Page 36 of House of the Beast

The look on Kaim’s face would have sent most men cowering in fear. “With a rival for my position in the House?”

A shrug. “I was bored.”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

Fion bowed to me, as agreeable as ever despite my cousin’s blatant irritation. “Thank you for the dance, Lady Alma. I’m glad we finally had a chance to talk, after all these years.”

Then he left me alone to face my father, whose expression of displeasure somehow seemed even more pronounced than usual.

“Daughter,” he said. “I think it’s time we had a proper conversation.”

***

UNFORTUNATELY, “FUCK OFF” WAS LIKELY NOT AN APPROPRIATE response when surrounded by the Sorrowsend gentlefolk.

I curbed my distaste, though my voice remained cold. “We have nothing to speak about.”

My father sighed. “Come now, Alma. I realize we have had our differences. Both of us have acted too rashly, but there is still a chance for you to concede before the ceremony of initiation. Under my care, these events would no longer be your responsibility. There is no shame in such a position; I know my men would be thankful to have another powerful vessel to protect them.”

He was trying to sway me with this facsimile of sympathy. The first time in my life he ever came close to showing repentance, and it was for the purpose of manipulating me.

“Thank you,” I said coldly, “but no thank you.”

“You have ambitions. I understand that, of course,” he replied, still in that tone of deliberate compassion.

“I was very much the same in my youth. But sometimes we must rein ourselves in, take things one step at a time. You wish to hunt the Wanderer of Still Waters, but that is quite a task to undertake alone. I, however, have an alliance with House Goldmercy, and I guarantee you will find the glory you seek by cooperating with us. Your cousin Kaim is allied with House Metia, you know.” His eyes searched my face with a care I did not understand until he opened his mouth again.

“I understand your childhood in Merey was a poor one. Would it not be nice to prove yourself against them?”

Anger boiled so quickly to the surface that it staggered me.

He was using my own past against me. All these years of not acknowledging my hardships, of pretending like it had all been erased the moment he brought me into House Avera, and he was finally speaking of them only to try and sway me over to his side.

He was still droning on with his empty platitudes and thinly veiled attempts to instill guilt, but I was no longer listening.

All I wanted was to walk away—because if I didn’t, there was a very real chance that I would hurt him, and that would undo all the work I had put in to make myself presentable this evening.

Someone sidled out from behind him—a familiar figure in funeral robes.

Aster. My eyes widened. I had resigned myself to not seeing him at all again during this banquet—yet here he was, standing behind my father like he’d been there all along.

He brought a finger up to his smiling lips in a mock whisper, as if involving me in a game.

Then, with one smooth motion, he kicked out the ankles of a passing waiter with a tray of refreshments.

With a great yelp, the waiter stumbled into my father, sending his wares spilling all over that pristine black uniform.

In the following moment of chaos, Aster grabbed my hand and pulled me backward into the crowd.

We wove through startled guests craning their heads to see what had happened, all of them far too occupied to pay attention to me.

The poor waiter’s voice drifted over it all, stammering out shrill apologies.

And then we had left it all behind, slipping out of the banquet hall and into a quiet corridor.

It was as opulently decorated as the rest of the hall with massive paintings and embroidered furniture, but blessedly devoid of people.

At this point I had managed to regain my own footing, though Aster had not let go of my hand yet.

We kept a brisk pace, turning corners and ducking through several doorways, darting past rooms upon rooms of marble statues, card tables, books on shelves, and plush sofas.

My pulse was racing, from the anger, and then from our escape.

Finally, a set of glass doors led us out onto a wide balcony with stone benches and pots of manicured flowers.

It was empty, all the activity corralled somewhere else for the night.

I sat on one of the benches and leaned my elbows forward onto my knees. And then I began to laugh.

Lightness bubbled in me. The sight of my father covered in wine and cocktail prawns was enough to erase the anger that had taken root when speaking to him.

And I was relieved. Relieved that Aster was not mad—that he had come to my rescue despite our little spat earlier.

It had reminded me of my childhood: that fateful morning after he had first appeared to me, when he had made faces at my father to prove that only I could see him. He was mine alone.

Aster watched me as my laughter filled the quiet night air.

In this half-lit evening, in his pristine white robes, he truly looked like he did not belong on this mortal plane.

Our escape had not left him short of breath or even slightly rumpled, save for his hair, which fell in an annoyingly attractive way into his eyes.

Amusement was written clearly across his perfect features.

In the distance the lilting sound of a string orchestra drifted from the main banquet hall, and the lights of the city lit up the sky, hiding away the stars.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you,” I managed at last.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said fondly, with none of our previous bitterness left in his voice. I understood that to mean that our fight was now over.

“I thought you were hiding from me,” I said.

He leaned against one of the windows, the light from behind casting his smile into shadow. “I’m sorry. I suppose I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” I said. I had felt completely out of sorts after he left me. The relief from seeing him again, from talking to him normally after our earlier spat, left me deflating against the stone exterior of the banquet hall.

Aster gave me a wry smile. “I’ve had you to myself all these years. It’s strange, watching you become cozy with someone else. And now here you are at this big party, and I can’t be a part of it.”

Now I really felt like shit. I hadn’t intended to make him feel as though I were leaving him behind.

“You know it’s not like that,” I said. “No matter who I meet, no one could ever replace you.”

His smile turned more genuine. “Not even your cousin’s aide?”

Despite myself, I felt a little flutter of delight at his pointed question. Perhaps he truly was jealous—and one could be jealous only if they cared. It was a sweet fantasy to entertain. “So, you saw that.”

“I told you I’d still be with you,” said Aster, turning thoughtful. “He’s made an interesting request.”

“What do you think of it?”

“I think that you should be careful of him as well,” he said decisively. “We don’t know enough to trust him—and no matter what, he is still close to your cousin.”

“All right,” I said, hiding my disappointment. Part of me had wanted to take Fion up on his request. In so many ways, I felt his situation mirrored mine. But I trusted Aster, and I did not want to fight again. “You know, I’ve decided I don’t enjoy banquets.”

“Not even after my contribution to the festivities?” he said. “I think I’d make a wonderful party guest.”

“You mean, you’d enjoy destroying the party,” I jested.

“I’d be the best entertainment they ever had.” Aster pushed himself off the wall. “Right now, though, there is only one thing I want to do.”

He extended me his hand.

I stared for a moment, uncomprehending. Then I had to laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” He pouted. “You danced with your cousin’s unfortunate companion.”

“I felt sorry for him.”

“You don’t feel sorry for me? Alone all these years, without anyone to call a friend until you came along?”

“Fine.” I took his hand; I told myself it was just to stop his pouting.

He would go on for the rest of the evening and probably well into tomorrow if left unchecked.

Yet my traitorous heart stuttered as he held me in a light grip, his hand resting gently upon my waist. He swept me into a dance pose with a playful flourish and began to sway us—and he was perfect at this as well, of course.

I must have looked like an absolute idiot to anyone passing by, twirling around with the empty air.

But Aster hummed along under his breath in tune with the faint music drifting from the main hall, and the sound of it settled something inside me.

I had been worried—first about attending an event like this, and then about the ceremony after he had left me.

But I knew then that there was no way I could ever fail.

When the music faded away, we stilled to a halt, hands still clasped together.

I didn’t want to speak. Didn’t want to break this moment between us, didn’t want this dance to end. But I knew I couldn’t have this. Not really. This yearning in my heart was dangerous. It was time for me to head back.

The ceremony would soon begin.

“You should go,” said Aster softly, releasing me and taking a step back like a proper gentleman. “Thank you for the dance.”

Reluctantly, I stepped away from him, immediately feeling cold in the absence of his touch.

He gave me an exaggerated, courtly bow. “Unfortunately, I have to leave you again. Though they wish to test your connection to your god, I doubt the Heavenseers of House Metia would appreciate actually seeing me by your side.”

Disappointment filled me, but he made sense. I did not want anyone to see him either—or to know about him, or to ask who he was. Especially now, when my heart was still racing from our little dance.

I would be accused of heresy.

But at least I had gotten a taste of what it would have been like to attend this banquet as a regular young lady, and to dance with a boy I fancied.

An experience that my younger self would have surely been overjoyed to have.

It was a gift, and one that I would treasure in secret for the rest of my days.

Steeling myself, I bid him farewell, and watched as he melted into the shadows.

It was as I was making my way back to the main banquet hall alone that I noticed the voices, drifting faintly from somewhere down the hallway.

“...said it yourself. She has no support in the capital or in the umbral plane. I don’t know what you’re so worried about.”

I was not in the habit of poking my head into another’s conversation, but those words coming from that particular voice gave me pause.

I crept quietly toward it, wondering why Fion was speaking about me.

“She’s no match for me in combat,” the voice of my cousin rumbled, low and displeased, from behind a door that hadn’t been pulled completely shut.

I would have been annoyed at his easy dismissal, if not for what he said next.

“But you saw her in the temple. She hears the word of something divine—possibly better than I do, even with you around.”

I stopped a pace or two away, just close enough to peek through the gap in the doorway. The room inside was lit only by a banker’s lamp. Fion was perched on the edge of the desk beside it, his posture relaxed. My cousin stood before him with his arms crossed, tall and imposing.

“How uncommonly modest of you,” said Fion.

“Fion.”

“Kaim,” came the mocking response. “I could confidently say that Lady Alma wasn’t even a minor concern of yours before coming to the capital. What’s changed? You can’t be jealous, can you?”

“She’s unpredictable,” said Kaim stonily. “I won’t be underestimating her, and neither should you.”

“Who says I’m underestimating her?”

“You certainly act like it, dancing with her and making friends ,” Kaim said, his tone darkening. “But if that wasn’t a foolish mistake on your part, then I have to conclude that you are fraternizing with the enemy.”

“Oh, Kaim,” said Fion sweetly. “You already know I’d do anything to get away from you.”

Kaim’s shadow stepped closer to Fion’s. He planted his hands on the desk on either side of Fion’s waist and leaned in.

“I have no choice,” he said, his words strained. “Things will be better when I’m First Hand, I promise you this. I wish you’d see that I—”

I ducked my head and hurried away, suddenly embarrassed. I had not known that my cousin was capable of speaking to anyone like that. It was a moment too vulnerable for an outsider to witness, no matter if my presence had incited it. I had no wish to know of Kaim’s struggles.

Because—as Fion had said—he and I would likely come to blows at some point, and feeling sorry for him was a complication I did not need.

There was a ceremony for me to worry about.