‘Usher,’ a voice commanded.
Louve fought the urge to pivot immediately. If he did, it would only look as though he had something to hide. And right now, he didn’t. His thoughts, however... Biedeluue and the way he felt about her must stay hidden. If Ian of Warstone knew he was beset by the kiss they’d almost shared that morning, Ian would make Bied’s death the evening’s entertainment. Or worse, the parents would make it theirs.
All day, his heart had beat unsteadily, his senses staying on alert, as the Lord and Lady Warstone surrounded Balthus and never left his side. If he watched too long, he swore he could see them circling their son like vultures. But Ian, who was reported to be the favourite at least with the father, was always out of reach.
Oh, he was sitting in the same room and conversing with them, but by the angle of his body, the position of the chairs or simply by the way they stood showed that his parents didn’t dote on him as they did Balthus.
Which made up, down and nothing safe. Louve questioned everything. Balthus in Troyes apologising to Reynold, reporting that Ian had attempted to murder him. Vowing that he’d do anything to bring down the Warstones. Now it appeared as though he’d been welcomed back into the fold.
Who was the villain? Did he have any allies left or should he depart at first dark and leave the parchment behind? With the full fortress, there was no opportunity to search for it. There was no one to watch his back and if he let his thoughts drift this way, he’d certainly go mad. He had to trust his friendship with Reynold, needed to give some faith to Balthus. Or else...
The poor servant standing in front of him was quaking and Ian was still waiting to be acknowledged. Louve spit out a few more instructions as he pointed behind him, as if the boy needed to know where to go. But he took the hint well enough and left immediately.
When Louve turned, Ian was at his back.
‘Balthus is occupied.’ Ian’s pale eyes were without emotion. ‘My parents rest and we need to talk.’
Where was Balthus? Louve didn’t hesitate to follow Ian to more private chambers. From the back he so reminded him of Reynold. Slim build, black hair, clothes that cost what a tenant made in a year or two.
It was far past time that he and Ian came face to face without an audience. Now it was a matter of if the game continued. He’d learnt to play this game by waiting. He needed for all their sakes to keep the upper hand.
Except, after sharing that one kiss with Bied and being left wanting more, the game didn’t hold any allure for him right now. Distractions. There were too many players and Bied and her family needed to be taken off the board, immediately. Negotiating with the eldest Warstone brother was the only way to do that.
Down a long corridor they walked to a room Louve had never entered. It was dark, unlit except for the slice of light coming in from the archer’s window where Ian strode to look outside. Louve kept his back to the door and closed it without turning around. Warstones struck at a moment’s notice. He wouldn’t give Ian the chance.
‘You walk like your brother, though your movements are less refined than his,’ Louve said.
Ian turned on a chuckle. ‘I didn’t know what to make of you.’
‘You think one sentence provides you with the answers?’
‘It eliminates some lies, which helps reveal a truth. Or at least the truth for now, which is all we ever get.’
‘Do you read the great philosophers as well?’ Louve said.
Shaking his head, Ian said, ‘No, nothing like my brother. How is Reynold?’
‘Alive.’
Ian raised a brow. ‘Loyal, but I already knew that.’
‘You asked me here—what do you want?’
‘Impatient. Which I didn’t know.’
Louve crossed his arms and leaned against the door. If they played word games, it would be an excruciatingly hazardous conversation. One where either of them was bound to make a mistake and expose a vulnerability.
Ian sighed. ‘I want to be your friend.’
Louve just bit back his laugh. It would not have been one with any humour and completely out of place, but the words...from a Warstone!
‘I see you’re surprised. Perhaps friend was too strong of a bond?’
This man as an ally? Never. ‘You say the word friend and all I’m waiting for is a dagger to be thrown.’
Ian stared, his brows drawing in. ‘Would acquaintance do? Or ally?’
Louve shook his head. ‘All are equally unacceptable and completely without merit. What am I doing here, Ian of Warstone?’
‘Aren’t I to ask the question of why Reynold sent you here? I have guessed it has to do with my death.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘Here I am.’
The temptation was there. ‘Why did you allow your Steward to leave and your parents to arrive?’
Ian smirked. ‘My Steward is off obtaining my favourite goblets, of course. But his sudden absence was clever of me. Whatever you’re doing here, you’d need more of a challenge. Distractions such as the Steward’s departure are useful, but deadly ones are better. And my parents are deadly, don’t forget.’
Something wasn’t right about the Steward’s departure. He’d been eager to leave the fortress before he had talked to Ian to gain permission to do so. Perhaps it was always Ian’s intent for the Steward to leave when Louve arrived, but it was too convenient. The Steward’s mystery, however, could wait.
‘Your parents seem attentive to Balthus at the moment,’ Louve said.
‘That bandage has been too long on his hand—I hope it is not ruined. But at least he has the other one, hmm?’ Ian held up both hands for Louve to inspect.
The deep scar made from flames on the left hand was there like on all the brothers. Except Ian had one on his right hand as well. Both hands held to fire to prove Warstone loyalty.
Standing near the lone torch, Ian waved one hand after another over it. His expression was pleasant, as if this was some pastoral day with blue skies and birdsong. The room filled with the stench, but Louve refused to comment.
For years, he’d surmised the Warstones were mad. The risks they took, the games they played. He feared he’d go mad merely playing along with them. But with utter certainty, Ian of Warstone was conflicted.
‘My mother burned my hand so frequently, I can’t feel anything,’ Ian said. ‘I was the first, you see, and she did it differently with me. Not for as long as my brothers, certainly not like Balthus, but more frequently. I’ve kept my movement as a result, but now anything could happen to these hands and it wouldn’t matter.’
That woman was in this house, with Biedeluue, with Tess, with a red-headed boy and the cook who grieved. The need to protect burned through Louve, shocking him with the intensity and the rightness of it. But he feared anything he said would reveal that, so he kept quiet.
‘Do you know what it’s like to feel nothing?’ Ian said. ‘I suppose you don’t. You weren’t raised by monsters.’
What he had seen of Ian’s father... He seemed jovial, almost happy to be in his sons’ company. His mother had the imperious voice and needs of the privileged. Monsters? He hadn’t seen it, but apparently, he hadn’t been looking closely enough.
‘We all have parents who are different,’ Louve said. ‘What is the point of this conversation?’
Ian took his hand off the flame and sat on the lone bench. ‘Aren’t you tired of it all?’
‘Tired of what?’
‘All the games.’ Ian rested his hands, palms upwards, on his knees. ‘Every day. Every breath taken has been a game. I have had to ask since I was three—will this be the last time I see the sky? I’m the one who married and had children first. I’m the one who wants something better. If I die...what is to become of them?’
‘Why tell me this, and not your brothers? Balthus is right here.’
Ian studied him in that Warstone way. ‘You’re cunning. That’s a surprise. I thought it was your loyalty Reynold saw in you, but there’s more, isn’t there?’
Louve stayed quiet, all too used to Warstones voicing their reflections. To others it would seem like mere intimidation or very one-sided conversations. But after years in Reynold’s company, he realised that it was indeed how they talked. As if they enjoyed revealing a little of their madness. It was the direction of their private thoughts, the ones they never voiced, that terrified him.
‘I can’t simply interact with my brothers. Guy was the worst,’ Ian continued. ‘I could not approach the mercenaries surrounding his gates, let alone the man himself. Balthus is too trusting and so can’t be trusted. Not until he knew I was sincere. And it might take some time for Balthus to forgive me after I sent the archer after him.’
‘What of Reynold?’
‘I tried to contact Reynold.’ Ian raised his brow. ‘You don’t believe me? I know he received my messages and I know what he did afterwards. Just this year, in Paris, I let him know I was near in case he wanted to talk.’
‘You sent no message to Paris. I was there, why would you lie?’
Ian’s brows lowered. ‘No lie. It was my arrow that felled that messenger by his gates. My brother would have known that that was my arrow for I made the notches myself.’
Louve felt sick. Even after all this time, and all the acts he had committed to survive, in the hope for something better, this one act almost brought him to his knees.
Eude, a fellow mercenary and friend, was always restless and needed the long journeys Reynold required of him. He was a good warrior, an excellent rider and absolutely begged not to do stable duty.
‘You killed a man because you wanted to leave a message?’ Louve sneered. ‘Isn’t that the most idiotic logic I’ve ever witnessed? Your brother never saw that arrow because I disposed of his body. He didn’t learn of your presence until long afterwards.’
‘Pity,’ Ian said. ‘That was as close as I ever dared to reach Reynold personally.’
No light of remorse or shame. Ian’s eyes were as dead as they’d ever been and Louve wanted to slam his fist into his jaw until Ian’s teeth disintegrated.
‘Anger?’ Ian said. ‘You are fascinating. Especially since you’ve repeatedly insulted me.’
‘Friends insult each other,’ Louve said.
‘So do enemies,’ Ian said.
‘Enemies don’t tell each other of their family life,’ Louve said. ‘Would it help for you to know I came from a happy one? My mother sang, my father liked when the pork skin was extra crispy. When they died, I grieved. But my grandmother’s calloused hands ruffled my hair and she could make this soup that tasted of home.’
Huffing, Ian stretched his arms and legs as if the chair was suddenly too tight. ‘That wasn’t nice.’
‘We all have broken homes, Ian. Not all of us become the human that you have.’
‘I’m eldest, I was the first they experimented with. They made mistakes with me that they didn’t make with the others.’ Ian shrugged.
‘Guy’s reputation was infamous. Are you saying he was a gentler soul?’
Ian laughed low. ‘Guy scared me. His mode of cruelty wasn’t taught. Some dogs in the pack are more rabid than others. That is also true of all families, no? Of course, I am no better. My reasoning slips year after year, so I trap myself in a fortress away from my wife, away from my children. It’s why they stay away from me. I have become unpredictable even with them. Games have their own penalties.’
If true, what did that make the Warstone family? What did that make him as he played their game?
If someone came upon either of them now, there was no difference between them. Granted Ian’s clothing was finer, but both of them were conversing in the middle of the day while servants rushed to the evening service and meal. All quite civilised as if they were acquaintances and not enemies.
A quiet life, and a home to withstand generations. That was Louve’s goal. That was what he wished. Moments in Ian’s insidious presence and he could feel himself moulding into something murky.
‘Is it so terrible your wife is gone when it allows for younger, sweeter temptations to be by your side?’
Ian chuckled. ‘You speak of my mistress. Do you find her a temptation? I have to admit she is interesting to watch. But not as interesting as that woman at your side.’
Louve inwardly cursed. Ian couldn’t link Bied and Margery together. After Ian’s response in the Hall, messengers had been sent out, likely to discover Bied’s history. He intended to free the sisters before a messenger returned.
‘You speak of an insignificant kitchen servant? You must not have done much research on me to know my tastes,’ Louve said. Or Ian would know that Bied was every fantasy he had and many ones he didn’t know.
‘As if I want to know your tastes. My mind is full of useless information. Games are exhausting enough.’ Ian exhaled roughly. ‘The one between Reynold and I was at a stalemate until you arrived. If Reynold didn’t listen to my messages, maybe he will listen to you when you return to him.’
What to believe when everything appeared to be opposite? Ian now wanted his survival and Balthus visited with his mother and father. ‘Is my continued well-being agreed upon by your family as well?’
‘I can’t speak for them,’ Ian said.
‘I have to admit, I’m seeing a different side of them from the stories. Your mother has a charming laugh and your father a fine sense of humour. Do you miss them?’
Ian huffed. ‘Why are you alive and freely roaming my home?’
‘Because you want to be my friend.’ Louve smirked.
‘A word I can’t use around you without your waiting for a dagger to be thrown, remember?’
Louve lost his humour. In truth, he hadn’t fully appreciated Ian’s instability, but why had he said such a thing?
‘There are other words we could start with,’ Louve said.
Ian’s eyes narrowed before he dropped his gaze. ‘I know what you’re doing here and what you want. I invited my family to thwart you from ever getting an opportunity to search my rooms.’
The parchment. Ian knew he was here for the parchment. If so, how? Had Reynold sent a message ahead, or was Balthus right? That Warstones had ears everywhere and always knew?
He was frustrated at Bied for not trusting him, yet could he blame her? For years, the company he’d kept was riddled with mistrust and malevolence until he didn’t even know who he was any more.
He didn’t know who he was with her. He certainly wasn’t carefree as he had been with any of his childhood friends, but he wasn’t joyless, dark or scarred like the Warstones.
He was a playing piece that was being moulded by the game. He knew it, too, when he questioned everything. Could he believe the parchment was here simply because Reynold said Ian had it, or because Ian reported he didn’t want him searching rooms?
It would be like them to not have the parchment here so his searching could amuse them. In the end, however, it didn’t matter if the parchment was here or not. It would be impossible to obtain with Ian’s family here. The parchment would have to be abandoned. Now, it came down to Balthus’s safety. What would it take? Trust between him and Ian?
‘Why would I want anything to do with your rooms?’ Louve said.
Ian huffed. ‘Games are all fun until you realise you’re stuck on board with the same players who won’t ever let you stop.’
‘When we win, the game will end.’
‘You...like the games. Now, that is unexpected.’ Ian exhaled roughly and waved in front of him. ‘It might be too late for you, but I’ll give you this warning—get out before you’re as much a prisoner as I am.’