Rooks and Romanticide (25 page)

Emily looked beautiful, per usual. She sat at her place with her tight-mouthed mother on one side and her spineless father on the other; simpletons come in from the country for the holidays. The Persians sat across from them. They seemed to be making Emily giggle, much to her mother's dismay.

There was Uncle Bradley, beside Aunt Ophelia. Graham and Rodney, and Mr. Renton, and Cain's grandmother, and all the other family who had braved the city limits of New London for just this event. Hazel and Mr. Collins stood grimly near the doors of the dining room. There was the chorus of silver and crystal, and the smells wafted and the laughter rose, and even the servants seemed jolly and at ease in their hurry to and fro with marvelous dishes.

Cain wished that Levi might have been there to see him looking so elegant—cambric shirt with full sleeves, brocade tailcoat with its little black buttons, and Dietrich crest. Maybe he'd just leave it on for later, when Levi came to visit after the rest of the world retired and it was just the scoundrels and thieves and lying noble sons who moved through the shadows of the streets.

“To my nephew!” Aunt Ophelia cried out, lifting her third glass of scotch. She climbed to her feet, and she looked wonderful, for once done up like the stunning lady she was. All the noise around the table attenuated, focus falling on her. Cain wilted, knowing just what sort of sentimental speech was coming.

“To the head of our house, my wonderful nephew,” Aunt Ophelia went on, “a testament to our endurance in the face of continual adversities. You see, my brother and his wife tried for years to have a child, and for a short while we really feared there would be no legitimate heir to the name. And then along came Cain, so perfect and beautiful. Miracle the first….”

There was a murmuring ripple around the table. Cain covered his face with his hands at the leading seat, feeling quite humiliated already, although his aunt's tipsy speech meant no harm.

“Then those filthy
dogs
—
” Aunt Ophelia gestured spiritedly and almost spilled her drink. There was a quick hum of assent around the hall, a few quiet chuckles at her passion. “Those filthy Ruslaniv
dogs
took my precious brother and his wife, and they
thought
they could steal my precious nephew as well—but no, nobody was stealing him! Not even death! Nothing could steal my little nephew away. He came back. Miracle number two. And now here he stands, two years—almost three! Running our house with a hand as capable as his father's, and Cain—”

She leaned forward, imploring Cain from down the table. He gawked back at her from below his fingers, steepled against his forehead. His cheeks were on fire. He didn't want his aunt to say too much in her state of intoxicated inspiration.

“Even if you think I intrude, I love you very much,” Aunt Ophelia went on, her voice dropping to a slow and heartfelt tone. Her eyes shone bright with the feeling. “I want you to know that I find you a very responsible young man, and even if you never tell me what has happened to you, even if you never let any of us in on the turmoil behind those lovely eyes of yours, even if you
never
trust us with the most private knowledge that keeps shadows over your soul, I support you in whatever you do. And I know everyone else in this court will too! If any of those Ruslaniv bastards knew what was good for them, so would they. God have mercy on them,
the fools
! They don't know what a man they oppose. So
to my nephew
! To you, our lord! To the Earl Dietrich on this New Year's Day—”

Uncle Bradley touched her arm, to gently signal a close to her loving, inebriated discourse. Aunt Ophelia sputtered on a word or two, tearing up, then held her drink high again and repeated in conclusion, “
To the Earl
!”

Applause rose in something like a roar. Cain could only stare at his plate. He smiled, faintly, because sometimes this was too much for him to handle. He was embarrassed by his aunt's slips of the tongue and the reminders of secret pains. Praise was not really what he searched for.

When he finally did look up, it was under the stares of his household—his
court
—and even the servants were clapping, silver trays tucked beneath their arms. The ovation drifted up to the ceiling. He could see Emily, glowing radiant between her mother and father. She looked so grown-up and lovely with her hair tied back in a loose, lustrous chignon, so much so that Cain actually felt the first pang of indecision for the day. It had to come at some point, and it came at that moment, meeting Emily's admiring eyes and exchanging a smile with her from down the table.

Running our house with a hand as capable as his father's…. I find you a very responsible young man.

Cain's throat tightened. His aunt's words had touched a shy and secret part of him, and she knew it. She was still beaming at him from her seat.

Yes.
Responsibilities
. He had those. They ran deep in his blood, on the backside of loyalty and pride, deeper even than love. Responsibilities, love, vengeance. They were all powerful and primitive forces. The question was, which one deserved more attention, and was he a monster for sleeping with the enemy's son?

Cain took hold of his wineglass and stood with a scrape of his chair on expensive checked floors. Rapier-A227 was a comforting shape against the small of his back, beneath cambric and brocade. The applause had died down into a mingling of voices, but as he stood and thrust his drink in the air, an eerie silence fell again—respectful, worshipful.

“Thank you, Aunt Ophelia,” Cain said. His words felt too little in the vast dining hall. He cleared his throat. His eyes burned. His stomach knotted. His heart was pounding and his fingers were clammy. He lowered his wine, holding it in both hands, eventually setting it on the table before he dropped it altogether. It wasn't guilt he felt, or shame, just a strange and unsettling torn sensation.

“Thank you, all of you, for coming tonight,” he began. “I know many of you are anticipating my decisions about the family, about the Dietrich house, for the next year. I'll begin by addressing my status with Lady Emily Kelley.”

A murmur shivered down one side of the table. Emily hid behind her crimped bangs, staring at her plate. Cain knew everyone was on the edge of their seats, expecting a date to finally be announced for the marriage.

Cain smiled. It wasn't a pretense. His heart hurt, but he couldn't help smiling, bitter and aware. Emily's mother stared at him hard, with eyes burning like fire. Aunt Ophelia stared; his grandmother stared; everyone stared, and Cain couldn't speak for a moment. The words were stubborn.

“I've thought long and hard about this decision, and I'd like to announce that I will not be marrying Lady Emily Kelley.”

The silence on the air buckled. Instantly, gasps sounded.

Cain went on, ignoring the interruptions. “At this point in time, with the world as it is, with the feud between this family and the wretched Ruslanivs still going strong, I feel the protection of the Dietrich family will be calling for one hundred percent of my time and effort. I refuse to keep my cousin Lady Emily hostage in the midst of that bloodshed. The center of New London is too dangerous. I would feel much better if she returned home to Essex with her mother and father, until the air here has settled a bit more.”

Cain let the hush hang, heavy and tense. He could feel the hatred from Emily's mother and the other, less involved cousins, the urgent confusion from many others. Cain searched for Emily's eyes. They shimmered with the emotion she struggled to keep at bay. Her dainty chin was held high, blonde hair falling in dreamy curls at her ears and temples. She smiled, but she looked like it was the last thing she wanted to do as everyone stared at her and everyone stared at Cain, and the gossip started up already in the middle of dinner.

“But, my lord—” It was Emily's mother, of course, pompous Lady Kelley. “Don't you think we've been more than generous, allowing her to stay with her future husband
unwed
? Don't you suppose she could continue to stay, and be trained to protect herself
as your wife
? Why, Ophelia could train her. We all know what Ophelia finds
proper
.”

More whispers, more gasps, and the contention of a family divided—between the simpletons from the country, with their subtle insults and judgmental remarks, and the world-weary ones from the heart of New London, whose views of the world were colored a bit grimmer.

Cain uttered a scoff, casting Emily's mother a scathing glance. He wasn't going to have her undermining him, whether her suggestion was reasonable or not. He didn't want to deal with the tears and heartbreak and questions. He just couldn't handle it. They all knew he was their mad earl, so why did they still expect things to go the way they wanted them?

“Your audacity is remarkable,” he hissed. Uncle Bradley elbowed him. Cain sighed, saying with a bit more composure, “I've made my decision, Lady Kelley. At this moment, it's unchanging. Now, can we move on? I have
plans
, you see.”

This was the part he'd been waiting for. Reigning over the discord around dinner, he declared, “I'm sure most of you are dying to hear news on the feud itself. We've come upon some information that is particularly incriminating, involving the Ruslaniv family. Our next move in this game of bloody tag is undecided as of yet, but please do be assured that
we have dirt
and we're going to
use it
. The real murderers of my parents will be caught, and the old schemes and deceptions will be brought to light so that the Ruslanivs will be
forced
to submit! With so much evidence, the Queen won't allow anything but justice! They're going down, I promise you! They won't escape this one,
the rats
. We've reached the beginning of the end, family!”

Again there was applause, and the Kelleys' grievances were forgotten in the wake of this new promise.

It was mayhem, beautiful mayhem, harsh on Cain's ears but comforting to his soul. He lifted his wine, grinning.

It felt good to say those things. It felt good because he knew it was true. It was the beginning of the end.

“To the Dietrich house!” he cried, and a number of glittering gold-encrusted goblets were thrust into the air around the table.

“
The Dietrich house
!” they echoed, which was followed by a chorus of voices, excited and urgent. Rejoice, the end was nigh! Centuries of ill will were drawing to a close!

Cain met Aunt Ophelia's bright eyes. He gave her a wink and tossed back a mouthful of wine, joining his household in their good cheer as his breath escaped in a burst of relief and laughter—

“
Oh, how sweet. Did your little spy tell you all that
?”

The voice came from the servants' balcony that hung over the dining room, and it was shrill and belittling and dissolved into wild, harrowing cackles from a dark-haired female gunslinger.

And as the rest of the scene registered in a matter of instants—the fur collars, the black masks, the red-haired man and three others rushing the walkway above with arms already out—the sound of gunshots rattled the air, and shells rained down on the dining table as bullets gnawed the ceiling and that awful cackling laughter rattled on and on.

Good God, it was the masquerade in October all over again.

Dishes shattered. Screams rose. Chairs and drinks were thrown over as guests and family members ran for the doors or ducked under the wide old table.

Cain chose the latter, yanking out his revolver. It wasn't going to do much in an ambush, especially not when the attackers were at that distance, but it was something, and it was there for instinct and defense as his thoughts raced with the icy resolve of panic.

They were the same ones from October. That he knew for sure. Again they'd somehow found an entrance into his home. Somebody was going to die, and Cain's heart gave a sickening thud. Who was it to be, then, fate?

“
Earl Dietrich
!” someone crooned from above. “
Come out and play
!”

Cain lifted the silver-embroidered tablecloth, searching the few faces beneath. Emily, her father, his feeble and shaking grandmother, a few country cousins. Most of those capable of fighting had left the dining room, maybe to corner the attackers upstairs.

Aunt Ophelia crouched at the other end of the table. She met Cain's eyes almost immediately.

The infiltrators shot at the walls, at the floors, at anything harmless to lure someone out. There were voices, and Cain recognized the slang. He was acquainted with the accent. A revolted shudder rattled through him, and a dawning fear that this was somehow his fault.

The voices in their foreign slang summoned forth the memory of Kelvin—
Ooh, miliya, raspidaty, precious boy, potselui menya
….

BLACK.

Aunt Ophelia jerked her head to the side.
Go
, she mouthed, motioning firmly beyond the table.

Cain hesitated at first, then made a run for the kitchen doors. A few bullets followed him, but by how worthlessly they were aimed, he knew they were nothing but intimidation. The popping of shells was like a tintinnabulation of bells from hell.

His breath ripped from his chest, sharp. His heart thundered. The floor tipped and swayed beneath him, all the hallways lengthening like a funhouse. Cain ran, and the urgency—the instinct—was different this time around. This part wasn't like the October masque. He was cold with panic.

This wasn't a regular fray. This was a sneak attack, a waylay; this was a true invasion of
his home
.

The horror was rusty, like he'd felt it before. It tightened in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Running, running—