Page 131 of House of Roots and Ruin
Gerard had brought me here on purpose, had selected me, had choreographed every moment since my arrival like a well-executed dance.
Alexander and Verity,the first entry read. A series of symbolled notations followed, ending in his final verdict:Advantageous.He’d ringed the entire section with a circle of approval.
“ ‘Julien and Verity,’ ” I said aloud, skipping over the bits of shorthand I didn’t understand. “ ‘Potentially favorable.’ ”
Julien snorted dismissively and I wasn’t sure if I should feel offended or flattered.
“ ‘Viktor and Verity,’ ” I read the last paragraph aloud. The entire thing had been crossed out with a definitive slash of ink, rendering Gerard’s judgment nearly illegible. “ ‘Too volatile.’ ”
Viktor shook his head, downing the last of the glass. “As if he knows anything about us, Jules.” He clasped his brother’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly, but I sensed he was the one looking to be comforted and consoled.
Julien brushed aside the reassurance with a twitch. “It seems he knows much more than either of us thought. I’m startingto believe we weren’t forgotten, dear brother. Just…transplanted.”
“And yet still found wanting,” Viktor muttered, grabbing the diary once more.
The fireplace behind Julien flared to life, the logs igniting as flames shot high up the flue. Startled, I jumped from the chair, a cry for help on the tip of my tongue, before I realized it was only Viktor blowing off steam.
“Some warning would be appreciated,” Julien said, teeth clenched. He opened another dossier, ignoring his brother’s outburst.
“That man,” he spat, flipping through more of the diary. Along the wall, the gas lamps’ flames danced, swaying dangerously. “We’re not fit to remain at his estate. We’re deemed too unseemly to be recognized as his own sons, but he couldn’t just give up everything he’d worked for with us. ‘Julien’s intellectual aptitude grows by leaps and bounds,’ ” he sneered, his voice mincing. “ ‘Each letter from Sheffield astounds even my wildest hopes for him.’ Good for you, Jules. You’re not welcome at family dinner, but you’ve gone and impressed Father.”
Julien pressed his lips together. It wasn’t exactly a smile, but I could sense his pleasure all the same.
“ ‘Viktor,’ ” he began reading, then stopped short. After a moment’s pause, he ripped the page from the book and crumpled it in his hand. When he unfurled his fist, all that remained was soot.
“Is there anything more on Alex?” I asked, hoping to defuse Viktor’s anger, but also wanting to know what Gerard thought would happen once he paired me with his youngest son. I’d neverseen Alex do anything like his brothers could. But if Gerard went to the trouble of bringing me—of bringing mytalents—to Chauntilalie, there must have been something specific he hoped to achieve.
“Pages,” Viktor replied darkly, thumbing through the diary, his face taut with rage. “Pages and pages and pages. Whole chapters on the golden one’s life. And you know what they all say?”
I shook my head, unable to find the courage to voice an answer.
“Nothing! Not a damn thing.” He pitched the tumbler into the fireplace and the heavy glass shattered. “There’s not a single thing about our brother that makes him special. Not one. He’s completely normal. Completely useless. The exact opposite of whatever it was Father was trying to achieve. Not like me. Not like Jules. Butwewere cast off.Wewere sent away. We—” His words died in a snarl, hands trembling.
It took me a moment to realize the journal was smoking.
“Stop that,” I said, snatching it from him and fanning it back and forth. There were singed marks across its edges, blackened shadows where his hands had been, but the book was otherwise unscathed.
Viktor crossed back to the bar cart, muttering to himself as he grabbed the absinthe with an elaborate swipe. He flopped down hard in the chair once more, kicking up his legs over the arm and drinking straight out of the bottle.
“Are you just going to sit there and get drunk?”
He glanced at me, his face drawn and exhausted. “Have you a better suggestion?”
“Let him be, Miss Thaumas,” Julien spoke up, his nose still buried in the documents, unconcerned. “He’s likely to burn down half the manor in his mood.”
Viktor raised the bottle toward his brother, saluting him before taking another swig.
With a sigh of disgust, I thumbed open the diary and began to read.
The first entry was dated twenty years prior. Dauphine had just confided she was with child. Several lists of roots and extracts followed after. It seemed as though Gerard initially began dosing her teas. For days he documented how many ounces she drank and the side effects she experienced. A week later, he added powdered tinctures to her meals. Later on, salves and lotions, applied directly to her burgeoning belly. Then, shots.
My own stomach clenched as I imagined a thick needle plunging within me.
It said she suffered from terrible nausea, that she would often black out after treatments only to sob uncontrollably in her sleep. Gerard wrote she spent whole days in bed, speaking to things, to beings, he could not see.
Her stomach grew and so did the amounts of drugs he foisted upon her.
Dauphine must have realized at some point that these procedures weren’t regular. Why had she gone along with it? Had Gerard told her there was something wrong with the babies? That he was attempting to fix them?
