Page 100 of Envious Of Fire
Ashara’s eyes flash, surprised.
Markadian seems intrigued, head tilting, for a moment not even paying mind to where his hand rests behind Kaleb.
Tristan turns his smile onto the others.I think the very first point that was made—by our lovely Director Tsuki—is the most wise of all.Our Lord Markadian is happier and more content with others by his side.See how he’s smiling? He hasn’t smiled in so long. Tristan hooks his hands behind his back, studying Markadian across the table, reading him.His sister’s return has indeed changed him.See how inspired he looks? I think he can benefit greatly from having someone at his side…someone with ideas.Someone he can…trust.
Ashara appears completely caught off-guard by Tristan’s declaration and makes no effort to hide it. She was expecting him to shoot her down. Instead, he seems to be supporting her.
That fact confuses her most of all.
Just as quickly, she appears to shrug away the confusion and face her brother. “You need someone to share the burden. Then you can continue smiling for all your days. Invite as many human violinists to entertain you as you want.”
“The musicisquite good,” mutters Ernest quietly, “if not a bit rushed in places.”
Cindy leans forward, taps on one of the shot glasses. “Can I trouble someone for a few more of these?”
Zara squints up at Ashara. “WhereisGeorge? Shouldn’t he be the one fetching the blood?”
“Wine,” says Ashara with a delighted chuckle, “and I think George is otherwise occupied.”
Markadian’s face shows the first sign of stress as he peers at Kaleb next to him, annoyed, eyes on the side of his hip. “Always occupied,” he mutters half to himself.
“Never seemed right, that man,” says Cindy. “Too tall, for one. I don’t trust men who can’t walk into my kitchen without crouching. Two: somethin’ never seemed right in his eyes …”
“He’s a recovered Feral,” mutters Zara next to her. “Didn’t you know?”
Cindy’s eyes nearly fall out of her face. “Say what? No. He can’t be.” Her head spins to Markadian. “You employed aFeralin this House?”
“Former Feral,” corrects Markadian.
“How does one quantify how muchFeralone is in order to be or not be Feral?” wonders Peter out loud, arms crossed as he peers up in thought at one of the chandeliers. “We don’t have a system in place to determine such a thing, come to think of it. Would it be calculated by the frequency of ingested blood over a period of time?Shouldwe develop a system? Seems flimsy.”
“I believe it’s simply determined by whether you abide by our laws or you don’t,” suggests Ernest.
Zara eyes him. “So if a group of forty bloodthirsty human-murdering Ferals show up in your domain and declare that theynowwish to honor your laws, they’re no longer called Feral? All their past crimes washed away, hands clean, welcome?”
Ernest pauses, stutters. “Well, I—I suppose I’d rather—”
“Once you’ve gone far enough with the blood,” says Zara, a hint of dark resolve in her eyes, “you cannot come back. I won’t speak to the character of this George, but Markadian, I do trust you know what you’re doing with that one. He’s unpredictable at best, impulsive at worst, and apparently can’t be trusted to serve blood at an official gathering of directors in your House. Is he sworn to never drink it? Does he evenlikeour kind?”
“No one likes us,” states Cindy with a smack of her lips.
Tristan takes this for an opportunity.I shall fetch more blood for our guests, to ensure no one is troubled.
“Top quality, please,” says Cindy, “and bring a lot more. Itjusthitsdifferently than Texan blood, I gotta say.”
Tristan gives a short bow, notices Ashara peering at him in a strange, curious way, offers her a smile, then departs the room on his way to the infirmary where they keep the blood.
He’s stopped halfway out of the banquet hall. “Tristan.”
He turns. Ashara.Oh, is there something else? Youdothink I should try the martini glass thing? Or is it a bit over the top?
“Cut the crap,” she says. “Why are you suddenly acting as if you are on my side? I know you better than my brother does. You are playing at something. I want to know what it is.”
The only thing I’ve played at lately is my wardrobe. Tristan lifts an arm and poses, giving a gesture at his blouse and pants.See? My colors actually match today.I’ve been told my style has been too—
“This has to do with George, doesn’t it.”
—out of control, finishes Tristan awkwardly.
