Page 77 of House of Pawns
Cyrus gives him a deep glare, but Raheem does not look up.
I remember what Raheem said, that they needed each other, but didn’t necessarily like each other.
If only Cyrus knew of Raheem’s confessions.
“I’m sorry, my dear, please continue,” Cyrus says with only the slightest hint of tightness in his voice.
“Um,” I stutter, thrown off by the whiplash conversation. “Well, it’s a small town. Everyone seems to have deep roots.”
“And how many of them know the history of this town?” he asks as he swallows a bite of what I’m pretty sure is duck. “Elijah Conrath was a good man. It was a shame to hear of the town’s mutiny.”
I swallow hard. I’m so out of my depth here. I thought I was prepared. I thought I could do this. But I am an infant who knows nothing.
“Some of them,” I respond. “A lot of people have been afraid of me since I moved into town. They knew my family’s history and associated me with it, even though at first I knewnothing.”
It’s a shocking display of the pain Cyrus must feel when he lets out a frustrated, tender breath. He takes my left hand in his, and raises it to his lips. “That is not the way it should have been,” he says in that intimate way again. “Your father should have prepared you, taught you. Henry Conrath… Well, he was an aggravation and a borderline shame to our kind.”
“It happens,” X says from down the table. She sits exactly opposite the King, at the head of the other end. “Some of our kind resent what they are. They choose to live a solitary life, removed from everything they were born into.”
My eyes slide back to Cyrus and a million fire ants bite at my insides. “I did not know him, but I believe my father to have been a good man. I kindly request that you do not speak hard things against him.”
Cyrus studies me. Slow. Calculated. He raises a hand to my face, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “As you wish.”
I don’t know if I can ever get over this man’s two faces. The terrifying and cruel, and the tender and broken.
Rath steps into the room, instantly popping all the uncomfortable bubbles. He holds a pitcher in his hand, and it’s filled with a thick, red liquid. He walks to the head of the table and pours Cyrus a wine glass full. He begins making his way down the table, the Court side first.
Cyrus takes a sip and makes a slight face. “Not fresh,” he states. “I suppose you don’t have use of feeders yet.” He looks up at me, his expression like this is the most natural thing in the world. “You do, however, have all of them to take care of.”
“None of us have any complaints.” And it means everything that it’s Markov who says it. Considering.
Cyrus gives an amused smile. And dinner moves on.
Small conversations strike up between the twodifferent Houses. Cameron talks at a man with long black hair, who I’m not sure has even grunted an acknowledgement of the conversation that’s trying to happen. Lillian attempts light conversation with pretty much everyone, but the Court members only give short, stiff answers for the most part. Nial does manage to engage two from the Court in a conversation, I keep hearing hints of England brought up in.
Samuel sits and eats, his face still white. He’s the only one here that truly grasps what is coming. He’s done this visit before, and it did not end well for his family.
I do not say anything unless I am directly addressed, which only happens when Lillian attempts casual conversation. Cyrus seems content to do the same. He observes. Laughs at a joke Nial awkwardly cracks. And, he listens.
I get the feeling that he is simply biding time. I feel I know what is to come.
The dinner drags on long. So long. One hour. Two.
Finally, when we’ve been here, holding awkward non-conversations for nearly three hours, King Cyrus suddenly stands. Everyone else clatters back from the table to rise, as well.
“Thank you all for a lovely evening. Or morning, I suppose it still is for my dear Alivia. Now, you will have to dismiss the two of us, we have much to discuss.” He holds a hand out for me.
My eyes go to my House members. Their eyes are dark, or wide, or fearful.
I swallow hard as my heart rate spikes. I look at each and every one of them. Is this a goodbye to them as a human? My eyes, which have not dared look at Raheem all night, finally catch his. But his expression is set, not giving away an ounce of emotion. So I look from him, to Rath.
His composed expression is only betrayed by his eyes. There’s fear, anticipation, uncertainty. Fatherly protectiveness. But all he can finally do is give me a subtle nod.
I take Cyrus’ hand. It’s warm and smooth, and it makes me want to run.
All eyes watch us as we exit the dining room, and I’m suddenly terrified when we step through the doors. We’re alone.
“Is there some place we can talk privately?” he asks.
