The sun hung low in the sky before Lucia’s carriage returned to the House of Fallmire. And she led a train of other carriages, commandeered from the local wainwright with half of Lucia’s silver purse in trade—the high price paid not only for the wagons themselves, but also for the convenience of taking them right away.
Talia stood beside the front door, a quick messenger on horseback having warned her of the convoy’s arrival. Lucia felt like an army general, commanding her troops to march on a fortified position. And, sure, that’s exactly what she was in a sense. It would not be so simple to raise a noble house from thin air, in seven days time no less.
It would be a race to make the place presentable before the duel.
She exited the carriage and walked to join her ‘wife’s’ side. Talia leaned against her cane, fist pressed against her hip. It was a tight grip; no doubt her knuckles were bleached as white as the gloves that covered them. Was it really so painful to stand and receive her new household staff?
Her summoner’s emotions were guarded even from her; Talia had, apparently, learned to bury them deep in Lucia’s presence, and the demon was not one to pry unless necessary. And Talia’s stoic expression was little help either. The Duke’s eyes were tight on the debarking carriages.
Madame Florence and Marten followed first behind Lucia, and Talia held out her hand in greeting. “Welcome to House Fallmire.” Marten had suggested they attach themself to the house as a bookkeeper and financial steward; Lucia decided to defer that decision to the Duke, so she heard Marten introduce themself and offer their services anew. Talia made no indication either way, but invited both inside as the rest of the train advanced.
Next was the strict Mistress ahead of seven maids she’d personally trained, or so she had indicated to Lucia. They took two whole carriages, and certainly looked the part. Lucky for House Fallmire, the Mistress had been head of a finishing school down in Foxbridge, and Lucia’s knocking on their door had begun a swift but painless reorganization as the senior Maids received their first contract years before they’d expected one.
Finally, a groundskeeper and three culinary staff took up the rear of the train. Each of these Talia greeted with a smart, almost perfunctory smile, to which Lucia nodded along.
It did not take long before Duke and wife were the last outside the house; Lucia could imagine the rest bustling within, the maids squaring away the servants’ quarters with the Mistress settling into her role as House Steward. That woman could set things in order effortlessly. Lucia was not worried about her.
She turned to Talia, a witty comment on her tongue, but the Duke’s glare killed it in an instant. Fury settled behind those eyes, and the ease with which she had disguised it before sent a chill through Lucia.
“Come to my study, and we will talk,” Talia commanded, and she turned and stalked inside, cane tapping against the tile. Lucia took one final look about the grounds before following her.
***
When Lucia first laid eyes upon Talia’s study, she assumed it was essentially unused; but she swiftly corrected herself—it was well used, but tidied to a military standard. Several ledgers were opened on the desk, and Talia looked up from them as she made a note along one margin. Then, flipping it closed, she motioned for Lucia to sit.
Lucia did, trying to gauge Talia. She came up with nothing. The Duke guarded her emotions well. After Talia left her in silence for half a moment, Lucia ventured to break it.
“So, uh, do you not approve of the new staff?”
Talia let the second ledger close with a thump.
“I don’t understand …” Talia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she set her reading glasses on the desk. “When I gave you that signet ring, I assumed you’d be… judicious. Use your best judgment, not …”
“I did use my best judgment—”
“You practically brought an army here! Too many people, too many points of weakness by far. Can you vouch for each and every one of them, demon?”
The word hung in the air between them. Demon. Lucia never liked what followed when it replaced her name. Anger rose within her, and she did not stem it. She went on the offensive.
“In case you forget, this demon is your wife.” Her voice raised in volume, though not yet to a shout. “Legally, if not in practice. I used my best judgment, and my judgment was, if you remember, that this house is nothing more than an empty shell. Dust lies thick in every room, showing exactly how much you care for its upkeep. You cook for yourself, by the thrice-damned fallen god! You would last precisely five minutes in the presence of any actual nobility before they cast you out on your coattails—”
“Enough!” Talia’s eyes blazed. “You clearly do not know the stakes at hand—”
“And whose fault is that?” Lucia would not be cowed. “You haven’t told me a thing about this carefully-plotted vengeance of yours; I don’t even know who, or what, we’re taking vengeance on, beyond their names!”
Talia took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Then, another breath before she spoke again.
“That is … fair.” She stepped behind the desk, walking towards one of the study’s shelves. She at first seemed to examine one of the books there, though Lucia saw her stare pierce right through it. “But shouldn’t you have at least asked before you took such sweeping measures?”
Lucia looked away. That was a point. “Perhaps I did act in haste. But you,” she swallowed, wondering how to phrase it. A lump rose in her throat. Oh, fuck it. “You clearly have no idea of the den of vipers you are descending into. Any sign of weakness and they will strike, and there goes any plan of yours, dead to their venom. Be grateful the spring season hasn’t yet started; otherwise, they would have found you out months ago, laughed you right out of their silly little parties, marked you as an outsider—”
“Enough,” Talia said. “Enough. You make a fair point. You need not belabor it. And it still misses the mark.”
She tugged at her gloves, fixing Lucia with a hard stare. “I’m seriously considering taking your signet ring back.”
Lucia matched her stare. “That ring allows me to act as your wife, in all legal matters—without it, I am no more than a serv—”
“Are you not a servant? Summoned and bound to me? Or did I mistake the nature of our contract?”
Lucia went deathly still. So, this was how it was to be? Her voice was low, controlled, as she spoke again.
“We demons are bound, as you say, but our will is our own. Your curse, invoked in the ritual, is my target and guide. But I can fulfill it in your manner, or in my own.” She fought to keep the old fury from overcoming her. “I would much prefer to work with you, but even if I am wielded like a silent blade, nothing more than a weapon in your hands … well, I can turn in your hands in the span of a heartbeat.”
Talia met the demon’s eyes, but it was the Duke who blinked first after a long moment.
“We demons,” Lucia added, “are good at technicavities. Don’t forget that.”
There was another silence, though oddly, it was of a different kind. Talia’s expression relaxed, which infuriated Lucia more.
“Don’t you mean techni-cal-ities?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
Talia grunted, something between a laugh and a groan. Then, she limped back to her desk, lowering herself in the seat as she pulled another ledger to her. “I will see you at dinner. And I will think on … on your words. I have not yet decided whether to contract you to fulfill my vengeance, de—” she cut herself off before saying demon, which was something. “Lucia. Now go.”
Lucia felt the anger in her own heart lessen, as she left, though the spark of it she kept alight. She would not be ordered about like a dumb beast of burden. That is not how it worked—not for her, not ever.