Lucien however, pushed through the doors with an eagerness to escape that wasn't lost on any of them.
The library looked like the scene of some great safari rampage. One of the marble lions lay in shattered pieces all across the room, its shards embedded in the roof and walls, as if it had exploded, and there were three molten puddles of coppery ectoplasm that betrayed the fate of some of the imps.
"Poor Aurelius," Lady Eberhardt murmured, sweeping marble gravel off the daybed. The other marble lion laid a sad head upon her lap as she sat, as if sensing her grief.
Lucien exchanged a look with Miss Martin, whose face remained impressively smooth.
"That's the last of them accounted for," Bishop said, striding into the library. It was unnerving how silently he moved for such a large man. Lucien watched him like a snake. There was no sign of that sensation he'd felt earlier when the man first stepped into the house, but a certain knowing fused his blood, a taste of Foreboding.
This man was dangerous, and whatever Luc was about to learn here, would set them both on a dangerous course.
"Tea, sir?" Maxwell asked.
Lucien nodded, but didn't take his eyes off Bishop as the other man sat directly opposite him. Bishop's hands rested on the arms of his chair, that black chip of obsidian in his prime ring winking at Luc. An adept of the Darker Arts then.
"I feel as though we've met," Bishop said in that scar-rough voice he owned. "Though I'm certain I'd remember you."
"You haven't met." Lady Eberhardt's hands moved briskly as she served them all thick slices of ginger cake with clotted cream. "It was decided that it would be best if you were kept apart until necessary."
"Kept apart?" Lucien asked.
"This is Adrian Bishop, the Prime's bastard son by Mrs. Amelia Bishop, born several years after Drake's divorce," Lady Eberhardt purred, sitting back with her tea and staring him down. "Adrian is one of the Order's Sicarii, and was my apprentice once upon a time."
"Agatha," Bishop said sharply, as if betrayed.
Prime's bastard. Lucien froze. The words echoed in his head like ringing steel, a sense of incredulousness raining about him. Lady Eberhardt had to be joking. She had to be. For that meant that this man was his younger brother.
Not only a... a brother, but a dangerous one too.
A sickle in the shadows, an assassin. Something Luc had never encountered before, but heard plenty about. There were said to be five of them within the Order, those sorcerers whose calling belonged to the Grave arts, who dealt death to serve their Prime. Few knew their identities.
Bishop's lips thinned. "I presume that was necessary?"
"Oh, indeed." Lady Eberhardt clearly hadn't finished yet and gestured toward Lucien in a way that made him suddenly nervous. "And this, Bishop, is Lucien Devereaux, the Earl of Rathbourne and the Prime's firstborn bastard son." Lady Eberhardt's smile was positively cattish. "Say how do you do to your brother, boys."
Bishop's gaze cut sharply toward him, incredulousness sliding over his features and twisting the scars at his temples.
Scars... It was the only resemblance the pair of them had.
"What do you mean, he's my brother?" the other man demanded.
"Why was it decided that they should not know each other?" Miss Martin added. "Who decided such a thing?"
"The Cassandra at the time, Lucien's mother, laid a foretelling upon his birth. Drake would seed three sons, but never know them until it was too late, nor would they know each other. The moment any of his sons met, disaster would begin to befall the Order and the boys." Lady Eberhardt took a sip of her tea, watching them all over the rim of the cup.
"Disaster? Why on earth did you allow this meeting?"
"Because the disaster is already here," Lady Eberhardt replied, her voice deepening until it sounded not at all her own: "When the red comet rules the skies, the Prime shall fall. A new Prime shall Ascend to the head of the Order. Three sons. Three relics. Three sacrifices. Only then can the Prime be torn down.
"There is but one chance to save them. The Snake at the Breast shall cast the first roll of the die, setting the Game into motion, but might be all that holds back the pall of madness. The Thief shall wear a false face, but wield a true heart; and only the Blind One can see how to save the heart of the Mirror."
Silence settled over the room like a mantle, highlighting the steady tick of the clock on the mantle.
"And all of that means...?" Bishop asked.
Lady Eberhardt shrugged. "Clear as muck, I know. Divination usually is. I've been meditating on it for years, and the only thing I've been able to clarify is the fact that the sons refer to Drake's children, and that if they are sacrificed, presumably using the Relics Infernal, then Drake shall fall."
Silence fell.
