Chapter 12 #2
She managed a polite smile and said nothing. Tonight was important; she knew that. She knew Halverton needed these men to leave impressed.
Severcombe seemed to take her silence as an invitation. He moved a step closer. “No need for modesty,” he murmured. “You’re quite a jewel. Halverton’s been hiding you.”
His hand moved to her waist.
Aoife’s heart thudded, her breath coming fast and shallow. Her mind went blank as the man’s thumb stroked gently over the silk of her dress.
“You must know every inch of this house. All the places one could go if one didn’t want to be found.”
Her thoughts snapped into place. She didn’t want to embarrass Halverton, but she would not stand here and take this.
She replied louder than necessary in her best crisp and elegant Eldrossi, pretending she hadn’t understood his intentions.
“I’m sure Lord Halverton would give you a tour if you asked.”
Halverton looked towards her at his name.
From the look he gave her, she had nailed the accent.
His eyes dipped to Lord Severcombe’s hand at her waist. He was moving towards them in a flash.
Severcombe smiled. “That’s not exactly—”
Halverton crossed the room in three long, controlled strides.
“Remove your hand,” he said, his voice a blade sheathed in silk.
Severcombe raised his hands in mock surrender. “No offence meant.”
Halverton’s jaw clenched, tension rolling off him.
Before it went further, Montbrass intervened with an easy laugh, throwing an arm around Severcombe’s shoulders.
“Come now, we’re guests,” Montbrass boomed. “Let’s talk of topics less likely to start bloodshed before dinner.”
He steered the conversation toward the countryside instead, and the tension eased by degrees.
“It’s greener than I expected,” Lady Montbrass said. “Everyone warns you about the rain, but no one told me about the wind. Nearly blew my hat off at the cliffs.”
Lady Severcombe nodded vigorously. “Oh, we must go to the cliffs. And the beaches too—don’t give me that look, darling, I didn’t come all this way to see barren fields.”
Lord Severcombe smiled indulgently. “The fields aren’t barren everywhere.”
“Quite barren where we were last week,” Lady Severcombe said, swirling her drink. “Farmsteads empty. Villages half-abandoned.”
Aoife’s breath caught. She glanced at Halverton. He was listening.
Hope flickered in her chest. They knew what was happening. The empire knew. Things would change now.
Montbrass sighed heavily. “Terrible, truly. We passed three villages with barely a child in sight. The blighted roots rotting in the fields.”
Aoife stood straighter, pulse quickening.
Halverton nodded gravely, slipping seamlessly into the conversation. “It is the same here. The crop failures have made quotas difficult.”
Montbrass chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, you’re doing better than most, old boy. You must be quite the administrator.”
Halverton lifted his chin, a hint of pride shining through. “Only doing my duty,” he said lightly, though satisfaction warmed every syllable.
Aoife watched him, her hands growing tight around her glass.
They were talking about famine as if it were the weather.
As if it were an inconvenience.
As if it weren’t killing the people outside these walls.
But at least they knew.
At least the words were out in the open now.
And she listened with a sharp, hungry hope.
“Still,” Lord Montbrass went on, “we’ve seen areas that are thriving. The murreroot might have failed, but there are other crops that are flourishing.”
“Those areas are few and far between,” Halverton objected.
“Come, sir. You must admit, it’s hardly the desolation everyone claims.”
Aoife clenched her hands at her sides. Her pulse drummed in her ears.
So they weren’t touring to assess the famine’s toll, but to test whether the landlords had exaggerated it, and to find ways to squeeze more from a starving land.
Halverton spoke before she could. “The farmers have to eat too,” he said mildly. “If they die, there will be no one left to work the fields. We can not ship out everything we grow.”
Aoife looked up at him. It wasn’t enough. She wished he’d realise people needed more to live on that what he was leaving them, but at least he understood a fraction of the truth.
“I hope you don’t talk like that around your tenants. Can’t have them thinking you’re going soft,” Lord Severcombe elbowed Halverton in the ribs, a teasing gesture. Halverton scowled.
“I’d hate to see a repeat of Drummers,” Lord Montbrass said. “It had to be done, of course. You let one village get away with not meeting their obligations, the rest will follow.”
Halverton’s expression hardened. “It was a reckless decision.”
“Now, now,” Lord Montbrass chided, “the prefect did the best he could in trying circumstances.”
“He lost control. Burning a village to the ground is the behaviour of a desperate man.” The pieces slipped into place; they were speaking about Dromdara. Aoife’s blood turned cold.
“They won’t try it again though, eh?” Severcombe said jovially.
“They won’t respect him either.” Aoife was surprised how much Halverton was speaking up. She’d expected him to go along with whatever the visiting lords said, had expected his beliefs to align perfectly with theirs.
“Fear is more powerful than respect,” Montbrass said, raising his glass as if in a toast. Perhaps he had hoped to end the conversation there, but Halverton went on.
“Fear is a tool. I use it myself. But the secret is never to let them think you’ve lost control. Once they see weakness, you’ve already failed.”
Aoife lowered her gaze, her face carefully blank. Cold pressed deeper into her ribs.
A moment later, Lady Montbrass and Lady Severcombe, bored with the men’s talk, descended upon her like brightly coloured birds, linking arms with her before she could protest.
“Come along, my dear,” Lady Montbrass said, guiding her toward a display cabinet. “We must see you properly before dinner.”
Aoife allowed herself to be swept along.
Their conversation fluttered around her, lighting on topics she had no grasp of, from silks and soirees in the capital to the rising cost of imported tea.
Aoife smiled when they looked her way, nodded when it seemed expected, hoping her face revealed nothing of her bewilderment.
“I can’t wait to return to Velmora and buy new clothes. His lordship refuses to buy anything while we’re here,” Lady Severcombe said, smoothing the lavender fabric of her gown, which Aoife noted did not have the full skirt hers did. At last, a topic she might know an iota about.
“Lord Montbrass couldn’t believe the price the tailor quoted him for a dress in the new style,” Lady Montbrass said. “I had to remind him beauty is expensive. He finally conceded, but said I could only have one.” She sulked like a toddler.
“I adore the new wide-cut skirts,” Aoife told them, placing her hands behind to emphasises their fullness. “They are so flattering.”
Lady Severcombe nodded eagerly. “A girl with taste. Emerald suits you, by the way.”
“Lord Halverton’s choice,” she smiled. “He was generous enough to buy five new gowns.”
Lady Montbrass’s eyes lit up. “Oh, how I envy you.”
Aoife smiled, resisting the urge to laugh. She would have to thank Clara later.
Across the room, she caught Halverton watching her. When their eyes met, he offered her a smile. He looked pleased, proud, almost relieved. For a moment, Aoife stood a little straighter. So far she had played the part well.
The butler appeared in the doorway, bowing with precise formality.
“Dinner is served.”
The ladies released her, adjusting jewels and skirts as they took their husbands by the arm and moved toward the dining room in a sweep of satin and perfume.
Halverton appeared at her side, and as she looped her hand around the crook of his elbow, he looked down at her.
“I’m impressed,” he said, voice low, meant for her alone.
“If you can be this composed at dinner, I imagine the village will have a pleasant surprise tomorrow.”