The Honeymoon Suite 5 - Retaliation

Titus

Month 3, Day 20, Saturday 12:15am

Oliver was speechless, frozen, so Titus continued. “The investigator I tasked found that some of Princess Krell’s servants escaped the palace before the execution. Some years later, a family of a common name sold some jewelry. One of the pieces was recognized as having belonged to the princess. When enquiries were made, the family disappeared overnight, fleeing into anonymity once more. It was said that they had a child, a son, who was too sickly to leave the house.”

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, faint signs suggesting that he was relieved, perhaps at the flimsiness of the evidence.

Titus held out a hand to silence him and continued. “I know. As you might point out, all of this is still nothing but coincidence. I, too, would think little of it, except that my knowledge of this entire situation came from the remnants of an investigative report done during the Blood Emperor’s reign. There was an uncommon focus on the child. I suspect that they were able to perform some sort of lineage divination and confirm that there was still one living member of the previous king’s bloodline.”

“This still isn’t real evidence of anything, you realize that, right?” Oliver asked, running his fingers through his dark, loose curls.

“Oh, of course. However, after the Blood Emperor fell, when the Thirteen Families were still settling their power, a group of people spoke up, pushing to influence public opinion that the bloodline of the rightful king should be returned to power. Despite the supposed death of all who held that bloodline. To hide their identities from those that might wish them harm, they called themselves The Argent. While that could simply be coincidence, it does leave one to wonder, does it not? Of course, the Crowns, even in the chaos of the aftermath, were not incompetent. The Argent disappeared or fell silent suspiciously quickly.”

Oliver waved one hand in the air lazily, but the other was clenched a little too tight around his whiskey glass, belying his supposed nonchalance. “The Argent. It’s an appealing moniker. Very heroic-sounding. By all the greater hells, man. Is this the kind of evidence that you convict suspects on, or do you have anything real?”

Titus stood, moving to stand in front of a map of Lenore hung on the wall between two bookcases. “Where did you say that you met Mr. Siverling again?”

“Spraggins Creek. A small town about a day’s ride south of Vale. He didn’t grow up there, though, if you’re looking to dig into his childhood or some such nonsense.”

“Oh, I found it.” Titus tapped on the map. “Yes. Mr. Siverling’s identity papers did mention he was born in Vale. The Argent were based out of a town near there, did you know? Spalding fell to an Aberrant attack almost twenty years ago. The entire town is still contained within a sundered zone, if I remember correctly. No known survivors.” He moved his finger to point at the spot. The map had been made after the incident, apparently, because there was no dot or town name to signify civilization.

“If there were any, they would have been trapped inside,” Oliver said darkly.

“You said Mr. Siverling was an orphan?” Titus asked.

Oliver seemed taken aback for a moment and didn’t reply right away. “Yes.”

“And how old is he?”

“I do not know his exact birth date, and I don’t believe he does, either.”

“How old?” Titus repeated, his voice growing harder.

The muscles in Oliver’s jaw clenched. “Twenty, perhaps, give or take a year on either side,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Just old enough, then. And he had magical training before entering the University. Who would do such a thing for an orphan?”

Oliver was silent for a long time, then said, “His…guardian took him as an apprentice when he was young. They were not related, and the man is dead now, I believe.” He leaned forward, seeming both deeply exhausted and resigned. “He does not talk about his childhood, Titus, but I have reason to believe it was difficult…even traumatic. He was raised by a man he loathes. Whatever his surname, Sebastien has never mentioned anything about such a heritage. Not even a hint. He never knew his parents. If any of this has any credibility, which I still maintain is exceedingly unlikely, it’s possible that Sebastien doesn’t even know. I sincerely doubt he would be pleased if this matter suddenly became the subject of widespread gossip. He is the type that prefers to succeed on his own merit.”

“It would be ironic, would it not, if a babe was secreted away from certain death in the arms of a servant once more,” Titus said, turning away from the map.

Oliver stilled, tension draining out of him as he stared ahead. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Titus said, watching him carefully. Just a little more now. One more push, maybe two. “You know how dangerous Aberrants are, that’s all. Especially the insidious types. Nightmares, Blights. There’s a reason for the Red Guard’s scorched-earth policy when they determine the danger to the world is too great.” He paused, then concluded, “There were plenty of people still alive in Spalding when they put up the sundered zone.”

Oliver remained still, staring straight ahead.

Titus leaned back, tapping his finger repeatedly against the wall behind him. In the relative silence as both waited for the other to speak, the small, sharp sound cut through the crackling of the dying fire. “Mr. Siverling does seem uncommonly reckless. Getting involved with another Blight-type Aberrant. Even associating, if peripherally, with the Raven Queen. I find that boon she gave him quite odd, don’t you? I wonder if there’s any connection to her own interest in Aberrants.” With the metaphorical echo of those incendiary words hanging in the air, Titus waited. He was not disappointed.

Oliver’s fingers uncurled from around his whiskey glass. Leaving it sitting on the arm of his chair, he uncoiled in one smooth motion, rising to his feet. He turned to Titus. All the tension, worry, and confusion that he had displayed earlier had disappeared, leaving only a cold, unwavering mask behind.

“What is it that you want?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Titus replied, smiling.

Oliver stepped forward with that same smooth grace, like a jackal slinking toward its prey, until he was a single stride away. “Everything you’ve done tonight has been for a purpose. You’ve been hoping to get something out of this conversation.” He took one more step, encroaching on Titus’s personal space, then reached out slowly with one hand. He placed it on Titus’s shoulder, and as if admiring the fabric of his suit, his touch drifted up until his hand was cupping Titus’s neck in what might have been mistaken as a caress. That is, if not for his thumb pressing too hard against Titus’s artery, allowing both of them to feel every beat of Titus’s heart.

Titus swallowed, staring right into Oliver’s dark blue eyes and ignoring the faint dizziness due to the lopsided blood flow to his brain. Oliver’s hand was cold, and despite his expressionlessness, the danger was clear. Titus tried not to react. So this was what Oliver Dryden kept hidden beneath his amiable exterior.

“But I’m done playing along. Whatever it is you want, say it clearly,” Oliver commanded, his breath warm and smelling of whiskey.

Author Note:

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