“But Silas, we need to start finding you a—“
“Maris, I said no.”
“Well, are you at least staying long enough so that we can invite the Countess of —“
“Maris.”
Her mouth snapped shut at last, glaring at him.
“I’m not,” he went on succinctly. “I need to be getting back to London before the end of the week, actually. I’ve only come back to deal with the accounts and to make sure that you’re set up with everything you require for the season, darling. And besides, I don’t think I would be very welcome at any table across from the Countess of Crevingsham unless she’s acquired a concussion and no longer remembers the incident involving her sister.”
Across the desk, his sister grumbled. He couldn’t quite make out her words, but he was certain he managed to catchappalling behaviorquickly followed bythinking with your cockbefore her mouth set in a firm line, resembling their mother so entirely that he nearly shuddered.
He and Maris had been told they resembled twins since they were children, and he knew the sour look she was directing at him was likely identical to the one he had given Kestin only minutes earlier. Her silver-white hair was twisted into a thick plait that began at her temples, the long length of it winding back up to curl around her head like a crown. The white veining shot through her ebony skin was dusted in a powder that gave it a luminous glow, and her lips were painted to look like plump cherries. The only marked difference in their outward appearance was her slightness, her wings more angular, taking on the guise of a bird rather than a bat. She’d had her horns capped in silver the previous winter, and Silas was forced to admit that the effect — her crown-like hair, the winking silver, her haughty expression – coalesced into something more lord-like than he probably managed on a day-to-day basis.All the better. Proof that your plan is a good one.
“I’ll be reviewing the accounts tomorrow evening,” he pushed on, changing the subject to things that actually mattered. “You have unlimited access and absolute authority in my absence, you know that. Don’t let me come back here to find little Silas sleeping in a cradlenotadorned with moonstones and silver, so you understand?”
She laughed, her hands landing on the swell of her stomach almost without her conscious choice. She was looking well, he thought. Silas knew she was worried. Their mother had died in childbirth, the egg she’d been carrying never hatching, a double loss from which their father never recovered. He’d not been lying to Eleanor Eastwick when he’d offered his condolences, knowing exactly the burden that rested on her attractive shoulders. His sister was well-positioned to carry on the family line, and if at least one of her children were named after him, he would be satisfied.
“I think it’s a girl. I don’t know why, it’s just a feeling I have . . . Have you heard from Cadmus?” Her voice softened, and Silas nodded, indicating the unopened parchment on the desk before him.
“I have, although I’ve not read it yet. I think it’s safe to assume he’s not dead if we’re still receiving things.”
Maris huffed. “Don’t even joke about something like that! How dreadful. He sent me the loveliest dress. It’s bright blue, like a peacock, and hand-painted. The embroidery around the neckline has little shells in it – shells! The tiniest little things, right from the sea! It’s so beautiful. I’ve no idea where I’ll have a chance to wear it, or even if it will fit me right now, and it’s so exotic, but I love it. I do miss him so, Silas. Can’t you write to him? Ask him to come home?”
“This isn’t his home, Maris. It never was. It wasn’t his life. Mother made certain he knew that. He has his own life out there, somewhere.”
His sister lowered her eyes, and the silence that hung between them held the extra weight of their absent eldest sibling.
“We need to plan a ball,” she began after a moment in a slow, measured voice, quickly raising a placating hand. “Not for this week, obviously. Sometime this spring. Pick a week when you’re not needed in London, preferably after the rainy season, and I can begin planning it. We need to find you a wife, Silas. It’s far past time that you wed.”
“It sounds like you’re attempting to trot me out like some prize-winning spaniel. Does a collar come with this ball of yours?”
“The Monsters Ball is coming up, is it not?” she sniffed after a long moment of glaring at him. “I do hope you are prepared? At this point, I don’t even care who you marry, only that you do. It’s bad enough that you brokered my marriage like some bloody banker, but now you expect me to beyourbroodmare. It’s horribly unfair, Silas.”
“It’s almost as if you’re not enjoying married life, dear. Someone should let Luenn know.”
“You can go right ahead and do that,” she shot back, “because we all know he’s your chosen puppet. I don’t know what game you’re playing at Silas, but you’re not a child anymore. It’s time to do your part.Youhave a duty to the family name.”
Silas opened his mouth to speak, but his sister didn’t give him a chance, plowing on, barely taking a breath.
“You sent me out for my season, and I married the man you hand-picked for me without complaint because I knew that wasmyrole. My duty to the family. Now I’m carrying a child who’ll end up as your ward because you don’t have an heir. And again, that’s my duty. If you don’t come home from the Monster’s Ball with a fiancée, then I’m planning a ball upon your return, and youwillmarry someone. Perhaps ofmychoosing, just to even things off a bit. I don’t even care if she can bear your child. I’ll be sure to give you another with your bloody name. I’ve done my duty, Silas. It’s time to stop faffing about and do yours.”
By the time Maris left, his head was throbbing. The most annoying bit was that he knew she was right. He was doing a horrible job at carrying out his duty to the family name, and he was being terribly unfair to his sister. It only feels unfair right now. When she’s wearing the title, it will all make sense.Slicing open the letter from his brother, Silas pushed away thoughts of his sister’s plan for him. His plan for her was far more prescient, after all.
Little brother,
I’m writing to you from the balcony of a pleasure house, one of great repute, where I have spent far too much coin in the past several days. Days in which I’ve only been vertical for short bursts at a time, just long enough to eat and replenish my energy. There is a courtesier here for every act and appetite, no matter how deviant. The young lady whose company I enjoyed this morning boasted that after suffering from a choking accident when she was just a girl, she had no gag reflex to speak of. I took her bet, and I’m quite delighted to report that she did not, in fact, have a gag reflex.
Below the window, as I’m writing, there is a fight taking place in the street. One man has a pistol, while the other is in possession of the sort of sword that can take a man’s arm off before he has the time to pull his trigger. I’m quite certain the fellow with the pistol is unaware of this fact, but he’s likely about to learn in the most unfortunate manner.
All of which is a very long way of telling you that you would love it here. Bear in mind, I still think your plan is utter madness and that you need to come to your senses. I shudder to think of how much weight you would shed and coin you would spend in a port like this. We’ll find you at the end of the first month in some back alley, emaciated and dehydrated, your purse empty and your cock reduced to pulp, so perhaps it is a relief that you are on the other side of the world.
We’re going to be traveling off-realm soon. I know that means little to you, for the magic contained at sea is not something one would ever encounter in Londonderry. Captains of the star sea are less predictable than those who journey by water, and it’s always a delicate dance, mixing with them and not causing inadvertent offense. Suffice it to say it is dangerous, and I hope to be back in our own realm relatively quickly.
I expect to find correspondence from you at our next port of call, Perico, where you’ve left letters before. In the event that there is not, I shall simply have to find a better recipient for the package I intended on sending ahead. I’ll be sending a parcel for Maris from there, with the Basingstone address. Please see that it finds its way to her.
It’s not too late to set a better course for your life, Silas. The only obstacle you’ve ever had is your own bloody head. Put away these foolish plans of yours and start looking to the future of your legacy in a manner that doesn’t include bedding the wife of every other lord in the countryside.
