Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

85 - Chapter LXXXV: The Edge of Mourning

And yet the problem remained.

Lucian confident as he left the roof, about to head...immediately...for the East Wing...and then stopping. Like a mortal standing on a cliff, acknowledging the boundaries of his thirst, seeing that the water was there, but uncertain now how to reach the water without breaking his neck. His path then leading him to his quarters again where he lay pondering his ceiling, trying to chart his way from west to east...and back again. Questioning whether it was sanity, whether it was better to quell or quench what could be a passing thirst after spending five hundred years in sacrifice to the war, only to falter near the end for the very reason he'd lost everything in the first place.

A knock on his door briefly calling his attention to the presence of Weylan, who stood uncomfortably holding out a folio. A development, the man said. The first of twelve missives that were to be sent out in the morning. It was called signing by counterparts. Each copy translated into code before receiving a scent-mark and seal as part of its legitimacy. In this case for...an annulment...removing Reinette from her commitments to the North and allowing her to apply for guarded citizenship. According to the terms, she'd be given her own tenancy, her own staff, right of movement...

...and a new contract.

And it did not surprise him. He knew the Council would eventually use Freyja as their pawn, that every time he ignored one of their letters requesting unhindered access to Reinette, he was playing a game of recompense. No. What surprised him was the signature.

Jeanne-Antoinette de la Roche.

She'd signed it.

o...o...o

One hour later.

Weylan was now gone. Waved away at some point while he continued to stand there, staring at the annulment, going through every emotion from shock to anger to despondency...and then denial. His instincts leading him to first question whether it was a mistake. Flipping back and forth between the pages. Reading every line. Every word. Assuring himself that no...it was not a mistake. Before taking another hour to...again...study her signature...

Another moment going by as he considered whether to simply confront her. Pound his fist on her door. Break the lock with his knife...and demand to have it out. Holding the folio like it was dung...so that he could ask her...what the fuck...she had been thinking.

At which point, she'd explain herself.

Likely shout at him.

So he in turn could berate her over the position she'd just put him in. Because if she'd just asked him, he could have told her that Morrigan was the key problem. That the moment she signed a document sponsored by Morrigan, it became Horde business. Which meant every council member had to be notified within forty-eight hours. During which, he'd either have to approve it...publicly...or do the opposite...also publicly. Not in a games room. Or a secret council meeting. No—they were in the middle of fucking Hangrove—which meant everyone...from the printer's son to the blood-forsaken telegraph operator's wife...would soon become aware of this document. And regardless of what he did now, all eyes would be on his official response.

But no.

He was past that.

The argument already complete in his head, leaving him disorientated now...and surprisingly empty. Like he was standing outside her quarters...and she'd just slammed a door in his face. Caring not so much about the official response, but the unspoken point she'd made on the paper. That she'd seen no reason to ask his opinion, he realised. Lying on the floor now with the folio resting on his chest. Trying to quantify the...extreme...confusion he was now feeling...