Page 34 of House of Roots and Ruin
He nodded.
I paused, trying to perfect the angle of the wicker back. It was taller than he was, with a tufted pillow at his head. “If you weren’t here with me right now, sitting for this portrait, what would you be doing?”
Alexander’s laugh was loose and easy. “Probably sitting somewhere else. I tend to do quite a bit of— Stop,” he ordered.
My mouth was caught open on the cusp of an apology. “What?”
“You’re about to say you’re sorry. Don’t. Please.” He sighed. “People get so squeamish about the chair, about me being in the chair. They shouldn’t.Youshouldn’t,” he said with emphasis. “I’vebeen in it most of my life. I don’t really remember a time when I wasn’t. It’s part of who I am but it’s not the only thing that defines me. It’s not uncomfortable for me to talk about, to joke about.”
I set down my pencil, meeting his gaze. “I…I heard it was an accident.”
“It was.”
“Can I ask…how it happened?”
“The stairs in the foyer. They’re quite steep for a small boy. I was racing down for breakfast one morning—the day of my fourth birthday—and fell.”
“And that caused…” I trailed off, uncertain of what exactly I meant to articulate.
“Paralysis in both legs. I can’t feel or move anything from here down.” He gestured toward his thighs.
“Can you—”
“Uh-uh-uh,” Alexander interrupted, shaking his head. “We’re meant to go back and forth with questions. You’ve asked two in a row.” He settled back against his headrest, studying me. “Why does my grandmother think you’re cursed?”
My mouth soured and I wished he’d chosen any other thing to ask me. “I…I suppose because of all of my sisters. They…died.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
He whistled through his teeth. “That does seem…excessively unlucky.”
All I could do was nod. I picked up the pencil once more, rolling it between my fingers.
“But you have others, don’t you? Other sisters?”
“Five.”
“Such a large family.” His eyes drifted from mine, soft and thoughtful. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have grown up with someone else my age in the house.”
“Not all of us are close. My oldest sister, Camille, is fourteen years older than me.”
He let out a quiethmm.“I wanted a brother. When I was much smaller, I begged and pleaded for Mother to go to the shops and pick one out for me—as though that was how they were created.” His smile turned wistful. “It’s an awfully big estate to be at by yourself.”
It did seem a waste, having a house so sprawling remain mostly empty. The hallways and corridors should have been alive with the sound of pattering footsteps, of shouts and laughter. I turned over another page but couldn’t bring myself to start a new sketch.
“Did they ever try for other children?” I asked, the invasive question falling from me before I could think better of it.
Alex shook his head. “Father wanted to…but it wasn’t…Mother couldn’t…” He cleared his throat. “I gather she had a difficult time, pregnant with me.”
“It certainly can be hard on women. My mother died after having me,” I admitted slowly, then let out an approximation of a laugh. “Perhaps Iamcursed.”
Alex frowned. “I don’t believe in all that. The gods…they made us, they made all of this.” He gestured in a swooping circle, indicating a larger space than just the solarium. “What good comes from cursing your own creations?”
“Amusement?” I guessed.
He shook his head again. “They care about us too much. Fartoo much at times. Did you know Mother—” He stopped short but his eyes sparkled.
