13. Stone that Listens
STONE THAT LISTENS
ERIC
F rancesca thinks I’m here because of her family name.
She hasn’t said it outright, but I’m not foolish enough to overlook the nuances within every word she utters—like I’m just another one of my father’s entitled dogs sent to sniff around before obediently being summoned back to his kennel.
I don’t know which I’m more offended about, the thought of being likened to a bastard like Anthony or the idea that I’d ever do anything willingly for the king.
Yet the honest, miserable fucking truth is that I’m not even here for something as clean as strategy. I’m here because my father couldn’t keep his cock out of a woman that isn’t his wife.
And Francesca— terrifying little thing that she is —stares at me as though I’ve got secrets. She doesn’t know the worst one is that this wasn’t my fucking plan either.
The corridors are too quiet as I make my way to my rooms. Either the staff is avoiding me, or the walls are listening to my footsteps.
Could be both, honestly. My thoughts are still with Francesca and where I left her with her steward, an elderly man named Pascoe, who refused to blink at me.
They circle the shape of her smile, lingering around how her eyes flickered when I voiced her fright for the statue in the garden, before finally settling on the way she didn’t flinch when I called her terrifying.
My hand closes around the doorknob, and I stroll into my room to find Kai still lounging on my sofa, though his shoes are kicked off by now.
On the end table, there’s a jumble of crisps and sweets strewn about a tray of fruit and whatever is in the pitcher.
In this light, it appears to be cranberry juice, but after speaking with Francesca, I’m mentally jotting down blood as an option.
An annoying tune comes from the TV, and I don’t even bother identifying it. He looks up when I kick the door shut, lips already contorting into a shit-eating grin.
“How was the sex letter? You’ve been gone forever.”
“And you’re horizontal in my room. The fuck are you still doing here?”
He’s changed into joggers and a T-shirt at least, leaving me feeling overdressed and overwhelmed with all the things I didn’t say during the tour.
I shrug out of my coat and neatly hang it on the rack before kicking off my shoes.
The rug beneath my feet swallows my heavy steps, and I sink onto the edge of my bed.
It exhales at my weight, and I run a tired hand over my face.
Kai starts snapping his fingers. “Eric? The haunted sex letter . Did she let you read her ancestral filth or what?”
I think back to the archives, how thoroughly she unravelled me with just one question. Somehow, she read an ancient letter soaked in equal parts sorrow and a longing for recognition, and managed to find the same poisonous mixture beneath my skin.
My voice comes out rough, and I clear my throat, unsure how to even begin to explain it to my brother, who will no doubt overlook my dilemma in favour of unseriousness.
“She was making a point.”
Kai mutes the TV and, once again, proves me right. “And I’m sure that point was very erect; now tell me what was in the letter, you bastard.”
I’m on my feet before I even realise it.
“Would you shut up? I left you alone for two hours. Two . And what have you done? Sat here like fungus in a pressed suit watching—” I glimpse at the TV and find my heart rate spiking “— Love Island ? All whilst I’ve been trying to make sense of this place, having my soul read like scripture by a girl who can disarm me with one fucking question. ”
And of course, he barely reacts, just gives me a lazy smile and flips the remote in his hand. I watch it hit his knuckle and how he pretends it doesn’t hurt like a bitch. My left eye twitches.
“ Kairos .”
He abandons the remote and sits up. “I’m not entirely useless, alright?
I’ve had three different staff members come by to bring me snacks.
One woman brought tea, and, believe it or not, we conversed .
” He gives a dramatic gasp. “When I asked for honey, she smiled fondly and told me Lady Francesca always takes two spoonfuls in her rooibos tea every night. While you’re out there dissecting politics, I’m learning preference?—”
“And what does preference get me, Kai? Sentimentality?”
“It tells you who she trusts.”
Kai raises a brow, waiting for me to ask. And I do. “Her name?”
“ Lydia . She’s been working for this family for about twenty-five years. Her accent tells me she came from South Africa with Lady Beatrice,” he says matter-of-factly, reaching forward and plucking a grape from the bushel on the platter. “Dare I say, she was the woman’s best friend.”
Preference . His voice echoes irritably in my head as he waits with a knowing glint in his eye.
The word should feel beneath me, petty and small, something I’d file under indulgence or irrelevance.
I’ve been trying to track vulnerabilities, cracks in the marble facade of this family, and yet Kai has effortlessly exposed my oversight with one casual observation on tea and honey.
My eyes narrow. “What else have you learned?”
He chews ever so slow and I’m ever so close to decking him in the fucking face. “Philip brought my wallet; I left it in the car. Jolly man that one is,” Kai snorts, “I asked whether the missing guards were buried behind all the ivy against the walls at the entrance. He didn’t find it funny.”
“Well, that’s a shit joke, now isn’t it?”
“Ah, but it got me intel.” Another grape jumps into his mouth.
“Seemed a little offended, so when a young footman later arrived with my crisps, he told me the ivy on the southern walls hasn’t been trimmed in about two seasons.
They like to keep it wild; Lord Jonathan preferred it that way.
Seems the gardeners still honour a dead man’s wishes. ”
I nearly scoff. For all my conversations with Francesca, Kai appears to have drawn a clearer map based on sentiment alone.
Of course Francesca wouldn’t be moved by probing; she’d be moved by loyalty.
By a maid who always sweetens her tea, without fail.
By men who keep the ivy wild in tribute to a dead father.
I’ve no choice but to admit my brother is right.
Preference is a pathway to trust, and that is my only way out of Sheffolk.
Kai reaches for an apple next and tosses it in the air once. “Well, impressed, brother? I’ve charmed the staff and gathered intel… all while horizontal.”
I don’t look at him right away, only because I’m so close to saying yes .
So close to admitting he’s useful. And fuck me, effective.
I drink in the sight of his sprawled limbs, the carelessness he wears like armour, crafted to defend himself from the king.
It’s been a while since I’ve chosen to do so, but I break through it.
“Why did you come with me, Kai?” I ask flatly, noting how his jaw clenches. “A few days, you said. Why? Don’t insult my intelligence with that ass excuse again. You’re not here for the pomegranates.”
He hesitates, which is telling enough. His lips don’t fully lift into a smile, but he drops the lazy posture.
“Because I know Father sent you to Sheffolk to obediently vanish. He won’t care if you drown alongside this family’s ghosts.
And the only way you’ll avoid drowning is by understanding exactly who surrounds Lady Francesca. I came to gauge the people around her.”
“You know I could’ve easily done that myself.”
“Yeah, by dissecting. Cataloguing. But loyalty is a living, breathing thing.”
I almost tell him that I know that. I’ve known since we were eight years old, and he bit a tutor for mocking my colour-coded notebooks.
The words refuse to move higher than my throat, but I taste them.
Of course I know that loyalty is a living thing.
My brain tells me I can hear it, a heartbeat twelve minutes younger than my own.
I close my lips around the confession and let him continue speaking. He nods as though he heard, regardless.
“I thought if I could find the people who shield Lady Francesca, then I could see who might shield you. You see patterns; I see pulse. Stay near that pulse, and you might just keep yours. Feeling will get you closer to her than logic ever will.”
I focus on the smear of grease on his T-shirt where he wiped what looks like popcorn butter, and there’s a brief, disorienting click in my skull.
New information is shifting into place. Win her people, win her.
It fits a little too well. I look at him (this idiot, this empath, this twin) and realise he’s crossed the usual ocean of indifference between us to keep me from drowning.
I tell myself I would’ve made the discovery myself eventually, but I know that’s a lie.
Kai trusts heartbeats and warmth, and I trust structure. My gratitude comes messy, and I try to file it down into smaller syllables. Something easier.
So I settle on a nod that makes my brother laugh. “Thank you. I’ve misjudged your intentions entirely.”
His grin blooms. “Look at that, full syllables of appreciation. Translation: brilliant job, brother. You’re not entirely ornamental.
I’m tattooing that on my ass. So, are you going to tell me what you have discovered?
Or should I ring up Mother and inform her that I’ve finally bested you at something? ”
“She’d die of shock.”
“And the news that you forced the Sheffolk heiress and her dead aunt to sit through softcore nobility porn will have her clawing her way back like it’s judgement day.
” He hasn’t even finished his bland joke by the time I’m already glowering at him.
“Sorry, sorry, it was just getting a little too mushy. Had to diffuse it somehow.”