by C. M. Lind
You’d think he’d make the deal to bust you out before you already escaped. No thanks to him, really. He sent a boy to row you to shore is all. Ulrich did more than anyone else and all he brought you was a picnic. But can you even trust him? His companionship was nothing more than a whore’s deal. He’s been misleading you. They all are liars.
Aimee offered the young boy more juice, and the offer made the edges of his lips curl slightly into a smile. It was the first expression he had shown all evening.
Conyers abandoned you. You trusted him, and he let you down. Just like before with his treacherous brother. That traitor. That liar.
Aimee took his cup and told the boy about how the potter nearby does the brown and green glaze special order just for her. Blues, yellows and greys were the most common glazes in the city, but they’re good friends through mutual business.
Yes, his brother. That’s what you want, isn’t it? What he would never relinquish. What rightfully belongs to you, to do with as you please!
Vitoria’s mind went silent like a discordant choir stopping mid-song. She exploded with maniacal laughter, causing Aimee to jump at the outburst. Even Sylvaine turned his head to her, meeting her eyes for a brief second, before his gaze retreated like a startled dog.
“Oh, that bastard.” Vitoria wiped away the water beginning to pool in her eyes with her freshly bandaged hands, pausing to look at the left one with incredulity. “It’s his brother. He’s going to give me his brother.”
Aimee smiled, but it wasn’t as before. This smile seemed dark; her lips curled in a demonic manner showing her grey teeth. “Good.” She turned towards Sylvaine, “Well, darling, your cloak should be dried enough now. Run along back to your master.”
Sylvaine nodded his head, obviously perplexed and horrified by the entire situation. He grabbed his cloak, and Aimee ushered him out the door before he even could put it on.
“You think that he knew the whole time where he was?” Aimee sat back down near Vitoria.
“I do. I really do,” Vitoria said. “I think he always knew but never wanted to tell me before. He lied to me. But now he has to tell me. He will tell me.”
The voice in Vitoria’s head was silent, clearly pleased at its conclusion, and she appeared as contented as a freshly fed house cat.
“Good. He never had any real good reason to ever protect that worthless brother of his. That good for nothing, son of a…” Aimee’s words fumbled as her face turned as red as a radish.
“Calm down Aimee.” Vitoria set her left hand on Aimee’s knee. “James won’t be alive much longer. I’m sure I can count on you to help me see to that?”
Aimee put her hand on Vitoria’s. “With pleasure, darling.”
Chapter 6
There was no other way to describe it: Randolph was completely bored. The evening was without real responsibility for him since Jae was preoccupied by his guests. Jae had wanted the famed Odette Debeau for the evening, as he had tried many times before, but was unable to purchase her. Instead he settled on three very young women for the same price. Randolph wished he had Jae’s problems.
On such evenings, frequent as they were, Randolph was to stay on the estate—but not too close to Lord Jae. He would walk about the manor keeping busy, avoiding Jae’s annoying cousin Etienne. The man was always pawing over Jae, whispering into his ear with that shrill voice of his. Randolph found him almost comical. At least he wasn’t unsettling, like Jae’s mother Lilane. That woman was gilded cruelty.
Randolph had begun his free evening with training. He practiced with his blade for maybe an hour, a cut-and-thrust styled sword about four feet in length. Then he took to the worn path around the field behind the manor and ran three miles. As usual, he had a guard time him, and he finished in 17 minutes.
After the exceptional run, Randolph still found himself with a fair bit of time on his hands—typical for Jae to turn an intimate liaison into a lengthy, overly-indulgent marathon. That was not to say that Randolph fancied himself as a sprinter in the romantic realm, but he liked to think he never overstayed his welcome.
He decided to practice his fisticuffs. He was loaded with a nervous energy because he would be meeting Saemund later in the evening, and he wanted to be relaxed for the encounter (although, all his meetings with Saemund had left him uneasy despite how much he tried to ensure otherwise). Randolph pulled two guards that were off the clock into a match, and the bout ended within a couple minutes. He let them off easy, just a few bruises, nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. After all the fun of thrashing his subordinates, he began his daily regimen of miscellaneous exercises followed by a refreshing, cold bath.
Afterwards, Randolph didn’t know what to do with himself, but he knew better than to check on Jae. No, Jae would be sure to let Randolph know if he needed him, and there are certain things a man does not like to overhear other men do—even Randolph, who was considered by many a poor, stupid, common mercenary.
He sat in the parlor that was near the main entrance to the manor and played with a few chess pieces. They were hand carved rosewood figurines made for a great strategy game, but Randolph was never taught how to play chess. Instead, he had the knights attacking the pawns, while he narrated the massacre, complete with dramatic voices.
“What were you thinking?” he asked the rosewood pawn. He was back to his normal voice, which he would describe as unattractively husky yet deep. He theatrically placed a pawn on its side, allowing for death throes. “A footman charging cavalry? You don’t even have a pike!” He let go of the pawn and it rolled a few inches away. “Just a weird…knobby…head.” The only thing that saved it from falling off the board was the faint lip of the edge catching that knobby head.
The front door to the manor opened, and Randolph quickly put the pieces back where they belonged, on their matching chessboard still on the shelf nearby. Although it wasn’t his job to personally see to the door, he was happy to have anything to do. He practically ran out of the parlor and down the hall. The plush burgundy rugs muffled his haste, and no one saw or heard the official head of security, and right hand man to Lord Jae Reinout, running like a happy dog towards an exciting noise. When he rounded the corner towards the main entryway, he slowed his pace and swaggered casually into the foyer.
At the door were two house guards in studded, hardened leather with wool tabards of the colors of House Reinout: a wine burgundy and yellow the color of sunflowers. Between those guards stood the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen—a woman so radiant that Randolph was hopelessly struck with butterflies. He noticed her thick hair first; it was a deep, dark brunette that was elaborately braided to one side, hiding the left half of her face. It made him think of dark, bitter, yet sweet, chocolate, and he swore he smelt a heavenly, delicious, enticing, honeyed scent. Even from so far away, the woman’s bright grey-green eyes shone just for Randolph. He took a deep breath and audibly exhaled.
He wasn’t actively thinking about it, because to admit to such things was incredibly rude when dealing with a lady, but he also couldn’t deny that her small waist (made the more appealing by her tight cincher) and her perfect, ample breasts (even covered with the flowing, baggy shirt she wore) garnered a bit more of his attention that he would ever let on.
Randolph believed completely in love at first sight. He alone had experienced it at least a dozen times.
The woman’s accent was thick, and she was clearly a Northerner. Suddenly, Randolph decided that he always liked the Northerners. The woman was trying to explain that she was there for the lord of the house, but the guards weren’t listening to her, explaining that the lord was already preoccupied with other women, and that he could not be disturbed.
Randolph’s heart tore a small fissure. Was the new woman he loved really a prostitute? Or worse, was she a prostitute that he more than likely could never afford?
He wondered if she would take an “I owe you.”
Randolph cleared his throat loudly, and the guards quick
ly turned to him, clearly thankful for a superior to handle the problem. He walked over to the woman and firmly shooed the other guards away. They stood there confused. The door was their post, but they decided to step outside to let Randolph handle the unwanted visitor.
“Ma’am.” He took her left hand since the right was holding onto a rolled up piece of paper and a bag. “I’m Randolph. I run things here. I’m sorry you had to deal with those idiots, but I’m here to take care of you now.” He wondered if he should try to kiss her hand like he would see the noble types doing to each other, but, before he could do anything, she yanked her hand away.
“I am here for the lord of the house.”
Her curt words sounded like a song to Randolph. “You’re too late, he found others, but I’m available if you’re in the mood to entertain still.”
She shook her head slightly, confused by Randolph’s words. “But tonight I am expected, or, at least, my master was expected. I’m here in his place.”
Randolph blinked a few times at the pronoun his.
The woman shoved the paper from her hand at him.
Randolph took the paper and unrolled it. It appeared to be a contract of simple words, but he didn’t bother trying to read it. He didn’t have to. He saw the loopy signature at the bottom. It was signed: E. Reinout. Then he wondered what Etienne was doing hiring male entertainers. Then he thought about what kind of entertainment really was purchased. Then, suddenly, he realized it was not an agreement for prostitution.
He smiled and gave a quick laugh. At least, he figured, it meant Jae wouldn’t plunder the love of his life. But, most importantly, it meant that his lady love wouldn’t be had by the boss’ weasel of a younger cousin.
“Oh, my sweetheart, my dear…” He turned his head towards her, away from the contract. “Wait, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Soli.”
“Oh, my sweetheart, my dear Soli, you are mistaken. You are not here for the master of the house. The master is Lord Jae Reinout. You are here to see his younger cousin, Etienne.” He handed the paper back, trying to make contact with the soft skin of her hand in passing, but she thwarted his subtle attempt.
“I am sorry to cause confusion. I was unaware. Please forgive me; I assumed the man was the lord.”
“You are forgiven, and it is forgotten. Think nothing of it. You didn’t bother anyone. Everything is alright. You’re good. It’s fine. Everything is fine…” Randolph stood there staring at her while his words trailed off.
Soli ignored the blathering and stepped further into the manor. “Shall I find him on my own then, Mr. Randolph?”
“Oh no, just Randolph. Let’s keep it casual between us.” Randolph guffawed at being called mister. He wasn’t that much older than Soli, only several years at most, but even then there wasn’t any grey to his hair or anything that would make him seem old. He suddenly thought that he should work out more. “Yes, let’s go find him; I will take you to him.” Randolph offered his arm to escort her through the manor.
Soli handed him her bag. “Thank you.”
Her words, while said in the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, seemed to almost have a shadow of sorrow trailing them. Randolph took the bag without complaint, and he then took the long way to Etienne’s area. He brought her through the grand hall filled with portraits of the Reinout line. He rushed her past the handsome Lord Jae’s image and the shrew-like image of Lilane, and instead he presented her Etienne’s small portrait.
While Etienne was in no way conventionally unattractive, the portrait was not flattering. When Lilane commissioned the portraits of the boys in their teens, she asked the painter to make her own son, Jae, look more handsome and strong between the two. She specifically asked to add small details to Etienne to make him look sickly, thin, and, frankly, unauthoritative. Lord Jae loved his cousin, but, when he came of age to manage the estate, he refused to remove the painting, thinking it was a funny joke. He claimed that Etienne needed to get a sense of humor.
Soli didn’t seem moved by the work, stating that she knew nothing of oil painting; she claimed it was not around where she grew up.
Randolph detoured her into the main dining area, past the long grey marble table covered in silverware for the dinner that was to be served later that night after Lord Jae was finished upstairs. They went past the table into the kitchen. The place was massive, containing four separate ovens, twenty-six burners, two spice pantries, and a busy staff creating a feast for Lord Jae and Lady Lilane. Randolph reached onto a prep table and grabbed a few truffles. The cooks rolled their eyes at Randolph; they knew that complaining would only result in more missing food.
Randolph handed a dark chocolate truffle to Soli, thinking it fit her perfectly. “They’re great. They make chocolate every day for Lilane.”
Soli took the procured truffle, raised her brow while she examined it, and then she plopped it into her mouth. Before she even began to chew, she turned around and walked out of the kitchen. The door rocked shut behind her.
Randolph shrugged, and then he threw three chocolates in his mouth before he rushed after her, the bag over his shoulder.
He tried bringing her through the libraries, but she wasn’t interested in the largest collection of Avelinian poetry in the world. Then he brought her upstairs and through the large solarium in the middle of the manor. The large glassed room was hot and filled with white flowered vines and green lush ferns.
Soli stepped inside and smiled. She took a deep breath, inhaling the humid, hot air. “This is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Randolph entered the room behind her and, as a reflex, fist pumped.
Soli turned around, pointing to the crown glass dome above; its wavy circular pattern warped the outside clouds. Her finger insisted that Randolph look above, as if he might have missed it. “Look at how the glass makes the moon look. It’s changed it. It looks wavy, like light on water.”
Randolph took a step forward and looked up. He saw a glass dome, but he was more interested in the woman pointing. He knew she wanted him to say something, so he said the only thing he could think of, “Neat, huh?”
Soli laughed, and for the first time that evening, there wasn’t any sadness in her voice. She wiped a tear from her eye and looked at Randolph. “Yes, it’s very neat. There is nothing like this back home.”
“In Osterlock?”
“It’s obvious in my voice, isn’t it? I could change it to fit in more here. Aveline has no real love for Osterlock, but no. It is who I am.” Soli turned towards Randolph, meeting his eyes with hers.
“Well, I like it. And Osterlock is a great place!” He looked away from her, pretending to look at the ferns. How could her eyes be so powerful, he wondered?
“You have been, Randolph?”
He glanced back at her words. Those powerful eyes of hers lit up and the corners of her mouth turned up into a small smile. “Oh! Yeah! A few times. There is a lot of work up there. It’s got fields, and mountains, and rivers, and lots of cold rain, and cold winds, and more rain.” Randolph suddenly noticed he was leaning in a little bit too much and pulled back to lean against the glass of the dome.
It rattled a little against his weight. He had forgotten how fragile it really was. He immediately pulled away.
“That it does. It is very cold. But, if we had rooms like this it wouldn’t matter. I could always enjoy the sky no matter what. I would love to see this with lightning sometime.” Her face had a bright smile for a moment, before it returned to a polite, restrained countenance.
“Last night was quite a show; you would have loved it. Next time there’s a storm stop on by, and we can watch it together.” Randolph smiled, happy something went right. He was just about to try to push his luck further, but her next question stopped that line of bold thinking.
“Now time to find Etienne, yes? I’m sure he’s been expecting his entertainment for a while now.”
Randolph didn’t frown at the request, but he didn�
�t like it. He acquiesced and took her through the solarium towards Etienne’s office. Randolph didn’t mind that Soli wanted to do her job. In fact, he liked that she was a working professional—and not a prostitute. He liked that part about her a lot. Plus, he figured if Etienne liked her then she’d be coming back, which meant that Randolph would have plenty of time to get to know the woman.
Etienne was located in the smallest wing of the house, but even then it was quite large by most people’s standards. While Randolph referred to Etienne’s quarters as an office it was so much more. Etienne had his own small library containing over four hundred books on various subjects (or so the man claimed). His favorites were dense, dry books on history and classical literature—something that Randolph described as mind-numbing and completely useless.
Etienne also had a large office, a common area, patio, and a fully stocked bar. Randolph liked the bar. He liked the bar a lot. Randolph had a key of his own to Etienne’s quarters, but Etienne had no idea. Randolph found it particularly satisfying to sneak in at night and help himself to whatever drinks he fancied. To cover his activity he would fill the bottles with water, or whatever else he thought was funny.
Randolph particularly loved to fill the wine bottles that he thought were gross (which to him was anything described as dry) with pure vinegar. Etienne never figured out why his wine would suddenly turn foul, but he let the vendors know of his displeasure. Since he was the only one complaining, he quickly got a reputation as a man with no palate that was as crazy as a loon. This, Randolph thought, was just a bonus to the all-he-could-drink wine buffet.
Randolph threw the doors open to Etienne’s office and boomed, “Mistress Soli to see you, Etienne.”
Etienne jumped at his desk, wrecking whatever it was he was writing. The pen skidded off the page and onto the oak desk. His dark, cobalt blue eyes shot to Randolph. His cheeks flared bright red, and he looked as if he was going to yell at the man but that he couldn’t find the words. Instead he sputtered a few restrained, vitriolic noises.