Page 43 of Garden of Poisoned Delights

“I will not,” Emile said. He narrowed his eyes at the fox-man, Rey, who was smiling brightly at Eli and looking around like maybe the entire room was going to collapse around them.

Emile understood. Eli had that sort of energy about him. So did he. “We’ll have a room made up for you, with the understanding that you’re only availing yourselves of our hospitality because of the storm and will be on your way in the morning.”

“Emile, really,” Baz huffed.

“That’s not my wish, darling. It’s Eli’s, and it’s fine.” More than, really. He wouldn’t have thought Eli would spend five more minutes in his home, much less an entire night.

He’d at the very least have the kitchen prepare food for them, provisions to take along on their journey—sharing a drink was a good first step, but they likely were in no place for an entire meal together. They may never cross paths again, but perhaps they would. Emile had given up attempting to predict the strange twists and turns that his life would take, ever since he’d drunk poisoned champagne in his garden and woken up with a Mislian force-feeding him flowers.

In a way, he and Eli had both come back from the dead. Emile’s crimes were greater, and while it wasn’t his nature to dwell on his own horrendous behavior in those dark days after Arthur and Lianne’s murders, he knew what he’d done to Eli was unforgivable. Eli knew it too, and they would have to live with it, forever.

Emile warmed himself by the fire while Baz went to instruct the kitchen and fetch him warmer socks, Eli and Rey talking quietly across the room. He would send Adrien a letter, he thought, and perhaps Sabre, but there was something he could do now.

He kissed Baz and murmured he had something to do before bed. “That was your idea, to keep us in there?”

“Aye,” Baz said, smiling, easy in his arms. “I knew he wasn’t going to try anything.”

“How did you know?”

“He loves his brother,” Baz said, shrugging, “and Sabre loves Rose, who loves Hektor, who loves me, and I tolerate you, mostly.”

Emile barked out a laugh at that, kissing him, nipping his bottom lip. “I can’t say I appreciate it, but I suppose it could have gone worse.”

Baz raised his eyebrows. “I should think so, Emile. You know exactly how badly it could go, because it already went there.”

“I think it could have been a touch worse, don’t you? He’s not dead.”

“You just smiled,” Baz said, eyes narrowed. “You like him, don’t you?”

“I respect a man who digs his way out of a grave and becomes someone better. Like him? Of course not. I’m a beast, I don’t like anyone.”

“You’re a ridiculous man and you do so, but I’ll keep your secret. I like him,” said Baz, and that wasn’t a surprise. Displays of fraternal loyalty certainly didn’t hurt, and if Emile was any indication, Baz liked a strong personality, which had been what Lianne had always said about him.

It occurred to him that if she’d been alive when he’d had Aline and Eli arrested, she would have talked some sense into him even if Eli had been everything they’d thought when he’d been taken to the gallows. And she’d hated Aline de Valois.

Emile kissed Baz one last time and lightly smacked his ass, pleased when he jumped, still a little bruised from that enthusiastic caning the night before. “Go on. I won’t be long.”

Emile went to his office, pulled out his official signet ring, wax, and parchment. He thought for some time, then began to write.

Emile did not bid farewell to their guests in the morning, but a servant handed over knitted scarves, new hats, fur-lined socks and food for a few days’ journey. She also handed them a signed letter with Emile’s official seal, a hasty note scribbled on scrap paper clipped to the top.

Ser de Valois,

I’ve had a copy sent to Adrien in Duciel, but I thought you might like one for yourself.

From one man who came back from the dead to another, I assure you I am making the most of the second chance I assuredly did not deserve. I may never be a good man, but I have vowed to be a better one. Perhaps this will prove that I meant both what I said to your brother and what I said to you.

Best,

Emile de Guillory

PostScript: I included another bottle of the liquor, to replenish your supply. Don’t drink so much that you won’t be able to vanquish Izzy with your blade. I should like to see that one day, as, I believe, would your father.

The letter he’d written in triplicate read–

By order of King-Regent Emile de Guillory, Eli de Valois is hereby officially recognized for his good deeds on behalf of Staria and its citizens. It is the decree of the crown that he be knighted accordingly, and granted all rights and privileges as benefits this honor.

Isiodore had pardoned Eli, which Emile had known and approved, since he had been the target of the assassination plot that Eli was being pardoned for. But as far as he knew, this was the first knighthood bestowed in Staria in an age. It felt right that he should do this, and that people know it was him praising Eli for his knightly deeds. It wasn’t important for himself or his own reputation, but for Eli, for Sabre. It was for the man he’d been, once upon a time, before he’d let himself be buried alive under his paranoia, fear, and hate.

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