The old man’s brows rose even farther, but to his credit, he didn’t ask any questions.
CHAPTER THREE
“… CAN you believe …”
“… raffish …”
“… would think she …”
“… and leaving her alone with the children …”
The muted words of the servants fluttered over to where Darken leaned against the waist-high stone wall that bordered the grassy lawn of the inner courtyard. He turned his head and suppressed a dark smile.
Wasn’t it interesting just how many windows could be in need of cleaning, tiles of sweeping, and plants of grooming in this particular part of the mansion at this particular time of the day? And even more interesting, how many people were needed to accomplish these tasks. As far as he was aware, it only took one person to operate a broom.
Darken shook his head, idly wondering how much of the mansion would go without its scheduled treatment today and how many shallow excuses headmaid Elsbeth would have to hear tonight. More than half of Helton’s household was gathered out here, and while a few of them at least made a half-hearted attempt to appear occupied, most just clustered in groups, sticking their heads together and whispering.
It would have been easy enough for Darken to remind them of their station and send them back to work, but he, too, was way more interested in what was happening inside the yard, than what was going on outside of it.
After finishing his oh-so-urgent call with his brother, who had basically just called to inform him that he and his wife were “on their way,” Darken had aimlessly roamed around the mansion trying to shake off the crushing weight of Alex’s rejection until he had run into an elated Maxwell, who’d told him something about Alex and “itchy skin” and “swords in the yard.”
Curiosity had brought him out here. Wistful longing had prevented him from leaving ever since.
In the middle of the yard, Alex was standing with a combat knife in each hand. The tips were facing the ground. She stood utterly still, head slightly bent. Suddenly, she exploded into movement. Darken’s whole body tensed, as her knives sliced the air. Left, right, left. She danced across the grass, light and skittish, her bare feet barely touching the ground while she spun in a whirl of steel, almost too fast for the eye to follow.
The sun was almost at its peak, turning the trimmed lawn into a gold-green plain and setting the bare parts of Alex’s white skin aglow.
Oh, Darken understood very well, why the maids were scrunching up their noses about her attire. The fabric of her black tights was so soft and supple that it molded to her legs and butt like a second skin, showing off every muscle and curve as she moved. On her top half, she wore a small cropped camisole made out of sheer fabric and black satin, laced tightly in the back, which, in its former life, must have been the inner bodice of a dress—at least, he’d heard one of the maids complain loudly about “that lovely gown being butchered for such a frivolous purpose.”
It was an outfit designed to give a man pain and just looking at her led Darken’s mind to places where it had no business going. Like the inside of those lacy folds. It was hardly surprising that the male servants present at the scene were either gawking at her goggle-eyed or looking away with a deep blush while trying to sneak concealed glances.
And yet, seducing was probably the last reason for these clothes being worn, though Darken would bet that he was the only person out here who appreciated that this mere breath of fabric allowed her to move freely, while at the same time being gentle on extremely sensitive skin.
This knowledge didn’t make looking any easier to bear.
Alex finished her sequence and put the two knives back in the uncovered weapon rack at the side of the field, where Stephane kept his training gear. Instead, she picked up one of the swords, a slender, one-edged blade, barely over a foot long; the perfect extension to her physique.
She swung it a couple of times to warm up her wrist, the light of the sun glancing off the flawless blade. Then she launched into another combination and Darken forgot about the servants, about his sorrow and the inadequacy of his presence. He just watched, mesmerized.
The Great Mother have mercy on him, but she was beautiful! Beautiful like a flurry of snow in the sun, elusive and bright. Her pale hair flowed around her like liquid silk as she cut down invisible opponents left and right with precise strokes.
After a while, her strokes became more forceful, more vicious. Her sword churned the air in graceful arches and she spun, faster and faster, becoming a blur, a swirling blizzard, sharp and deadly.
For a split second, she stopped, poised on the tips of her toes, sword raised above her head, encased in the icy breath of a heartbeat. It shattered and Alex resumed her dance.
The patio door at the other end of the yard opened and Josepha stepped out into the sunlit garden, provoking a round of gasps from the servants close by. Even Darken blinked. Instead of one of her pretty dresses, his niece was clad in a loose black t-shirt, which had been knotted at her side, and gray sweatpants that were rolled up at the top and bottom, because they were much too big on her. One of Stephane’s perhaps? The baggy clothes emphasized how painfully thin and frail she looked and his first impulse was to go over and tell her that she needed to lie down and rest. Yet there was something in her eyes that stopped him.
Darken leaned forward, intrigued. Josepha had always been a bit of a fashion freak—not least because his dear mother always made sure the girl was dressed up like a little porcelain doll—and like many of the girls of the royal elite, Josy had come to avoid pants like the plague. It was seen as a sign of high status, he reflected, drawing on the traditions of former glorious times. And yet, here she was, his finicky baby niece, wearing sweatpants in front of the household staff and watching the spider exercise in the yard. Now, what could all this possibly be about?
His niece slipped through an opening in the wall and onto the lawn. Stopped. She stood there, her gaze fixed on Alex, hands clenched at her sides, a defiant look in her eyes as
if she was only waiting for someone to walk over and tell her that she looked ridiculous.
Alex finished her combination and gracefully lowered her sword. When she spotted Josepha, one slim eyebrow arched upward.
His niece raised her chin, almost in challenge, not moving forward but not backing away either.
They looked at each other for a long time, and Darken wondered what kind of silent conversation was taking place between them. After a moment, Alex raised her hand, palm up, and crooked one finger in a come-closer-gesture. His niece startled and threw a short glance over her shoulder as though she seriously expected someone to be standing behind her. When she realized that Alex had, indeed, meant her, she swallowed, turning wild-shy in an instant. She slunk forward, one little step at a time, until she was right in front of the spider, looking up. Words were exchanged between them, resulting in Josepha bobbing her head so wildly that her braid flapped like a galloping horse’s tail.
Alex carefully put the training sword back on the rack.
And then they started: slow movements at first, easy movements. Darken quickly recognized a few basic moves of self-defense, which were, at this moment, more exercise than actual fighting technique.
First, Alex demonstrated a move to Josy, showing his niece how to stand and turn, and then she made her copy it, correcting her posture, repositioning her body, surprisingly patient and gentle. Josy was almost glowing with excitement, eagerly copying what Alex showed her, soaking up knowledge like a dry sponge.
After a while, Alex fetched two training sticks from the rack and guided his niece through some simple beginner’s exercises. Darken got lost in the rhythmic sound of wood hitting wood and watched in amazement as the spider taught the little butterfly to unfurl her colorful wings. He could have watched for hours without getting tired.
Around him, the murmurs of the household grew more agitated, but he ignored them until at some point one of the maids said a little too loudly: “The little miss should be resting and not romping about with this—this creature—”
Darken cleared his throat. It wasn’t a loud sound but it traveled through the courtyard like a rippling wave. The murmurs died one by one. Except for the sounds from inside the yard, it was suddenly deadly silent. Eyes turned toward him and darted off, feet shuffled. Darken saw their fear, felt their fear, and it yanked at the chains he’d put on his magic. Heat licked the inside of his skin, churning through his bloodstream.
“What’s this?” Elsbeth was standing in the door closest to him, a dirty kitchen towel slung over her massive shoulder, hands resting upon her ample hips. She looked worried. Her eyes fluttered over the gathering of servants, carefully avoiding Darken’s eyes. “Don’t y’all got work to do?”
Immediately the yard burst into a flurry of busy movement.
“That’s it!” the headmaid’s tart voice rang out. “Come on, now, off you go! His lordship doesn’t pay you for dawdling.” She herded two of the younger girls back into the house, who had seemed a little reluctant to go.
Within a minute the yard was deserted, except for a handful of gardeners bravely standing their ground, who were probably the only ones who’d been supposed to work in this area in the first place.
Darken gripped the top of the stone wall so hard that the clay shingles’ edges dug into his palms. He closed his eyes. Even here. Even in his own house. No, not his house. The house of the family, to which, by name, he didn’t belong. At least as far as the law was concerned. Still the house of his childhood. This, they couldn’t take away from him, as much as they wanted to. And yet …
He sighed. Even here, he was feared, would always be feared. The servants dealt with him, yes, but only because they were deeply loyal to the Dubois family and because they knew that his brother would throw a fit if he ever found out about their reservations. Still, they tried to avoid him as best as they could and they breathed a big sigh of relief whenever he left the mansion.
Mostly it was just tiresome, but sometimes it hurt. After experiencing with Alex how things could be, it was a sharp knife twisting his guts.
In the yard, Josy was trying to parry Alex’s play-attacks, completely engrossed in their game and unaware of what was happening around them. Alex struck, not horribly fast, but with actual intent. His niece was too slow and Alex’s stick hit her shoulder. She stumbled, squeaked, and landed in a very unladylike manner on her backside. Darken stiffened but then her laughter bubbled over to him. The sound washed over him, soothed the ache inside of him like a balm poured over his tormented soul. It doesn’t matter, he reminded himself. None of it mattered, not as long as he had Josy and Max. But Alex …
“Milord?”
Darken turned slowly with a chilled expression. It immediately changed when he realized who had approached him. Not quite a smile, but close.
“Hector.”
At least one man, who’d never cringe at the prospect of his temper. Hector had been in the service of the Dubois family for more than fifty years and was proud of every single one of them. Hence he had known Darken and his brothers “since they had dirtied their diapers,” as he liked to remind them on occasion, and it would be a fine day in hell before they’d see him grovel in front of any of them. Which wasn’t to say that he wouldn’t always show the proper respect and courtesy due to his station. But there was never submission, never fear.
Even as a child, after Darken had been claimed by the Order and the other servants had started avoiding him, Hector had always been there, with an open ear, a piece of advice, or a reprimand if one was called for. Hector was like a foundation stone in a life that was awash with changes and loss, in his way a part of the family.
The older man joined Darken at the wall, an unspoken gesture of relaxed familiarity. His gray eyes skimmed the yard but what he thought about the uncommon spectacle taking place there yet remained a mystery.
“His lordship and the lady have just arrived. I thought you’d like to be forwarded.”
“I do appreciate it.”
“Your brother awaits you in the small parlor. I believe his phrasing was ‘right away.’ However,”—an uncharacteristically sly spark lit up in Hector’s eyes as he leaned forward—“I sent Master Maxwell to intercept them. That should give you a couple of minutes to prepare yourself.”
Darken let out a soft chuckle. “Hector, sometimes you can be one calculating bastard.”
The butler gave him an indignant look. “I’m just doing my job, sir.”
They both knew that he was doing a lot more than that.
Folding his hands behind his back, Hector cocked his head to the side. “A word of advice, sir?”
Darken put a hand to his chest. “By all means, I would be a fool to decline.”
“You were always the more … daunting one of the two of you, but Master Stephane, he always had the worse temper, even when you were little nippers.” He patted Darken’s arm. “Let him do the yelling first. He will be more approachable after he has got it out of his system.”
“I’ll take it to heart,” Darken said dryly, though silently wondering if there would be any yelling. After all, he’d already endured some when he’d called his older brother from Blayde’s hotel in the Pacified Zone. On the other hand, they were talking about Stephane, so another argument was almost warranted.
Sighing to himself, Darken glanced back at the yard where Alex and Josepha had meanwhile abandoned their training and were chasing each other with their sticks. Their rambunctious shrieks floated over to them. The hard-bitten spider and the delicate, ever-so-serious child. It had to be one of the oddest scenes he had ever witnessed in his entire life. And he had seen a lot.
Hector followed his gaze. “I haven’t seen Miss Josepha laugh like this in quite a while.”
“Me neither, Hector,” Darken conceded softly. “Me neither.”
The butler turned back to him. When he spoke, his voice was slightly hesitant, as if he was about to sail uncharted waters. “I find it … hard to believe that
the cause for such a joyous occasion could possibly be … all evil.”
Darken raised an eyebrow, while Hector continued to watch him calmly. A leap of faith. To trust his judgment. Could his judgment be trusted when it concerned Alex?
He raked a hand through his thick hair. Looking back at the girls he made a decision. “Please, ask the ladies to join us in the small parlor.”
“As you wish, sir.” Hector executed a small bow. “I suppose a delay of … what? Fifteen minutes? The yelling should be over by then …”
Darken laughed. He continued to chuckle to himself as he entered the mansion but the streak of mirth left him as he remembered what lay ahead. With a sigh, he went to face his brother.
DARKEN slid into the small parlor and soundlessly closed the door behind him.
His brother was standing at the far end of the room by the window, gripping the windowsill so tightly that his knuckles were showing through his skin. He hadn’t even bothered to change out of his traveling clothes, his thick blond hair brushing the top of his tailored overcoat that stretched over tightly drawn shoulders.
Darken didn’t need to see his face to know that a storm was brewing. The question was, why?
Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, he cautiously approached the table. “Brother?”
Stephane spun around and fixed him with a withering stare out of gold-green eyes blazing with pent-up fury.
Darken blinked. Had he thought storm? More like a hurricane.
His brother pushed himself off the sill.
“Two days!” he roared. “Two days I thought they were dead! Dead, Darken. Do you know how that feels? Eady tried to locate them and couldn’t. We saw the news. I thought they had burned in that Jester-forsaken car!”
He grabbed a pillow from the nearest chair and hurled it across the room where it bounced off the wall.
Darken cocked an eyebrow.
