Chapter 28 #2
“Don’t make a fool of yourself now.”
Alton held his ground. “And you would be dead without me. We’re even.”
One of the kitchen maids stepped forward. Only a single pace. She hesitated. Looked at Halverton. Then at Clíona. And took another step. Another maid followed, slower. Then a hall boy.
They didn’t all move at once. Not a clean, orderly file. Each member of staff made a choice. Each choice a risk.
Half the household staff stood behind Aoife now.
The butler lingered longer than the others, his face pale, hands tight at his sides, before crossing the floor with quiet, deliberate steps to join them.
The balance of the room shifted.
Halverton’s confidence faltered.
“I do not care,” he said too quickly, too loudly. “I am the master here.” His gaze moved over them, challenging them each in turn.
“If you don’t want to serve me, fine. I will have new servants before the week is out. Have you not noticed that the country is starving? There will be queues to the sea of people begging for your jobs.”
His voice sharpened. “You are all fools.”
There was movement behind him.
Aoife’s attention flicked past his shoulder.
Mrs Harrow stepped forward from the shadows, moving to stand beside Halverton.
“Please,” she said softly.
Too soft for the size of the room.
“Think about what you’re doing.”
Her gaze moved across the staff, one by one.
“There’s no work to be had out there. You’ll starve.”
She turned to Aoife, eyes wide, brows drawn together. “You know what he’s been through—”
“Mrs Harrow.”
Halverton’s voice cut across hers, sharp and final.
“That is enough.”
She faltered. Only for a moment.
She tried again, gentler now, the way she must have spoken to him as a child.
“My lord… if you explained—”
He turned on her so fast that she flinched.
“Do not presume to instruct me,” he hissed.
She blinked, startled.
“I only meant—”
“You are always fussing,” he snapped.
The restraint was gone now.
“Always meddling.”
His voice rose.
“Do not think I do not know who told Aoife my history.”
Mrs Harrow went still.
“I am lord of this house,” he said.
Each word struck hard.
“And I do not require your counsel.”
There was a beat in which he seemed to grow taller, straightening his back and looking down at Mrs Harrow.
“I never have.”
She recoiled, taking a small step back.
Halverton’s voice climbed higher, rough now, jagged.
The housekeeper’s face fell, long-held beliefs crashing down.
“I… I’m sorry, my lord,” she stammered.
“I give orders. You follow them. That is the arrangement.”
Mrs Harrow looked at the floor.
“Get back in line.”
The words hung there.
Mrs Harrow continued to stare at the floor.
“Move,” Halverton snapped.
She didn’t. Alton closed the space between them and placed a steadying hand on her arm.
“We don’t see the world as it is,” he said.
His voice was quiet, meant just for her.
“We see it as we are.”
Mrs Harrow didn’t look at him.
“You saw the good in him,” Alton went on, “because you are good.”
She finally looked up a little at that, meeting Alton’s eyes. Alton gave her a reassuring smile before turning to face Halverton.
“He thinks everyone’s heartless because he is.”
Halverton scowled.
“I couldn’t see it either,” Alton continued. “I excused his behaviour. Told myself it was enough that he was principled. Dignified. Clever.”
He shook his head once.
“But he was never kind.”
Halverton scoffed
“Never good,” Alton emphasised each word. In the silence that followed, Mrs Harrow drew herself up. She looked Halverton in the face, then crossed the space to stand beside Aoife and Clíona.
Alton followed.
Aoife turned to those who remained on Halverton’s side of the hall.
Their attention weighed on her, their uncertainty, the fragile edge they all stood on.
Her voice, when it came, was steady.
“You need to know something.”
A beat.
“Cormac found a warehouse at the docks.”
She let her gaze move across them.
“Full of food.”
A flicker of confusion.
“Lord Halverton hid it from the Empire,” she said, each word was deliberate, “to trade for profit.”
She gave the words a moment to settle.
“You can see for yourselves,” she went on. “There are two ledgers in his office. One for the crown. One for himself.”
Silence broke.
Gasps rippled through the hall, quiet at first, before spreading, gathering.
“He’s not just following orders,” Aoife said, raising her voice a little to be heard above the murmurs.
“He’s getting rich from our hunger.”
More servants stepped away from Halverton.
“You ungrateful filth,” Halverton spat.
Only a handful of servants remained at his side now.
All Eldrossi.
They shifted, unease creeping into their posture, shame flickering across their faces.
At the edge of the hall, Wiren and the other soldiers watched, their expressions unreadable.
Halverton glanced toward them, certain of their allegiance, assured of his position as long as they were present.
Aoife wasn’t so sure.
She turned back to the remaining staff.
“You’ll be welcome among us,” she said.
Her voice was gentler now, but no less firm.
“We aren’t the savages he claims we are.”
She gestured toward the people already gathered behind her.
“Look at them. Your colleagues. Your friends.”
James shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He stood behind Halverton, caught between worlds. Another small push and he’d change sides; she was certain of it.
Aoife held out her hand to him.
“He won’t hurt you again,” she said. “We won’t let him.”
James hesitated.
His gaze flicked to Halverton.
To the others.
Back to Aoife.
He stepped forward. He took only five paces before Halverton moved, seizing James by the arm and dragging him back.
“You are Eldrossi,” he snapped. “You cannot go live among these savages.”
James’ shoulders were tight, braced. He didn’t flinch as he made eye contact with Halverton.
“If you can tell me my name, my lord,” he said. “I’ll stay.”
Halverton’s jaw worked.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing came.
Outside, the lash cracked again, cutting clean through the stillness and Aoife’s heart. This was taking too long.
“His name is James,” Aoife said.
James turned toward her and smiled. A small, certain smile.
Halverton’s face twisted.
With a snarl, he wrenched James back.
He looked at James, hard and searching, as if trying to reconcile what stood in front of him with what he believed should be there.
“You,” he said at last.
Low. Disbelieving.
“When I came here, you were a hall boy who did not know his place.”
His grip tightened.
“Now look at you.”
The shape of the argument was clear to Aoife before he even finished it.
The same one he’d used on her.
I made you.
But that wasn’t what he’d done.
He hadn’t made anything.
He had stripped them down. Forced them into shapes that pleased him against their will.
He saw obedience and called it loyalty.
Saw performance and called it truth.
And never, not once, had he wondered what remained underneath.
“I will make you butler,” Halverton said in a rush; the words sounded desperate to her ears. Several of the staff gasped. James’ eyes went wide. Mr Lanyon muttered something she couldn’t make out.
James turned to Aoife.
“Do not look at her,” Halverton snapped suddenly. “She cannot do anything for you. I know you have ambitions. Stay on as butler; you can hire your own staff.”
Aoife could see the calculation on James’ face; he was tempted by the offer.
The room waited for his answer. Finally, James shook his head.
“I think I’ll take my chances with Miss Aoife.”
“You do not walk away from me.”
James’ jaw tightened. “I think I just did.”
He turned towards her. Halverton lunged. The blow landed hard against the back of James’ head. He staggered. The impact carried: a dull, sickening thud that seemed to hang in the air.
Aoife surged forward. Wiren was faster.
He stepped in and caught Halverton’s wrist mid-swing. His grip was iron.
“That’s enough,” his voice filled the hall.
For a moment, Halverton stared at him.
Disbelief written across his face.
A soldier had touched him. A soldier had stopped him.
Wiren didn’t flinch.
Didn’t look away.
“You’ve blood on your hands already,” he said. “You’ll spill no more here.”
Wiren released his grip with a shove, forcing Halverton to take a few steps back.
Aoife grabbed James by the arm and moved quickly into his line of sight. His eyes were squeezed shut against the pain.
“James, look at me.”
He forced them open.
His focus slipped almost at once, gaze unfixed. He swayed where he stood, breath coming shallow, as though the floor had shifted beneath him. He blinked hard, once, twice, as if trying to clear something that wouldn’t settle.
Aoife tightened her grip, steadying him before he could fall.
She guided him toward the others. Mrs Harrow took him from Aoife, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Clara had said once that they were like a family; the way that the housekeeper looked at James made it all too clear how much the woman cherished the young people in her care.
The remaining staff didn’t hesitate.
The last of the servants crossed the floor, heads lowered.
Kit went straight to check on James.
Halverton stood alone. He looked around at the empty space where they had been, at the line now formed against him.
A laugh broke from him.
“So that is it?” he said.
His gaze landed on Aoife.
“You will follow her now?” He took a step forward. His voice rose again.
“You think she can lead you away from me?”
Another step. When he next spoke, he emphasised each word.
“She cannot even leave.”