Chapter One #2
Petrella had tried to talk him out of staying with Ix, given the charges against their father included summoning a demon to kill the king.
But Eric hadn’t wanted to put any of his other friends in the awkward position of potentially harboring a traitor’s son, no matter that Eric had nothing to do with it, and Ix’s reputation couldn’t exactly be considered even more scandalous than it was already. Besides, Ix had offered.
It did mean Eric had to go across town to see his sister though.
He checked his coin purse: just enough for a carriage fare there and back, though that would empty it.
The weather was already bitingly cold and he only had a light coat since the heavy one had been in storage when the house had been seized.
He grimaced, and braced himself against the razor-sharp whip of the wind as he got out at their aunt’s house.
He ought to have borrowed a scarf out of Ix’s wardrobe, he’d never have noticed.
He swayed on the doorstep for a long moment, up until it started raining, before he knocked.
“She’s upstairs,” said Aunt Geraldine, opening the door. She took his coat, frowning at what she saw on his face.
“Thank you,” said Eric as he let her hug him briefly. “How are you holding up, Auntie?”
“Never mind that, you won’t care what I have to say.
” Aunt Gerry gave him a look. She was their mother’s sister and had never particularly cared about their father even when Mother had been alive, but the twins had always been welcome at hers since they were little.
He had fond memories of visiting her every week for tea and some rounds of cards.
“Before you go see your sister, here. Miss Lydia left this.”
Eric winced as Aunt Gerry handed him a small calling card.
Lydia of Questby was a… well, he didn’t even know what to consider her.
She was the woman who Eric would eventually marry, though on a technicality they were not yet engaged.
Their fathers hated each other, which was probably why no formal betrothal had been agreed upon, but it had been strongly impressed onto both of them growing up that it would happen sooner or later.
The benefits of their houses aligned were too good to pass up: Questby bordered Marrawshire and between them, the two counties held control of the most convenient ports to and from the Continent.
Together, they would have a monopoly on the goods that came from not only the mainland but also countries further east that took caravans across the Continent.
He and Lydia crossed paths frequently enough, though Lydia wasn’t in Ix’s circle, and they were friendly enough.
He escorted her to events enough that people noticed but not so often to imply that a proposal was imminent.
Even after Eric stopped talking to his father, Eric saved at least once dance with her at all the major balls and made a point of being civil to all her friends.
Unsurprisingly, Eric had not seen her at all since Father’s arrest. He’d been putting off what would undoubtedly be a very awkward conversation, but now she had reached out.
“She could have been clearer,” Eric said mournfully, looking at the blank card. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or in hysterics or desperate to wed to gain control of his lands before the king seized them or anything.
“I told her to try at Prince Ixthan’s rooms for a better chance of finding you,” said Aunt Gerry, with a small smile. Probably because Ix didn’t have a very high opinion of her and she knew that if Lydia tried to leave a message with Ix, he would probably shut the door in her face.
Eric squeezed Aunt Gerry’s hand gratefully, before making for the stairs. “I’ll send her a letter as soon as possible. Just don’t let her accost Petra, will you Auntie?”
“Of course not.” Aunt Gerry tsked before he took the stairs three at a time.
“Petra, it’s me,” said Eric with a quick tap on Petra’s bedroom door before opening it.
It occurred to him suddenly that he was behaving like Ixthan, and stopped.
Waited for her muffled reply before walking in.
He found her tucked with her socked feet up in an armchair, staring into the fireplace.
A knitted blanket swaddled her over the pristine day dress she was still wearing, which meant she’d gone out today.
Damn. Eric would have gone with her to the sentencing if he’d known she was going.
Eric observed her for a moment, and wondered if he also looked this bad.
Their shared fair skin, usually punctuated with a rosy blush, was ashy and translucent, the bags under her eyes a deep purple.
Her matching bright copper hair, sagging in its knotted braid, was frizzy from the misty air, and her lips were nearly gray.
Eric didn’t know what to say. What was there to say?
Their father might have been a criminal, a traitor, and a pisspoor excuse for a father, but he was still their father.
Petra had tried harder, had clung onto their childhood memories of him for longer, had tried to help mend their relationship every few months right up until the arrest came.
Eric unlaced his boots, peeling them off and leaving them near the fireplace to dry, and then said decisively, “Move over.”
Petrella squawked with surprise as Eric climbed into her armchair meant for one, forcibly crushing her against the back corner and stepping on the edges of the dress. “Eric! What are you doing?”
Distracting her was the answer, of course, because now Petra was indignant and incredulous instead of just impersonating a sack of potatoes that looked as pathetic as Eric felt.
“Just getting in to mope with you. No, don’t move, there’s plenty of space for both of us,” he said as she elbowed him when he turned the right way around. He squashed himself in on top of her as if they were children again.
“You’re ridiculous!” said Petra, muffled, but it sounded like thank you. She pinched him in the soft part of his side, which probably counted as a hug. “Are you staying?”
“Ow! Not for long, Ix’s got one of his parties tonight,” said Eric, then stopped, remembering the last thing Ixthan had said. “Although, I don’t know if I’m in the mood for it. You?”
“Not this one. It wouldn’t be wise, I don’t think. To attend a demon party the same day as the sentencing.” Petra squeezed his knee. She would never tell him not to do something, but she might phrase her disapproval in a way that made Eric feel stupid for having considered it.
“Oh hells, you’re right. I just – I should have thought of that.” Some days, Eric forgot that Ix was a demon. He was just his best friend, who had always been there. “Will Auntie mind if I stay for dinner?”
The unspoken question was how well Aunt Geraldine was doing this month.
Since she was an unmarried noble-woman living on a limited income, Eric was careful not to stretch her beyond her means.
It was one of the reasons why he was staying with Ix instead of joining Petra here.
Up until three months ago, Father sent her a monthly sum out of goodwill, knowing how close she and their mother was, but most of the family funds had been seized as property of the crown upon a high treason charge.
Eric could expect to inherit little from their father aside from the family title now, and even that was in doubt.
Petra rested her head on his shoulder. “Knowing her, she’s already planned for it.”
Dinner was a quiet affair, comfort taken in the silent companionship of family and the reassurance that no one was going to try and talk to Eric about it.
He breathed in the warming aroma of chicken broth and baked potatoes.
He hadn’t even known he’d needed this simple peace until he had it.
Maybe there was something in Petra staying here instead of the palace.
When Eric made it back to the palace, he discovered that Aunt Gerry had paid the carriage driver upfront.
He was so overcome with both guilt and relief from being able to save a few coin that he made an embarrassing noise in front of the driver, and then scuttled into the palace.
Gods, he was behaving so strangely, he needed to pull himself together.
As he stood alone in the dimness of his rooms, Eric contemplated making an appearance at Ix’s party.
It was no doubt still in full swing at this hour.
Although there were several rooms between his and Ix’s, he could hear the ghost of the music and chatter seeping in through his walls and windows.
He smiled, already able to conjure the image of his friends sitting around Ix’s parlor and chatting.
But somewhere between removing his coat and his boots, Eric’s body grew so heavy that he couldn’t make himself get back up again. Being numb was so tiring.
Groaning, Eric gave up. He tipped himself backwards into the middle of the bed, sprawled on top of the bed covers, and was asleep without even removing his cravat.