Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Draven
The Aerie
Mess Hall
“Stringer!”
The man jolted, dropping his spoon into his bowl with a splash. Brown droplets sprayed his shirt. His face screwed up in rage, but all expression vanished when he saw Draven approaching.
The constant noise of the commissary had fallen to an unnatural quiet.
“Lord Draven?” he asked, sounding perfectly bland and pleasant as he mopped up the spilled soup.
Draven might have believed the act, but he saw Stringer’s expression. That was loathing. Well, he didn’t need Stringer to be his friend and he didn’t need another devotee. Lemoine was more than enough in that regard.
“Do you have a list for me, or shall I pull the roster myself?”
“Yes, my apologies.” Stringer set the napkin down and rose, his chair scraping along the floor.
“With me,” Draven barked, turning on his heels.
Conversation resumed in the commissary.
Stringer scurried up alongside him and pulled a folded paper from his inner coat pocket. “My apologies, Lord Draven. I have the list here.”
Draven took the offered page and scanned it. None of the names appeared familiar. “Tell me about the latest recruits. How is their training coming along?”
“Good. Some instances of hoarding food but nothing too concerning.”
That happened. Food was plentiful in the Aerie, but newcomers had difficulty believing that they could eat as much as they pleased, whenever they pleased. They hoarded food as a perfectly rational response to having experienced hunger. Draven was not overly concerned by the behavior. It assured him the recruits were genuine and not military spies.
“Madame Lemoine is asking about your wishes for the winter solstice.”
“Lemoine is more than capable of asking me herself,” Draven replied.
“I am also curious. Should we plan for the same as last year, or would Lady Charlotte want something more elaborate?”
Draven’s top lip curled back when the man said Charlotte’s name. There was no hint of impropriety in his voice. Nothing to take offense at. Draven simply disliked how anyone could speak her name.
“What is wrong with how we mark the winter solstice?” he asked. The people of Nexus still celebrate Earth holidays, particularly the winter ones. Draven could remember when they were separate events—Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and so on—but time had blurred them together into one day held on the winter solstice.
In the Aerie, they had a feast. The food was better than the daily fare and the alcohol poured freely. No one had ever suggested that the feast was inadequate. As for Draven, he made the obligatory appearance and retreated to a safe distance. The solstice left him unsettled with Nexus energy at its peak. He hadn’t lost himself and lashed out in rage in years, but why press his luck?
“Nothing is wrong,” Stringer said quickly. “Nothing at all, Lord Draven. Lemoine suggested that your bride might have…expectations. It is a major holiday. I disagree. I think the sooner Lady Charlotte understands our traditions, the better.”
Draven tensed again as Striker uttered Charlotte’s name so casually. “You have a point.”
Stringer’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Good. I’ll tell her to go plan for an ordinary solstice.”
Draven did not listen to Stringer's prattling. The man disliked Lemoine and would question her suggestions if given the opportunity. Their little drama bored Draven. Under normal circumstances, he let them fight it out, but Lemoine rarely wasted his time.
Charlotte would expect a gift. The last time he exchanged gifts with someone he had been human. And on Earth. What could he give Charlotte? She wasn’t interested in trinkets. She desired knowledge, but he already bled out nightly for her. He didn’t know what more he could give in that regard. A party wasn’t enough, but it would be a start.
“Lemoine is correct. We should have a proper winter solstice celebration. I’ll discuss the details with her,” Draven said.
“Are you sure that is wise, consider…” Stringer nodded to the roster list and let his voice trail off.
Yes, considering the events that happened after the last celebration.
“Lemoine is usually correct in these matters. Tell her she may do as she sees fit.” He had a gift to acquire.
Charlotte
The Aerie
Draven’s Library
“Give me your questions,” Draven said, hand outstretched for Charlotte’s list.
He studied the page, ignoring his dinner.
Charlotte picked at the meal, curious which question he would pick. They’d fallen into a routine of him picking one question and crossing it off. There was never a shortage of questions as Charlotte added new questions daily.
Tonight’s meal was a hearty stew with lots of potatoes, chunks of root vegetables, and chicken simmered in a wine-based sauce until tender, accompanied by warm bread and an apple tart. As filling as the meal was, Charlotte did not find it inspiring. This was the third night this week the stew had been served. The winter rather limited the menu to what was in the storeroom and what the greenhouse could provide. She’d kill for a strawberry or a meal that wasn’t stewed chicken. If she complained, she’d sound spoiled. She highly doubted that the general population of the Aerie got chicken stewed in wine, so she kept her complaints to herself.
“What do I miss about Earth?” Draven crossed off the question. “Nothing. Earth was overcrowded, polluted, hot, and otherwise miserable.”
“You must miss something? Sunsets at a special place? One of those entertainment programs?”
He huffed. “I was too busy for television.”
“So you were miserable on a miserable planet and enjoyed your misery?” she asked, calmly buttering a slice of bread.
“I answered your question. Do not be glib because you don’t like the answer to your impertinent question,” he said in a haughty voice. He stirred the stew with a fork before taking a mouthful.
“Forgive the impertinence of my question,” she said, her tone teasing. “There are things I miss about home. I assumed it was a universal experience.”
“What do you miss?” The haughtiness vanished, replaced with curiosity.
“Several things. My father, for one,” she said without hesitation. “I keep thinking, I must tell Papa this. He’d perish from delight if he ever got his hands on your library. I miss my friends.”
“That is a dull answer. I expect better of you, sweetness.”
“If you find my emotional attachments dull, that says more about you than about me,” she replied.
A slight smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
“I miss strawberries.” She dipped the bread into the stew. “Vervain’s greenhouse produces the fruit all year long. I know it’s a luxury most don’t have, but I miss it.”
“Your late husband had an impressive library and strawberries. Your standards are extraordinarily high, sweetness,” he said.
“We’ve established how I feel about your library.”
His eyes sparked with amusement. “Quite.”
She didn’t bother to ask if Draven missed his parents. He never answered personal questions and he’d likely deny he had parents, springing fully formed from the void. Or friends. Instead, she asked, “What was chocolate like?”
“Chocolate?”
“I’ve always been curious. It’s mentioned in several books as being akin to ambrosia, but we don’t have it here.”
“Yes. The seeds didn’t survive the trip. Corrosion and a water leak took out a portion of the seed bank, which I doubt Captain Beckford shared with anyone.” He sighed. “Shame. We don’t have the climate for cacao trees, but we manage to grow coffee, so it could have been done. To answer your question, chocolate is bitter on its own. We sweetened it with sugar and milk to form blocks.”
“Like fudge?”
“Harder, but you have the principle. Wonderfully versatile. We added it to everything, pastries. Melted it down and dipped in strawberries.” He paused, gauging her reaction. She had to admit, a chocolate-dipped strawberry sounded decadent. “Sometimes we drank it hot.”
“But what did it taste like?”
“Like chocolate.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes at his non-answer. “Helpful. Thank you.”
“Warm and nutty. Sweet.” He shook his head. “It’s versatile. There’s no one flavor. I particularly enjoyed chocolate with salted caramel. The bar would be studded with salt crystals and it’s a wonderful contrast to the sweetness.”
They sat for a few moments in silence. Draven continued to push his spoon around the bowl of stew, not eating a great deal and presumably reminiscing about chocolate.
“I’ll miss midwinter in the village. The decorations are lovely. The night market is filled with treats you can only get this time of year,” Charlotte said, describing the village’s holiday celebration with enthusiasm. But it wasn’t the sweets or the ice skating that she’d miss. “Papa and I would read aloud the papers we were working on and give critiques.”
Draven’s brows went up. “Scholarly papers?”
Charlotte nodded. “I know it’s silly, but it started when I was young. Papa was always working, and I wanted to spend time with him, I guess. I’d scribble in a notebook and make up some story and he’d listen.”
She remembered her father’s patient expression and her mother’s smile as Charlotte babbled about whatever fancy caught her imagination. It was one of the few clear memories she had of her mother. That was probably the reason Nathan carried on with the tradition as it grew from indulging a child to two scholars sharing their enthusiasm for their latest research project.
“It’s silly. We should have outgrown it long ago,” she said.
Draven reached across the table and took her hand. “It sounds charming. I miss discussing research with my brother. We were in similar fields, and he often had insights.”
“You’ve mentioned your brother once before.” Charlotte’s entire body perked, hoping that Draven was in a sharing mood. Personal information came in drips and drabs with him.
He yanked his hand away, as if he had been burned, and stood abruptly. “I trust I answered tonight’s question to your satisfaction. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Charlotte sighed when he left the room and served herself a slice of the apple tart. Draven had unintentionally revealed more about himself than he intended. Interesting.