I’d never seen him look so uncertain. His entire life had just been upended, his place in the world—once so sure and planned out—gone.
“I’ve no interest in that title, in this estate, or that house,” Julien said, casting a scornful eye back at Chauntilalie.
“But you can’t just abandon it,” Alex protested. “The ducal seat can’t be left open.”
“I can,” Julien insisted flatly. “What do you think an abdication is?” He studied Alex curiously, as a scientist might a strange, new insect. “I’d make all the provisions for the estate to transfer to you first, naturally.”
Viktor’s mouth fell open. “Now wait just a minute—”
Julien didn’t shy away. “I can’t imagine a worse candidate for a duchy than you. With your mood swings? With your…accidents? Alexander has been preparing for this role his entire life. Are you up to date on the trade agreements with the other provinces? Do you know what percentage of taxes are meant to be levied for the king?”
“Well, no, but—”
“He does,” Julien continued briskly. “You’d hate being restricted to such a confining position and if you truly stopped to think it through, you’d be the first to admit it. The title goes to Alexander.”
Viktor shut his mouth, his features wounded. “Fine, but I want my share of the inheritance. A man can’t wander the kingdom without something in his pockets.”
“Of course,” Alex agreed quickly. “And you as well, Julien. Both of you would always be welcome at Chauntilalie. I…I know we don’t know much of each other, and the circumstances are befuddling at best, but…this is your home. These doors will forever be open to you.”
Viktor appeared temporarily mollified. “So. If that’s settled, apparently,” he added, throwing a dark look to Julien.
“So,” Julien said resolutely. “You speak with Mother tomorrow.”
“I will do my best,” I promised, sounding braver than I felt.
“Why would you attempt anything less?” Julien blinked at me. “You’ve something in your hair,” he said, staring off to the side of my face, just above my ear.
“What?” I asked, reaching up. Something squirmed against my fingertips and I jerked them away, recoiling. “What is it?”
“Eucorysses grandis, if I’m not mistaken. Allow me?”
Without waiting, he reached out and flicked the offending bug, stunning it. His touch felt strange. He didn’t handle me as if I was a person of flesh and blood, only a problem to be solved. When he pulled away, I saw a cream and black beetle. Its shell was all sharp angles, like armor.
Julien brought it up for a closer glance, peering at it with concern. “Yes, it is. You ought to take care, Miss Thaumas.”
“What do you mean?”
He held out his hand. The bug crawled over the curve of his palm, displaying a set of gruesome markings. With its angles and spots, it looked like a grinning, grimacing skull.
“Some think these beetles portend a terrible death.”
“What a ghastly creature,” Viktor murmured, leaning in and brushing against my shoulder. He didn’t make a move to shift away.
Alex stretched as tall as he could in his chair to catch a glimpse of the cursed insect. Grimacing, he flicked it with a snap of his wrist, sending it off into the undergrowth. “Old superstitions. Nothing more.” He offered me a smile but it looked wan and worried.
I took a step to the side, backing away from my close proximity to Viktor. “Of course. I’ve never even heard of such a warning before.”
Julien’s gaze landed on me, sharp and quizzical. “You wouldn’t, I expect, coming from such a nautical clime. Regardless, I’m glad it wasn’t my head it landed upon.”
A chill ran down my spine and I desperately wanted to chalk it up to the damp morning air.
“Utter nonsense,” Viktor agreed. “And in any case, it last touched our little brother. I’d hate to be in your shoes right now.”
“Really?” Alex said, a flinty edge coloring his voice. “It seems my shoes are all you’ve dreamed of getting into.”
Viktor’s jaw hardened and I could sense the retorts building up between them, like water wearing down a dam. I wanted to step in, to somehow ease the rising tension. They might not have grown up together, but they were still brothers, flesh and blood. My heart ached as I thought of my own sisters, at how much I missed them. I opened my mouth, ready to speak some truth, deep and profound, but every possible offering felt clichéd and small.
After a dreadful, long moment, Viktor shook his head and stalked away.
“Ignore him,” Julien advised as Viktor tossed a handful of rocks into the pond, trying to make them skip. “I always try to.”
“You mentioned accidents,” Alex said, watching his middle brother with care. “With…his fires?”
Julien nodded. “He’s always had a terrible temper and the flames only exacerbate it. One little tiff can lead to a blazing inferno. You need to be careful with him.”
My cheeks reddened as I remembered the other type of fire Viktor was capable of igniting. When Julien’s eyes fell on me, I stilled, forcing the thoughts away.
“I think I’m going for a walk,” I volunteered, wanting to flee from Julien and his all-too-knowing gaze.
“You don’t have to,” Alex protested, but I’d already set off, fixing my direction on a statue at the other end of the pond.
It was smaller than the others, a culmination of stripes and claws, a feathered tail and leathery wings. I sat down—the creature’s catlike paws made a surprisingly comfortable seat—and watched the brothers. Alex and Julien had fallen into deep discussion while Viktor poked about for more rocks.
My eyes felt heavy and I blinked drowsily, breathing in the cool, green air. I leaned back against the beast’s leg, letting my shoulders relax. All of the secrets I’d kept clutched to my chest, a mass of tangled, twisted knots, were out in the open now. Alex knew everything and we had a plan, a course of action, a united front.
For the first time since I’d arrived at Chauntilalie, I felt at peace. As I drifted toward sleep, I dared to believe that good would triumph and that Alex and I could prove even the gods wrong.
My eyes snapped open as I heard a soft rustling approach me.
Viktor stood yards away, near the water’s edge. He swooped down to pluck a sprig of pretty little flowers from the tall grasses, then offered it to me.
Reluctantly, I slid from the statue and bridged the gap between us. “What is it?” I asked, spinning the stem between my thumb and fingers. The cluster of blooms looked like a lady’s skirt twirling about a ballroom.
“White dittany. Smell it.”
I brought the stem closer to me and caught a strong citrus aroma. “Oh.” My eyes watered at the unexpected surprise.
“Pleasant, isn’t it? They’re quite special, actually.”
“Are they?”
He nodded. “The oils on their leaves are uniquely flammable,” he mused, studying the dozens of tall plants dotting the shore. “You can set them on fire…set a whole field of them aglow, but they themselves will not burn.”