4. Lazarus
Iwatch them from across the terrace, nursing a glass of whisky that’s gone warm in my hand. The ice melted an hour ago, but I haven’t moved from this spot. I haven’t been able to tear my eyes away from the spectacle unfolding before me.
Konstantine has his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as they laugh at something one of the senators said.
The dress she is wearing is backless and I can see from how her perfect skin glistens in the sun that she hasn’t been tested, hasn’t been purified by the Guardians. We can all see it.
It’s an insult. An abomination.
They spit in the face of all our history, our rituals, our heritage.
Did she beg him not to endure it? Or was he so pathetically protective of her that he would risk insulting God himself just to keep her happy?
She tilts her head back, exposing the elegant line of her throat and even from here, I can see the way his fingers tighten possessively on her hip. The way his entire body angles toward her like she’s the sun, and he’s nothing but a planet caught in her gravitational pull.
It’s fucking nauseating.
Ines catches my stare and smiles, one of those dazzling, practiced things that probably works on everyone else.
Her blue eyes, startlingly bright against her brown skin, hold mine for a beat too long before she whispers something in Konstantine’s ear.
He glances over, and for a moment I’m looking at my own face.
Same sharp jawline, same brown hair falling past our shoulders, same dark eyes that our father used to say could see straight through to a person’s soul.
Except Konstantine’s eyes don’t see shit anymore. Not when it comes to her.
He raises his glass in my direction, that easy grin spreading across his face.
I return the gesture because he’s my brother, and because if I don’t then she will win, won’t she? But I slither away all the same, wandering to the shade, to where I no longer have to endure them.
And I drain the rest of my whisky in silence. In peace too.
“You’re being rude.”
The voice comes from behind me, melodic and warm, with just a hint of an accent that speaks of expensive European boarding schools and summers spent in the South of France. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s her.
“Am I?” I keep my gaze fixed on the sprawling, pristine garden in front of us. “I thought I was being appropriately distant.”
She moves to stand beside me, close enough that I can smell her perfume, something floral and complex, something that lingers. Her braids are swept up tonight, secured with what looks like actual diamonds, and the dress she’s wearing is the colour of blood.
It’s fitting. Very fitting.
“He misses you,” she says softly. “He talks about you constantly. About how you used to do everything together, how you were inseparable.”
“Were being the operative word.” I say stupidly. I’m giving her ammunition. Weapons to use against me.
“Because of me.”
I finally look at her. Up close, she’s even more striking than from a distance. The kind of beautiful that makes men stupid, makes them forget about duty and honour and the promises they made to their dying fathers. Her blue eyes study me with an intelligence that sets my teeth on edge.
I want to put them out. I want to destroy that beauty, destroy all of her.
She’s not stupid. No, Ines is anything but that, and I think that’s the problem. I can’t put it down to naivety, I can’t put it down to selfishness. She isn’t wrapping my brother around her finger because she’s as lovesick as he is.
She’s after something.
She’s always after something.
“You said it, not me.” I say, studying the micro-expression as it flickers across her face. God, she’s good. Really fucking good.
She laughs, and it’s a genuine sound, not the practiced trill she uses with the senators and their wives. “I like you, Lazarus. You don’t pretend.”
“Unlike everyone else here?”
“Unlike everyone else here,” she agrees.
She leans against the railing, her posture relaxed, as if we’re old friends sharing confidences.
“They all smile, congratulate us, and tell Konstantine how lucky he is, and then they whisper behind our backs about how inappropriate the match is. How my family is unsuitable. How I’m going to corrupt him somehow. ”
“Aren’t you?”
Her smile doesn’t falter. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“Probably not.”
“At least you’re honest.” She tilts her head, studying me with those unsettling eyes. “Your father didn’t want us to marry. Did you know that?”
Of course I fucking know that. I was there, in that room that already smelled of death when our father grabbed Konstantine’s hand and made him promise. When he made him swear that he wouldn’t go through with it, that he’d break it off with the girl who was going to destroy everything.
Konstantine had nodded, tears streaming down his face, and said yes. Said he’d do it.
But barely three months later and they’re married.
“Konstantine told me everything.” She continues, as if we’re conspirators, as if we’re bosom buddies, baring out souls to one another. “…about the promise, about your father’s concerns, about how the Senate thinks I’m some kind of Trojan horse sent to infiltrate your family.”
“And are you?”
She turns to face me fully now, and there’s something in her expression that I can’t quite read. Something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“I love him,” she says, and there’s a fierceness in her voice that almost sounds genuine.
“I love him more than anything in this world. More than my family’s land holdings, more than their political connections, more than any amount of power or influence.
When I’m with him, nothing else matters. Nothing else exists.”
“And that’s what concerns me.”
Her eyebrows lift. “That I love your brother?”
“That he’s so fucking obsessed with you that he can’t see straight anymore.
” The words come out harsher than I intended, but I don’t take them back.
“He broke a deathbed promise for you. He went against everything our Father wanted, everything the Senate advised. He’s willing to risk the stability of the entire Brethren because he can’t stand the thought of being without you. ”
“Would you rather he married someone he didn’t love? Someone appropriate and boring who would give him heirs and never challenge him?”
“I’d rather he married someone who didn’t make him forget who the fuck he is.”
The words hang between us, sharp and cutting. For a moment, something flickers across her face; anger, maybe, or hurt, but it’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it.
“You think I’ve changed him,” she says quietly.
“I know you have.”
“People change when they fall in love, Laz. That’s not manipulation, that’s just what happens.”
“There’s a difference between change and complete transformation.
” I set my empty glass down on the railing with more force than necessary.
“My brother used to care about duty, about responsibility, about the legacy our father left us. Now all he cares about is you. You’re all he talks about, all he thinks about.
He’s made you the centre of his entire fucking universe, and that kind of obsession isn’t healthy. It’s dangerous.”
“For whom?”
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“Dangerous for whom?” She steps closer, and I have to resist the urge to back away. “For Konstantine? For your family? For the precious Brethren?” Her voice drops lower. “Or dangerous for you, because you’re losing your twin brother to someone else?”
I could laugh, I could throw my head back and laugh in her face at the absurdity of those words. She really thinks that’s what’s driving me? “This isn’t about jealousy.”
“Isn’t it?” She tilts her head, studying me like I’m some kind of fascinating specimen.
“You’re identical, aren’t you? Same face, same voice, same DNA.
You’ve spent your entire lives being two halves of the same whole.
And now he’s found someone who makes him feel complete without you, and you can’t stand it. ”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” She reaches out, and before I can pull away, her fingers brush against my jaw.
The touch is light, almost gentle, and it lingers far too fucking long.
“You look at me and you see a threat. Someone who’s stolen your brother away.
Someone who’s corrupted him, changed him into something you don’t recognize anymore. ”
I grab her wrist, pulling her hand away from my face. “Stay away from me.”
“I’m not your enemy, Laz.” Her voice is soft, almost pleading. “I want us to be family. I want you to trust me, to see that I only want what’s best for Konstantine, what’s best for you too.”
“What’s best for Konstantine is for him to remember who he is. What he’s responsible for. The Brethren is falling apart while he’s here, making moon eyes at you.”
“He knows exactly who he is.” She pulls her wrist free from my grip, and there’s steel in her voice now. “He’s a man in love with his wife. A man who’s finally found something worth more than duty, obligation, and living up to his father’s impossible expectations.”
“Love doesn’t excuse breaking promises. It doesn’t excuse abandoning responsibility. Not when he is who he is. He’s the Grand Fucking Master, not some nobody.”
“He is,” she agrees. “But love is what makes his life worthwhile.”
Before I can respond Konstantine appears at her side, sliding his arm around her waist with the ease of long practice. He’s smiling, but there’s concern in his eyes as he looks between us.
“Everything okay here?” He directs the question at me, but his hand tightens on Ines’s hip in a gesture that’s pure possession.
“Fine,” I say shortly. “Your wife was just trying to convince me that you haven’t completely lost your mind.”
“Laz…” Ines begins.
“I need another drink.” I go to push past them but Konstantine grabs my arm, pulling me back.
“Don’t you have a certain job to do?” He says pointedly.
I narrow my eyes, and a part of me wants to hit him, wants to lash out. But he’s my Grand Master, and he’s right. I grit my teeth, glaring at them both and storm off.
Drinking won’t get my to-do list done. Drinking won’t ease the voice in my head about her. Drinking only makes this worse.
“I’ll get to it.” I half-snarl over my shoulder
“See that you do.” He says. “And make sure no one sees you.”
Like I need him to tell me that. Get in, get stabby, get out. That’s the plan. That’s what we agreed.
I shake my head, and walk away while my gut still screams about Ines, that she’s the real threat here, that she is playing a game none of us can see yet.