Page 38 of Deven and the Dragon
“Mr. Clifton,” and Andrei’s voice as he said Deven’s name fairly dripped with rage and venom, “had a letter this afternoon from one of the Ridley councilmembers. I’m not proud of it, but I intercepted it and opened it myself.” He held up a hand as Fiora began to protest. “I said I’m not proud of it. But I was right to do it, as it turns out, and I won’t apologize for it. My lord, you need to read it.”
“I won’t,” Fiora said. “I won’t read — Andrei, how could you.” His heart was pounding so hard and so unevenly it was about to jump out of his ribs. Whatever was in that letter — oh, God, no, he couldn’t face it. And it waswrong, too. “Opening a letter addressed to someone else, it’s — it’s dishonorable. I can’t read it and I won’t.”
“You will,” Andrei said, “or I’ll be forced to read it to you. You must. I’m sorry, but you must.”
He set it in Fiora’s lap, and Fiora stared down at it like he would have a viper.
At last he picked it up, gingerly, with the tips of his fingers. He ought not, but if Andrei said he must…oh, but it waswrong.
He unfolded it and spread it out on his knees.
Mr. Clifton,
Your aunt came to see me today, and was unable to give me any real news of your progress. Need I remind you that Peter’s life hangs in the balance? He has taken a turn for the worse. Surely by now you must be close to getting a scale. I expect an immediate reply.
Jos. Holling
The words blurred before Fiora’s eyes, and it took him a moment to realize it wasn’t the sender’s handwriting at fault, but his own gathering tears. A drop fell and struck the paper, and the letters of the word ‘balance’ spread in a blot of watery ink.
A scale. One of Fiora’s own scales.
Deven had come to the castle with the intent of acquiring a scale, in order to save the life of the unknown Peter.
The scale. Deven wanted the scale, not Fiora.
He had never wanted Fiora.
When he set up the picnic by the river, when he plucked that blue rose, when he smiled and laughed and carried Fiora to bed and stripped him bare, and spent inside of him, and kissed him afterwards, he had been thinking of the scale. And someone named Peter.
Fiora had given his life on the chance that Deven loved him, or would grow to love him. One night; one night of happiness.
The letter fluttered to the floor, and Fiora bent his head down nearly into his lap with a moan, clutching at his hair. If he’d had anything left in him, it would have come up; as it was, he dry-heaved wretchedly, shaking in every limb.
“My lord. Fiora, my poor boy, I’m so sorry,” Andrei murmured. He crouched down by the chair and pulled Fiora close until his head rested on Andrei’s shoulder. “It’s all right, lad, it’s all right, he’s nothing to cry over. Don’t waste your tears…” Andrei’s soothing nonsense went on and on, until Fiora quieted.
Fiora blinked, the last of his tears falling into Andrei’s shirt. His eyes felt dry and achy, like they were a size too large for their sockets.
He gently disengaged from Andrei’s embrace, feeling more awkward than he ever had in his life. Andrei didn’t touch people like that, he never had. For him to hold Fiora like that, to comfort him like that…it was the last straw, a sign that even Andrei had no better ideas to offer and had fallen back on simple grief.
Fiora leaned back in his chair, and Andrei got up and moved to stand by the fireplace, clearing his throat.
“I need to see him,” Fiora said, his voice surprisingly steady and clear. He was done; quite done. There would be no more histrionics. He would see Deven, and he would say what needed to be said, and they would be done. He could muster the strength for that, because he had no other choice. “Please tell him to come up here, and while he is here, have Fred pack his things and put them in a wagon. As soon as he leaves me, Marius should be ready to drive him to his family’s inn.”
“No, my lord, no, we ought to throw him off the top of the turret, and there’s no need for you to see him yourself —”
“I’ve given you my orders, Andrei.” Please, please let Andrei simply do as he was bid, for Fiora didn’t have the energy for another confrontation, not when he would be facing Deven in a few minutes. “I’m going to go to my study. Have Dev— havehimcome to me there. In fifteen minutes.”
Andrei opened his mouth, frowned, shut it again, and nodded shortly. He left the room without another word.
It took Fiora all of the fifteen minutes to go to his dressing room, equip himself with a shirt and cravat and coat, and slip the letter into his coat pocket. It felt like it singed his fingers, and he rubbed them on his trousers to remove the taint of it.
When he reached his study, the rose still stood in its glass of water on his desk. In a burst of rage, Fiora struck it with his arm. It crashed to the floor in a tinkle of shattering glass, the rose lying broken-stemmed and pitiful in a pool of water and glittering shards. Fiora stepped over it and sat in his chair.
He might collapse after this and never rise again, but he would face Deven like a dragon and a gentleman.
“Mr. Clifton.”Deven started and turned away from the rose garden, at which he’d been staring for God knew how long — though he hadn’t really seen it. He’d never been summoned for dinner, and hadn’t even noticed, moving from the library to the terrace as the last of the afternoon’s light faded away and the rain slowly stopped. Andrei stood in the door from the drawing room to the terrace, his black silhouette against the lamplight and elongated shadow on the terrace flagstones a sinister sight. “Come with me, please.”
He sounded like he was summoning Deven to a funeral. His heart gave a lurch. “Fiora? Fuck, is he really ill? Andrei, what’s —”
