Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

78 - Chapter LXXVIII: The Arrival

Twenty minutes later.

The front hall was packed. Guests milling about the giant stag in the centre, its glazed eyes fixed on the rifle that had shot it down. From above, it looked like a tableau of death surrounded by life. A line of hardened creatures kissing the hand of Allegra. The solemnity of that older generation being washed aside by the cheerfulness of youth. Like they truly were mortal instead of playing a pantomime for the sake of sanctuary.

Dozens of them divesting themselves of hats, coats and bags, hugging and vigorously shaking hands, while trying to find what rooms they'd all be staying in. Two were attempting to find if the tennis courts were already closed for the season. Another was asking if there was an indoor swimming pool, and if so, was it heated. All questions that thankfully Weylan had to answer, rather than himself.

Lucian stood at the banister, watching grimly from the second level. His scent-mask in order. His face impassive. He liked to think the stag had been ignorant of its impending doom, but more and more, he realised that not only did the stag know, it had allowed itself to be shot just so it would be dead in time for Christmas.

Turning his back on the throng, he led Freyja and her brother Erling down the second floor hall to his study. Already feeling off his game after having missed several cues from Allegra to say something polite while greeting Freyja. Normally this whole thing would be a routine affair, but today he was getting a bad scent from the air. Namely from the shit walking behind him.

"Can we see her?"

"Who?"

Erling was starting to walk in front of him, seeming eager to explore. "The blood-seer."

Not an entirely unexpected question. Other than pack-leaders, Northern dignitaries and Freyja, it was the first time they'd opened the house to so many since Reinette's fall four years. Certainly the first time Erling had been south since the war, and only the second time they'd crossed paths. And yet he'd hoped the boy would show a little more presence of mind before asking such a loaded question.

"Afraid not." Lucian glanced at Freyja who got his meaning. "Restricted to quarters."

Erling did not get his meaning. "Why," he said languidly. Daring to linger at the landing, the one leading up to the restricted floors, appraising all of its trappings as though considering whether to buy the place. "Been a bad girl, has she?"

And...

...there we have it, thought Lucian, turning to regard the boy with as much apathy as he could muster. Knowing precisely the scent he'd been smelling earlier but still impressed by how quickly it had revealed itself. He knew the boy would say something irritating. One could say he'd been waiting for it. Ever since Magnus took him aside during an unforgettable bout of ice-fishing seven years ago, pointed at the lanky youth trailing Gottfrid and literally said, 'That boy is a shit.'

It could easily be described as one of the shortest and most illuminating conversations of his life. Enough that when Gottfrid had informed him a week ago that Erling would be arriving in his stead, he was both elated that he'd have one less elder to worry about...

...and increasingly wary of how tedious the Northern visit would be. One where he'd have to...hold things in. Avoid hurting things. Tiptoe around the fact that he wanted to hurt things. The boy even looked like his father. Like the fucking piece of excrement who left him and his men to rot on a hillside three hundred years ago. But of late, as part of his therapy with Singe, rather than hurting someone, he was meant to imagine what he'd like to do to them...

...and then...not...do it.

The boy oblivious to the change in his demeanor, but Freyja's scent suggesting she was more than a little cognisant of what he was thinking. She quickly stepped into the conversation. "Erling, shall we do drinks after you sign?"