Chapter Ten
Port Redmason had just appeared on the horizon when Delauney heard raised voices in the dining room.
“I won’t have it!” Peter’s voice rang through the cabin as Delauney blearily untangled himself from Wes’ embrace. Wes shifted in bed, reaching for the warm spot Delauney had left behind. “How many years have you been in my service? And you can’t do this one thing for me?”
Delauney frowned, pulling on his trousers as he heard the muffled sound of Alain’s response. Peter never raised his voice. He was a quiet, private man, hardly making demands of anyone, even his servants. Delauney couldn’t remember seeing him more than mildly irritated in their entire acquaintance.
Delauney had just reached for the door when the sound of a hand striking flesh cut Alain’s voice short. Wes scrambled up in bed, scowling as Delauney pushed open the door.
Peter stood there, hand upraised, trembling with dawning horror in his eyes. Alain’s left cheek was pink, but they were looking at Peter with concern, hands up in a soothing gesture. Tears threatened to spill in Peter’s eyes as he stared at Alain’s face.
“Peter?” That was Ned, standing in the doorway of their shared quarters. “Was that you just now?” His voice lowered. “Or was that Auguste?”
Peter took a shaky step back. “I... I didn’t... Alain, I’d never...” He turned and tried to push past Ned, who wrapped him in his arms before he could run off. He covered his face with both hands, breathing shakily.
“I’ll handle this,” Ned said. “Delauney, can you speak to Alain?”
Delauney nodded. “Go on.” He approached Alain as Ned pulled Peter back into their rooms, but Wes reached them first. He guided them into one of the dining chairs before pulling out two more for himself and Delauney.
“Are you all right?” Wes asked.
“Yes.” Alain rubbed their cheek. “We’re only sad, that’s all.”
“Has this happened before?” Wes asked. Delauney eyed the door to Ned and Peter’s rooms, but if they were speaking inside, their voices were too soft to hear.
“No.” Alain sighed. “Not with Peter. His father...” Alain eyed Delauney warily.
“His father, Baron Auguste, used to beat his servants. Not us, though. He knew better than to anger our master. But Peter was terrified of his father. He spent most of his summers with his uncle when he could, but even a stern tone can shake him now. This will hurt him dearly. We will have to watch him.”
“I didn’t know that,” Delauney said. Peter had rarely spoken of his childhood. If his father truly had been a monster to his servants, that might explain why Peter seemed so indifferent to the servants in his own household. It was as though he was trying to hide from them by avoiding all contact.
“If you need help, you know you can come to me,” Wes said, as Delauney caught the door to Ned’s room creaking open.
“We know,” Alain said, laying a hand on Wes’ arm. “You have been a true friend to us, Wesley. But Peter will not do this again. Our master will drag this ship into the sea if he does.”
Delauney shuddered.
Ned stepped into the dining room, looking weary. “Alain. Peter would like to apologize for his behavior.”
“If he won’t stop shaking, it helps to massage his hands,” Alain said, rising from their seat. They gave Wes one last, comforting smile before slipping into the room.
Ned paused before following them, his gaze resting on Delauney.
“We’ll talk later,” Delauney said.
Ned closed the door, and Wes put his head in his hands with a ragged sigh.
“I understand that feeling,” Delauney whispered.
The incident with Peter cast a pall over their return to Staria.
Delauney fussed over their notes, working himself into a froth while Wes tried to remind him to eat more than a few bites.
Time had run away from him again. He hadn’t realized how close they’d been to Staria after leaving Madog’s Throne, and he’d been thrown entirely off-guard by Peter’s outburst and the sight of the Starian coast on the horizon.
Ned and Peter seemed to have talked it over, at least, because Peter awkwardly apologized to Delauney as they weighed anchor in the harbor.
“I try not to lose my temper,” Peter said, speaking softly as Ned pretended to toss the baby in the air to shrieks of delight. “I like to think that I’m a better man than that.”
Delauney just patted his knee, unable to find the words.
His own parents were frivolous and vapid at best, but they’d never raised a hand against Delauney, Leo, or their servants.
He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, living in a place where such violence was commonplace.
It didn’t surprise him that Peter was so dejected by his behavior.
An hour later, Delauney stood in front of Ulysse Berger’s home in Port Redmason, trying to resist the urge to turn around and bolt for the ship.
“I don’t know if you’ve taken a breath in half a minute,” Wes said.
Unlike Delauney, he didn’t seem nervous whatsoever, even with one of Lennox’s spies leaving that hideous message for him on Madog’s Throne.
By all accounts, being in Staria again should have been agonizing.
Instead, he looked entirely unbothered in his nicest clothes; a blue vest, dark trousers, and a loose-sleeved shirt that complemented his warm brown skin.
Delauney felt like a jittery peacock in comparison, stuffed into a jacket embroidered with too many flowers and little golden doves.
“Maybe we should turn around and change,” Delauney said.
“No.” Wes placed his hands on Delauney’s shoulders and marched him toward the door. “We’re going to go inside, charm the hell out of a quiet, well-mannered old professor, and get an acceptance into the Aviary.”
“Perhaps the people in Diabolos are right to worship the gods,” Delauney murmured, reaching numbly for the door knocker. “I could use someone to pray to.”
“You’ll be fine,” Wes said. “I sent a messenger as soon as we docked, so he’ll be expecting us. He’s a retired professor, Delauney, not a stone dragon.”
Delauney had barely raised the knocker when the door swung wide, nearly sending him pitching forward. A broad, calloused hand grabbed him by the shirt and held him upright as he flailed for balance.
“All right, then,” a low voice said. “Get in, you two. You’ve been dithering on my doorstep for long enough.”
Delauney stared up at the man holding him off his toes.
Ulysse Berger was not, in fact, an old academic.
He couldn’t be older than forty, with a build more suited to a manual laborer than someone who spent all day poring over books.
He set Delauney down and gestured for him to come inside, dominance threaded in his movements rather than his voice.
Wes and Delauney exchanged bewildered looks behind his back as he led them into a small, cozy house full of manuscripts and tapestries.
“Don’t touch anything,” he said. “Some of those tapestries are older than Staria.”
“What are they doing here?” Wes asked, peering at one featuring a knight being speared by seven demonic men in armor.
“I’m restoring them,” Ulysse said. He led them into a small drawing room, where a small couch lay across from a chair big enough to fit both Delauney and Wes.
Ulysse sank into it, his huge yellow brows pinched over his razor-thin nose.
“So you want into the Aviary, is that it? Let me see what you’ve written. ”
Delauney handed the papers over, too flustered to sit. Wes ended up having to drag him down onto the couch, where Delauney pressed as close to Wes as possible without climbing into his lap.
“Should we...” Delauney cleared his throat as Ulysse looked over the letter. “Should we be explaining our case, or the field of study we want to go into?”
“Astronomy,” Ulysse said shortly. “Possibly physics. It’s clear enough from your introduction. Now be quiet, and no, I don’t have refreshments.”
Wes opened his mouth, possibly to say that they didn’t ask for any, but Delauney smacked his thigh before he could speak.
After an agonizing wait, Ulysse grunted. “Tell me about this spectroscope. I think I’ve seen one before, but I want to hear about it from you.”
Delauney nervously tried to explain. Wes jumped in when Delauney faltered, and between the two of them, they managed to answer a few terse, abrupt questions.
When they were done, Ulysse leaned back in his chair.
“Your methods are all over the place,” he said at last. Delauney felt something heavy crash through him, sinking into his belly like a stone.
“You didn’t try to replicate any of your successes, and you’re missing some foundational skills in practical research.
My time in the Aviary was spent studying textiles of ancient Staria, but I know enough to see that. ”
Delauney stared at the floor. He felt like sinking into the cracks between the floorboards, nothing but a primordial ooze in an expensive jacket.
Wes had encouraged Delauney to trust himself again; even Ned had supported him in the end, and now Ulysse had managed to dash all of their work in less time than it took to brew tea. “Oh,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for—”
“Now, wait here,” Wes said, but Ulysse interrupted both of them, flipping over the paper in his hand.
“You’ll learn all of that in the Aviary, of course,” Ulysse said.
“Most students spend the first few years learning history and theory, but there’s a former professor there who could be convinced to take on an apprenticeship, which will let you continue to run these experiments of yours.
He’s an eccentric sort, and he’s getting on in years, but he’s still in charge of the observatory there. His name’s Monroe.”
“I’m confused,” Delauney said. “Are you rejecting us, or are you suggesting that we apprentice under Professor Monroe?”
“Doctor Monroe, actually,” Ulysse said. “When you attend the Aviary, it’ll be best to assume that most professors are doctors unless you’ve been informed otherwise.”
“When we attend?” Wes asked.