The Honeymoon Suite 4 - Confrontation

Titus

Month 3, Day 19, Friday 11:30pm

Hours had passed since Titus sat down to research Sebastien Siverling’s past. After reading the small report, he had gone to the Edictum Council library to explore some historical references. He had found little, but what existed was enough to both perplex and worry him.

As he looked up at Dryden Manor from the front gate, many of its clear glass windows still lit, he steeled himself for the conversation to come. It might, in fact, have been helpful to have a partner to play off of during the coming conversation, but this wasn’t the kind of topic he wanted heard by others. Even someone like Alma might spread rumors.

The doorman was obviously confused and surprised as he recognized Titus, but he still stepped aside to let him enter. “I’m sorry to inform you that most of the other guests have already left, but if you would like to join those that remain, they are in the sitting room enjoying whiskey and a game of cards, I believe.”

“Lead the way,” Titus said, waving a hand magnanimously.

Oliver and the three men who still remained looked up in surprise when Titus entered, and Oliver gave a somewhat belated smile.

As they made their greetings, Titus eyed the glass of whiskey in Oliver’s hand, then judged the decanter it had been poured from. Almost empty. “Celebrating?” Titus asked.

Oliver’s voice wasn’t quite slurred, but his tongue and expression were both loose. “Mr. Margrave and Lord Setterlund have both seen the necessity and benefit of my plans. Personally, I look forward to being able to get some of the nicer spices and that flame honey for a more reasonable price. And the commoners can look forward to some fruits to keep them healthy, come next winter.”

“And no doubt a little extra gold to line your pockets and fund your never-ceasing endeavors,” Titus said, softening words that could have been harsh with a smile. “I think this calls for another drink!”

Titus had yet to eat the evening meal and so sipped at his own glass with exceeding caution while encouraging the others to imbibe as much as possible.

By the time the other three had left, Oliver was noticeably tipsy, though not so much as to be considered truly drunk. “You have something you want to talk about,” he deduced, crossing one leg smoothly over the other. “Something secretive?”

“Astute observation.” Titus leaned back in his chair, watching Oliver in the low, warm light of a few light crystal lamps on one side, the fireplace on the other. “As you’re probably aware, my younger brother got himself into a dangerous situation last weekend. Mr. Siverling, your ward, was instrumental in ensuring his safety. According to the reports, he might have even saved Damien’s life. I don’t take my brother’s well-being lightly, I assure you. I was hoping to do something to thank Mr. Siverling, but I’m afraid I don’t know what he might want or need.” Titus watched carefully as he spoke, but Oliver didn’t visibly react. The man was smooth, even under the influence of whiskey. Titus would need to push to get him off-balance, and from there, strike hard and fast.

“I’m sure Sebastien didn’t do it for the reward. He’s not very materialistic. But he’s not my ward, just a young man who happened to impress me with his potential.”

As Oliver lifted his glass to take another sip, Titus asked, “Is he sleeping with you in exchange for University tuition?”

Oliver froze, then spewed out a small spray of whiskey and bent over coughing.

Titus grimaced, pulling the handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wiping the droplets off his face.

“What—why?” Oliver rasped.

Keeping his tone misleadingly conversational, Titus explained what Alma had told him.

Oliver was shaking his head before Titus even finished. “That wasn’t Sebastien.”

Titus leaned forward, feeling no desire to smile. Oliver had made a mistake, and now he was caught. “But it was you. So you admit, at least, that you have a taste for young, desperate men who look remarkably like him?”

Oliver shook his head even more desperately, raising his hands as if to stop the words spilling from Titus’s mouth. “I haven’t— I’ve never touched him. It’s not like that,” he insisted, half pleading, half appalled.

Titus raised his eyebrows. “But you are paying his way through the University.” It wasn’t a question but still demanded a response.

Oliver hesitated, and that was enough of an answer.

Titus leaned back again. “How did you meet?”

Oliver cleared his throat of the remaining roughness, then set down his whiskey glass, staring at Titus with hard cynicism. “Why the interrogation?” he asked.

He was stalling for time. Titus smiled without humor. “It’s not an interrogation. Mr. Siverling is not underage, and private sponsorship ‘agreements’ are not illegal. But I would warn you against refusing to answer.”

“Is Sebastien in any trouble?” Oliver sounded genuinely worried, though that quickly morphed into unconcealed scorn. “Or are you simply displeased that your little brother might be associating with someone without noble blood?”

“Well, not completely without noble blood, am I correct?” Titus asked, going for the kill.

But instead of the unconcealable signs of shock and fear that Titus had expected, Oliver just blinked at him. “What?”

Titus paused, suddenly unsure of himself. If that was an act, it was an exceptional one. Titus was no prognos, but he had trained himself to notice the unconscious reactions, the twitches of muscle, the dilation of the eyes. “Answer my question, Oliver. How did you meet?”

“I met Sebastien during a trip to one of the smaller villages up north. He was…selling his magical services to make a living.” He narrowed his eyes, almost daring Titus to comment on the illegality of casting without a license, and doubly so to sell those services. When Titus remained silent, he continued. “He is an orphan and had few other viable options. I was intrigued by his obvious intelligence and talent. He has an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. His life was being wasted. I could help, and so I did.”

“And did you not notice that he speaks and acts nothing like a lowborn commoner?”

Oliver frowned at him, still perplexed. “Sebastien is proud. He emulated the traits of those he found desirable—educated. You seem to be suggesting that he has some noble blood, but I can assure you that is not the case.”

“You are from Osham, correct? From a noble line?”

“I am from Osham. And yes, my family had pledged alliance to the state and the General Secretary, granting us a hereditary title, so long as we continued to serve. At this point, I would wager my title could be in danger, were I to return. How is this relevant? Sebastien is not foreign nobility.”

“I ask as, being from another country, perhaps you are not exceedingly familiar with the history of this one. Before the Thirteen Crowns, before the Blood Emperor, Lenore was ruled by a king. The last king of the Krell line was served by a Court Sorcerer, who went by the moniker ‘the Argent’ due to his unique coloring. In fact, his given name was Avis Siverling.”

Titus let those words hang in the air for a moment, still watching Oliver carefully. “He married the king’s third daughter, borne of a second wife.”

Oliver rubbed his face roughly, looking toward the fireplace. “When the Blood Emperor conquered a place, he killed the ruler and anyone associated with them. Are you telling me this Avis the Argent escaped?”

“No, nor did his wife. Both were publicly slaughtered. But there are some differing accounts of what happened to the child in her belly. Most records say that she was killed with the child still in her womb. But one mentions that, before being executed, the terror and grief caused her to miscarry.”

“What are you getting at?” Oliver asked.

“Sebastien Siverling is a charismatic young man, enough so to woo women both old and young, and some men, too. I’ve never doubted Thaddeus Lacer’s integrity, so Mr. Siverling must have incredible magical potential. And how interesting that he bears such striking coloring. What a coincidence. You must be very lucky, to have stumbled upon such a person in their time of dire need and then helped them achieve their dreams. He must be very grateful.”

Oliver was silent for a long while, staring intently at Titus at first, and then down at his own hands. “You are insinuating that, knowing of the ambiguous history, I came upon a young, talented man with convenient features and cultivated the person known as Sebastien Siverling. That he’s a fake, planted for…some reason.

“No. Surely you cannot be serious? That doesn’t make sense in so many ways. For one, it has been hundreds of years since the arrival of the Blood Emperor. Even if the Siverling bloodline did survive, how could the coloring have remained so dominant for this long? Coloring which, I remind you, isn’t even linked to the royal family itself, but merely the Court Sorcerer. And if I was cultivating a young commoner to impersonate ridiculously diluted royal blood, from a non-inheriting maternal line no less, what would this gain me?”

Oliver waved his arm, outwardly frustrated. “If Sebastien makes a name for himself, perhaps he will marry into one of the Crown Families. But Titus, I am a bachelor.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I am wealthy and of a noble line myself. If I wished to gain power among the Thirteen Crowns, I could simply marry into one. There has been interest. Why would I go to so much trouble for something with so little additional benefit? The name, his hair color…it is a coincidence.”

“Why come up with a complicated explanation when a simpler one is more likely?” Titus agreed, nodding. “I did consider that you had Sebastien impersonating a Siverling, but I discarded that theory quite quickly.”

Oliver laughed. “You were right to do so! I’d never have the patience for a scheme with such a long payoff, even if there were some obscure benefit.”

That was a lie, Titus thought, but he smiled back amiably. “Except, then I had an investigator look into it.”

Author Note:

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