Long after his brother was gone, Tristian still glowered at the door. "Next time remind me to lock it."
She nodded and chuckled. "I look forward to next time."
25
~ TRISTIAN ~
Next time had yet to come, not with the rapidly filling timetable. Between two royal weddings—one christened the holiest of affairs, the other damned—and the newly discovered crown debt, whatever sense of distraction the Lymerean princess had offered prior was settled in the rear of his thoughts and days' concern.
The both of them still shared their meals together. In various peculiar fashions, admittedly, but their interactions ended there. He and Rhenan's presence about the castle seemed to be everywhere at once the past three days. Private council meetings, open council meetings, a noxious amount of wedding rehearsals, intimately held meetings with accountants, letters drafted here and there, visitations here and there. It was decided that, in the end, the larger the wedding gifts received on both ends, the better, for he and his brother had agreed to donate it all to the crown to at least make an impression on its monetary state.
The days had, despite their diverse activities, begun to bleed together. So much so that he seldom saw the confines of his bedchambers unless he was set to dine with Astrid or sleep.
That being so, as he occupied the room now, it was indeed strange to find himself settled at the grand polished desk, either side stacked with volumes read and those in need of it. Reams of papers here, ink cartridges there, solid wax squares sealed in their plasters, and a slow burning candle dancing flames over the borrowed volume from Lady Constance.
He'd managed to rifle through half its contents, enough to decide the physician and wordsmith behind the text to be both brilliant and fascinatingly...disturbing. There reached a point where he'd since ceased to associate the observation records to his wife-to-be, but was merely consumed otherwise in the tales of early set dementia and the many persons afflicted with one unseen oddity of the mind to the next.
He had just gotten to the passage that'd begun to detail cases visible to the naked eye—those who suffered the hindrance of permanently stiff limbs and a slurred speech dictated by the deformed set of either the musculature of their jowls or a very much visible defect of the tongue—when there came the routine sound of the door behind him barging open.
Without glancing up from the author's admirable penmanship, he said evenly, "Get out, Rhenan."
There was a heavy shuffling coupled with laboured breathing, or rather, grunts. It must have been a game to his brother, for there was a tugging at some material, most likely a cushion to be hurled in his direction.
It was an assumption Tristian upheld until he heard the unmistakable sound of chewing between the guttural snorting. Slowly, he placed the text upon the desk. The noise came to a pause when there was a choked sound, the sound of something moist hitting the floor, then a squeal that he was sure even his oaf of a brother could not produce.
Tristian lurched from his chair, head whipping around, only to have his thoughts halt and cease to process the sight he was beholding. Even after he blinked slowly as to ensure he had not nodded off at his desk and suffered lucid dreaming, upon the opening of his eyes, the scene went unchanging: a bulbous, corpulent creature with a body pink all over, stood beside his black lounge chair, its mouth and teeth and tongue working over the dark upholstery, masticating at the sewn in golden design that had once been that of the Sirista's sunstar, but was now just the sun, the rest of it tattered and dangling from the pig's mouth.
Eyes wide, lips together in a look he could only surmise as speechlessness, he took a deep breath through his nose. Watched the pig feast a second longer. Then erupted. "Why in God's name is there a pig in my bedchambers?!"
"It's your twin. Did Mama not tell you?"
Jocelyn.
She stood at the door, arms crossed over her chest and sharp eyes seeming to savour his expression rather than focus on the feasting creature. Her hair was loose and carried a look of slight disarray which was uncharacteristic of her usual perfectionist ways. In her hand dangled a leash, as if she had been leading a dog rather than an overfed pig.
"It's like you in every way."
Her arrival had been scheduled for this evening, hadn't it? It was all Rhenan and his mother talked about. So how had it slipped his mind? Perhaps his decision to no longer dine with his family had cut him from the world of gossip he hadn't known he relied on in some respects.
Tristian couldn't tear his eyes from her now, even as the sound of content chewing proceeded in the midst. Clearly she'd lost her mind. Or perhaps, as patron of the Milliners guild, her creativity had begun to dwindle, and as a last resort, the crafted hats had become strange in fashion. And one of those said hats, perhaps had been fitted too tightly on her melon of a head, and worn so long that blood had ceased to flow to it.
Of which he could not say.
Had Rhenan spoken with her and told her of his financial predicament? A better question: did she receive his letter, sent five days prior? That which was riddled with subtly camouflaged insults and insinuations. Or had she been on the roads then, traveling here?
With a tongue burning to subject foul commentary, he instead forced his lips to make the words, "A wedding.. gift, I presume?"
"A new design of mirror. I best warn you, it had quite the breakfast. You may wish to put a rug down."
His lips parted like a cranking catapult, struggling not to unleash words to convey his opinion of the matter. What, truly what, went on inside the head between those shoulders of hers?
He engaged upon an even more engineered expression. A smile that may as well have housed maggots between his dentures for how disgustingly out of place it felt. "It's nice to have you back. I trust you and..." He swallowed and trudged on. "Wesley have been well?" He still recalled the green bugger the creature had swiped onto him.
She gave a roll of her eyes, a habit she had not yet forsaken despite years of Mama trying to coax her out of it. "You are suddenly so sentimental now you have your own on the way?"
His tongue tasted like tar. "Perhaps we should tie it somewhere?" And pass it to the kitchen staff to roast later.
"You mean Tris?" She took a step into the room, though ceased when the animal shuffled an inch in her direction. "If only those grand restraints could set him on the path to good behaviour."
There was no helping his frown, nor his observation. "You named it Tris? Yes, well, you never were creative despite your hobby." He couldn't help the small retort either. "Do you like the thing, Jocelyn? This pig?"
She scoffed and waved a hand, though not in her usual manner of showing off the new rings she had recently had purchased for her by fools who wished to impress her. "Cannot abide it. I thought it would better suit you, with your infantile and inferior taste."
"Surely that cannot be my preference of taste, for I never liked you. Not when you were an infant, nor now, when you're inferior." He knew she meant only to get a rise out of him by degrading the female in the bedchambers merely a few doors down, just as he knew he was supposed to be exchanging cordial, familial words with this female to seek her aid. But she was too... Jocelyn. A breed of animal he wasn't quite sure how Mama came to give birth to.
He received a scowl his sister reserved only for him. "You planned this on purpose. It's all a game to you and your member which is so sick of you it enjoys straying from your breeches. You knew I planned to have a second child and you tried to take the shine off my family. Not even a congratulation from you or anyone else because you're busy with your own spawn!"
Now it was his turn to scuff. "Sweet, ignorant Jocelyn, no one has to take the shine off of your family, for it doesn't exist. You're as dull as an age-old blade, and for what reason would I have to congratulate the welcoming of yet another poorly forged blade into this world?"
"You dare insult my family when you are marrying such a freakish thing. I heard that lot share a single bed and they all deposit i
nto each other so very casually. You will be fortunate if you get—"
The stench filled the room almost instantly and his sister screamed. Diverting his attention away from the pig appeared to be a grave error. The cushion was forgotten food, though the place where it stood was now covered in excrement so foul Jocelyn had turned an impressive shade of violet.
"That's your fault!"
Tristian was only, once again, rendered speechless as the raw, putrid smell took over the room. Snapping twice, servants from the side room came immediately, though stopped and wore twin visages of shock, revulsion, then confusion.
Trying not to gag over the words, he dared open his mouth. "This creature. Remove it. The floors, clean them. And you." He strode across the room and snagged his sister by the arm, guiding her to the side room and closing its doors hastily before opening the balcony's.
Only then did he allow in one large inhale, then turned to the pest of a sibling. "Carry on, Jocelyn. I will be fortunate if I get what?"
"You know what comes from people like that," she stated with a voice as crisp as steel. She glanced to a chair and freed herself from his grasp to claim it. "You planned this, like the pervert you are. You longed to impregnate a young thing and she was the easiest target."
He needed to control his breathing, the flaring heat in his chest. To her he said, "Is your life so pathetic you have to weave others' into horror stories to make you feel better?"
"Are you so fragile that you cannot take it, or are you standing up for someone?"
Pointless. Fruitless. A fool's inclination, to argue with her. He needed her for one thing only, and that wasn't to acquire an aneurysm. He walked over to the tall, black polished cabinet welded into the wood of the lined shelf encompassing the room. Fishing out the key to its lock from the set always carried on his person, he opened its doors and retrieved the satin wrapped accessory forged by the jeweler not three days ago.
When he looked back to his sister who was irksomely relaxed in his furniture, he said tightly, "I do not expect you to understand much of anything despite the obnoxious size of your head, but there is a matter I wished to go over with you if you can, just for a moment, stop being unpleasant."
"Hmph. 'I want something so I'm going to be my usual self rather than attempt to soften my sister's negative opinion of me.' Is that it?"
He closed the distance between them, dropped the satin atop her lap and sat in the seat across from her. "I've brought the softener, so no, you're not correct."
Her attention was already diverted from him as she folded back the fabric and stared at the sapphire piece with faint interest. "I swear I asked for ruby."
"And I asked Mama not to give birth to you, but it appears we do not always get what we ask for. The sapphire is pricy and fashionable and will blessedly attract the eyes from the terror that is your face. Now show gratitude, move on."
She gave the strangest sort of smile, the same she had worn since childhood. The thin line of her lips into the most irritating of smirks when she threatened to run to tell Mama on him, or when she wished to appear sweet to others, be they relatives, lords at court, their mother's ladies and the like.
"And you would know? You're as bad as a woman when you get snarky. I'll repeat, I asked for a ruby. Sapphire was the latest fashion two years ago."
"Then go to the jeweler yourself and neigh as you usually do until—"
"Perhaps I shall see Mama there and I can tell her what happened in that cupboard. It's a chamber of embellishments. I am sure I can make some of my own."
His nostrils flared, but he was dutifully silenced. He could reciprocate the sentiment she granted him, inflict misery near and far, but what ground would that gain? His retorts mended to seriousness. "Listen, nuisance, I've a particular situation which forces my hand, and by that, I mean I'm forced to communicate with the unsightly beast that is my sister. It appears our father has outdone himself in foolery, having indebted the crown to various faces and overseas kingdoms at large. To tack onto that, he has taken it upon himself to familiarise himself with my financial account, thus bringing conflict to the dreaded wedding plans. As the crown prince, as your eldest brother, I'm requesting you lend the necessary funds to remedy the hole in my account and assist in seeing this wedding through."
She stared back in silence and her expression softened to one he rarely, and was sure others, were witness to. "Why would Papa...?" Her voice cracked and she shook her head. "This better not be a lie, Tristian. You better not have got yourself into trouble and you're blaming it on Papa."
"I don't like you, Jocelyn. If I had my way, I'd have ensured you banned from attending the weddings. You know this well. You know what it must take from me to have to ask you of all degenerates at my disposal, so trust that this is no lie. And Mama, she does not know, but you're free to enquire from our brother."
"We should tell Mama. Any sort of trouble—"
He chuffed and sat back.
"—What?"
"It's just, for a moment, I assumed you might have sense enough to know why telling Mama is not the best of plans. But you've done well to remind me you possess little—if any—"
"Oh shut up will you." She'd turned away from him, but by the slump in her shoulders and weakening of her voice it was enough to tell him she was suddenly crying and the air between them had cooled to something sorrowful. "I know something is wrong with him. He asked me my name and when I told him, he apologised and asked me to remind him which house I am from and who my father is. And he was not being facetious."
There was a reason behind his disdain towards Jocelyn, more so than Bethan. Always had the female before him been callous in her demeanor, an abrasive edge seemingly crafted specifically to grind his patience to dust and then dance on it. So seeing that such a thing was in fact capable of honest tears and emotions, and that she was of his blood, should have seized him with a profound satisfaction, but rather it inherently did not bode well with him.
Tristian sighed and wished she'd stop, go back to being utterly ridiculous and unbearable, but when she didn't he found his gaze reluctantly cast to the side and his tone lightening the slightest. "Father will be fine. He just...he gets that way sometimes. Talk with him, sit with him; he'll remember in no time at all. I believe the same happened with Rhenan just the other day, but I assure you Father could not forget our lousy brother for too long. He would never allow it. You shouldn't either."
"You're much more helpful than my husband is on this matter. He thinks it was Papa's way of a joke. It's not, Tristian, but I thank you for your kind words. He never used to be irresponsible. His accounts were always in check and Mama breathed down his neck for a few years until they were impeccable. Occupying her time with us and her work, she left him to it. She will still think everything is fine. I wonder what will happen first. Will she find out, or will he forget her name?"
When he glanced over at her, she brought her teary gaze to him. "We need to tell her. It will soften the blow."
He shook his head at the implausibility of it. "Which part, that her husband is steadily becoming unfit to rule and is soon to incur the repercussions of the council and Sirista, not to mention may soon not remember the years they've shared, or the part where he's indebted the crown impossibly which will predictably bring her to dip into her own accounts? Jocelyn, you ought to know the stakes of both. If we do tell her of the debt and she aids it with her own funds, should Father..." What word was there that was not unkind, not brutally naked in nature?
"-Drift away?" she whispered.
No. "Should Father lose his mind, perish, die, leave us all behind—"
"Tristian!"
"Should he," he insisted. "Mama is the one female I will not see fall behind him. And the only way her account remains intact is if we give her no cause to see otherwise. Now Rhenan and I have already begun minor repairs, applying aid where the wounds occur. So which will you be, the aid or the cut, Jocelyn?"
"You know you can take as much as yo
u need. You damn well knew I wouldn't refuse as soon as you mentioned Papa. You could have mentioned either of them and I would have given everything."
In the distance recess of his chest, some form of relief could be felt, but rather than rejoice—for in truth some part of him had known she would assist—he instead proceeded further. "Thank you, truly. And you will see the funds returned. I worry only of what you'll tell your husband."
"Worry not what I will tell him. Only I will tell him what I please and he will do as I bid. He may be the man, but I am the Hanson." She looked to her lap and appeared to contemplate something for a moment, before she extended the pouch. "Take it. It's not something I'd wear for a while anyway. Sell it, bribe someone with it, give it to your girl. I have no need of it."
His girl? The statement made his regard of it go bland. And then came the attack of his pride, though it was foolish to think he would not need it. "I had it made for your ghastly neck; you'll damn well wear it."
She coughed a laugh and shook her head. "I'll have no cause to wear it for a while. It'll gather dust."
"Then that dust will be richest dust ever."
"If you insist. I may dust it off once a decade."
"Do not say I've never given you anything."
"I'll relay the same comment back to you." She settled the pouch in her lap. "What of your twin? Will there be a fresh item on the menu tomorrow for breakfast, or will you keep it to amuse your little icicle?"
"Do you dislike it?" He recalled the way she'd shifted a step from it when it'd started to come near her.
"It almost bit my son and urinated on the hat I intended to wear to your nuptials."
"Then my twin shall live to see another sun." And he had no doubt that Astrid would find it interesting and ask all sorts of strange questions about a most basic animal. The thought was almost enough to make him smile.
"You can have it stand in at council meetings for you when you're off putting a little one in your girl. Come to think of it, how will you deal with that?" Her hands went to her own middle where the swelling was perhaps as pronounced as Astrid's, though Jocelyn of course had no need to conceal it. "You cannot ask her to cross her legs until three seasons have passed you know."
Bonds: A Cursed Six novel (The Cursed Six Book 1) Page 42