Prelude (Underworld Lucian Fanfiction)

28 - Chapter XXVIII: Spare the Devil

The East Wing. 1:46 am.

Left to his own devices, Lucian traced his hand along the siding of his chair, feeling an air of quiet settle upon him as the door closed. Black for the sake of mourning. Rather than acknowledge the irony of that statement, he contented himself with a change of thought, steering clear of whatever emptiness there was for lingering on his past.

Instead he tried to recall the last time he had been in this room. Six years ago, maybe seven. To his pleasure, upon entering, he had found no evidence of his final argument with Allegra.Battered doors exchanged for new ones. Scratches covered in whitewash and lavender to mask the scent. He blinked, staring at the wall. That scar...he could still see it in his mind's eye, but the day-shift had done well to hide it away. A quick sanding and a length of precisely matched wallpaper were all that remained of it.

He heard Reinette open the door, the rustle of the black as she passed behind him and took her coat from the wardrobe. She was clean again. She had found her veil, the gauze dimming her features to a gloomy mask, the blue irises losing some of their shine. Absurd that she could suffer all manner of indignities, yet persist in hiding her face. The root of pride more than dignity, he decided, watching her button her coat and kneel to lace her boots, one after the other. She still looked miserable, but at least there was a whiff of anticipation in her smell. Excitement even. More to the point, she had calmed down. No longer snatching things and flinging books to the floor.

Hands deep in her pockets, she settled herself down to wait in the opposite chair, checking first that her gloves were present before tucking them away again. She made no reference to her previous state of wallowing nor to the fact that five minutes ago there had been more dried blood on her face than he cared to remember. In fact, she seemed to be under the impression that she could pretend it had not happened. Like hardened clay broken to fit into a mould, her back a little too straight, her lips a touch too sullen. And by a stretch of the imagination, he could see it. The 'stuck up piece of work' as Tanis had called her. The young woman travelling alone, her belongings left behind in some lodge, her task one of secrecy. He was about to stand, but she spoke first.

"You are very cheerful tonight," she said, quite out of the blue. Her stare was plain and direct, the statement a dull echo of the accusation underneath. She had thrown aside her momentary French for their mutual Russian. Her French, he suspected, was not yet up to conversation. As to her accusation...well, it was true. He was feeling more positive than usual. He had woken early around four in the afternoon. His watch had finally been sent off for repairs. The headaches avoided him throughout the day. Around nine, Jacqueline officially retreated to her quarters, hoping some imbecile would mistake her for an expecting mother. He worked through dinner, confident that he was not an imbecile, and as a result, business ended early. In a word...sublime.

"You find it problematic," he said, by no means surprised by this latest paradox of Reinette. She was made of paradox. The first night, he frightened her out of her wits, three weeks later, she had the audacity to reproach him for being dour...and now she was bothered by his cheerfulness after four days without washing.

"A little," she replied coolly, turning her head to look at the door. "More so when you force the sentiment upon others. Is it cold outside?"

"I didn't think to check." He tapped the side of his chair, getting her attention again. "How is it you get to call me dour in Paris, but the moment I scrape you off the floor, you have an agenda against good cheer? Do you intend to be miserable for the entire century?"

"I am still thinking on it, Lyosha."

"Well think on it, Reinette..." he replied, stretching his legs out. "...but do not be so dour."