The Broken Song

Chapter Eighteen

— Eldridge Estate, Outskirts of Kiverryn, Iskendryn, Andavaran —

They arrived under the cover of darkness. Packed into the small carriage, the seven occupants were jostled about as the horses hurried down the cobblestone road toward the grand estate. They were already over capacity in the six-person carriage, but it hardly helped that Duncan himself accounted for two and half people with his massive girth. Honestly, how many muscles did one man need?

It could have been worse, Lulu supposed. As it was, their predicament had led to Isaac sitting on his lover's lap, and Idelle sitting on hers. As far as lap-companions went, Idelle was at least pleasing to the eye—and to hold. Her waist fit perfectly in her arms, her body bouncing lightly on her thighs, and her smell was the sweetest scent of lavender and—Lulu didn't know. Perhaps it was just her friend's normal scent. She had never taken the time to smell her before, but she could hardly deny how enticing it was. The only downside was that with each successive bump, Idelle's braided bun kept slapping her in the face, and she was inhaling hair like it was going out of style.

How many times had she told Bran to fix his damn drive?

At last, the carriage pulled to a stop, and a servant came to open the door. They made their exit one-by-one and when Lulu finally emerged, she took a deep breath and sighed happily. She clapped her hands together and looked at the servant expectantly.

"Where's Brand-y-Bran-Face?"

The servant never bat an eye at her, his posture impeccable, head slightly raised so he could sniff at her, and his mouth set in a disapproving line. A muffled sound of dismissal escaped his clamped lips as he turned on his heel and led them toward the front door.

"Ah, c'mon, Rystar," she punched him in the shoulder, enough to make the proper man stumble. He caught himself easily, however, and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "When're you going to crack a damn smile? I've been here enough times. Just one smile and I'll leave you alone."

He pulled open the tall, ornate wooden door, standing as still as a statue, eyes nearly shut as he waited for everyone to enter. The others did as expected, but Lulu remained standing there with an amused smirk on her lips. Propriety demanded he stand there as long as she did. But, after a few moments she got bored and sighed dramatically.

"You are one stone-cold motherfucker, Rystar."

"My name is Rylen, ma'am."

"So is my evil-good-for-nothing-grandfather. Rystar's a better name for you. Trust me."

"Very good, ma'am."

He shut the door behind him and swiftly made his way to the head of the party. He instructed them to follow him to the library, his incredibly shiny boots echoing across the immaculate marble floor of the grand entrance to Eldridge Estate.

It was one of the oldest in the country with a long, proud history serving the rulers of Iskendryn. The Brandons had held this land for generations, stretching as far back as the Conquest. Their portraits dotted the many rooms, the watchful eyes of the Brandon ancestors ensuring all remained well within the estate.

Lulu always found the portraits to be exceedingly creepy. Each one had a dead expression, vacant eyes staring out at nothing. Either every artist that had been commissioned by the Brandons was the worst of their era, or every Brandon in the history of their house had absolutely no personality whatsoever. After meeting the lord of the house, and staying here on several occasions, she could say, with absolute certainty, it was the latter. No personality. None. Just stoic faces, dower moods, and monotone voices in a dreary old house that had the same character as its occupants.