Thread of Darkness

Ch. 4: somebody's thinking about murder

Eris's handsome face was twisted in a scowl. His green eyes — the Delafort eyes — were narrowed. He looked like Ryne, she thought, only more angular, as if someone had carved his features with a knife. A hat with a white feather sat above his head. No, not a feather, Camille realized, a lump rising in her throat; a blade, so thin and delicate that it could have been made of ice.

Penny held out a hand. "Pay up."

Tristan sighed. "Gods damn it."

"Admit it," Penny said smugly. "You were wrong."

Tristan's golden eyes narrowed. "You know how I said I wasn't thinking about murder?" He rummaged in his coin pouch. "I'd like to redact that statement."

"For the last time," Camille hissed, "this is a diplomatic visit, and nobody is thinking about murder."

Penny and Tristan ignored her. Coins changed hands.

Eris paused at the foot of the empty throne, his green eyes flickering. Camille tried not to shift. There was something about his gaze, she thought, that unnerved her. Eris didn't look at her as if he wished to possess her; he looked at her as if he already did.

"Camille," he said.

She nodded. "Eris. Welcome to Stillwater Castle."

"You look well," Eris said. "I can see why my cousin finds you so... captivating." He smiled, slow and sweet, like honey dripping over ice. "Pity that your family lineage leaves so much to be desired."

Next to her, Grayson stiffened. Camille cleared her throat.

"Thank-you for making the journey to see us," she said. "We're honoured to have your company for the week."

Eris's face didn't change. "For a week?"

"Or two," Camille said.

Ten days, she decided; that was the most she'd accommodate him. She didn't care if she had to invent a mysterious plague or fill the castle with rats. Eris Delafort would be in a carriage on his way back to whatever burning hell he came from.

His mouth kicked up. "Come, now. We're almost family, you and I."

She refused to flinch. "In a sense."

"Yes," Eris said slowly. "I suppose it's a good thing that we're not truly related, isn't it? That would make this week significantly less... fun."

His eyes lingered on her mouth. Camille felt bile rise in her throat, and she had the sudden childish urge to duck behind the throne. To make herself invisible. She was good at doing that; it was making herself seen that was the difficult thing to do.

She clasped her hands. "Your rooms are prepared. Fifty of them in total, as you've requested. Is there anything else you desire?"

Eris smiled. "I can think of at least one thing."

His eyes dipped lower. Lower. She could feel it like a bug crawling along her skin, its insectile feet skittering along her collarbone and chest, and she suppressed the urge to shudder. Ryne, she thought desperately. Where are you?

"We'll do our best to accommodate you," Camille said.

"We," Eris said. "What an interesting word." His green eyes glittered. "Where is my cousin?"

"He had to step away." It was technically true.

"How conveniently timed," Eris said. His eyes went to the empty throne. To the pillars that still bore scorch marks. To the ceiling, where a young woman lay, surrounded by heavily armed guards. "The Nightweaver Queen. Where is she?"