Violet Shadows

50

Nicol nodded, reaching to accept the response. His hold lingered on the letters when their fingers touched. Neither moved. His unease bled into temptation, the distance giving him the opportunity to watch Christine's reaction. He unnerved her. There was an edge, and a feeling of peace, in being this close. Though that meaning was a latch she never dared open, sometimes she thought of it.

His voice came out a low purr, more cat-like than scoundrel, flirtatious than serious, "I'd be honored to read your letters."

Realizing his intent, and how she did not shy away from it, she said, "Anything but out loud."

Nicol was halfway to opening the first letter when the office door blew open, starting Christine so hard she jumped and her heart fell the wrong way. Henri pooled through the doors, breathing restless and tears glistening at the corner of his eyes. He nearly doubled over at the sight of her.

Christine swallowed. "Are you alright?"

With a wail, Henri crossed the room in two strides and tackled her. Christine supposed that, with the boy who maimed over a dozen soldiers and held both the collective effort to design plans with a blink of an eye, the warring of his emotions would be better kept. He hugged her so fiercely that she nearly tumbled into the wall. From the office door, poured Maze with an inquisitive eye towards Henri, but a relieving smile for Christine.

She awkwardly patted Henri's shoulder, unsure of how long he intended to hold her. She wanted to apologize, but not like this. "What did Nicol do to you?"

"He's been like that ever since you left." Maze stepped out of the door's frame to close it, and accepted their greeting to be at a distance. He quickly slipped off his protective jacket leaving an egg-colored shirt that left his tan skin looking flushed. "Glad to see you've returned. Really, we've missed you." He glanced down to the pair of letters in her hands, barely being held in her grip with the way Henri was hugging her. "For us?"

She nodded, guilt tainting her smile. "My apology. Well, part of it."

Noticing her discomfort, Nicol said, "Henri, I hear there's a great deal of prostitutes down south of the Lower Banks. I hear for a quarter of a crown you can get a dozen to hug you. You ought to release Roma before you lose someone who will do this for free."

Grumbling a slur of incomprehensive words, Henri finally released her. His brown skin was damp with tears, his lips quivering like a bow, but his disdain towards his cousin scurried the feelings off like a rabbit fleeing on a hunt. "I wonder if your mother ever hugged you as a child, Nicol."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're secretly implying," He answered, fixing his gloves.

"Somehow I don't doubt that you do."

"Don't be catty." He ran a hand through the mouse of his head that held hair, pausing to reach his cousin's eyes with as much as a stink eye as he was receiving. "I'm loved by all. Roma, give me a compliment."

She drew a blank. "You are as beautiful and as useless as a flower."

He glanced back at his study, towards the lovely bouquet she gifted him, and she internally cursed herself for the interconnected jab. "I bet that's what your mother tells you all the time." He replied crisply, unable to form a stinging retort towards her.

"Fine," She said, undeterred, "Give me one."

He swept her over with a single glance. "Your hair is the color of roses."

Maze's jaw hung open like a broken gate. "I'm floored. I didn't know you had it within yourself to be so kind."

Henri turned up his nose. "I compared her hair to roses the day we met. Sorry to say that you're not very original."

Nicol said, "My first option was to compare it to blood, but I didn't think that it would be very romantic."

"You could have said apples," Christine added, giving in to their little play. She missed them. This. The banter, useless conversations. She'd forgotten that with them, even the dullest things were dyed with color. Her smile began to twine with her words. "I think apples are romantic. They're sweet and juicy. Oh! Strawberries would've been a better fruit to use."

Nicol looked at her as if she'd grown a third head and insisted she had none. "Moving on, though I'm sure these two emotional hyenas—"

"I'm not the one crying," Maze deflected.

"You were about to." The hardness of Nicol's statement billowed towards contempt. "Those letters might be enough to sway their forgiveness, but mine isn't. My entire life I've never thought that a pardon could be earned in one day." Christine's expression crumbled into shame, silence coalescing the conclusion. Though she had come here, she could not expect a happy ending. It was for them to decide. It was her weight to carry. "Convince me otherwise. Tonight."

Her shame slipped off so quickly it left her eyes tingled in shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"We're visiting one of Mr. Solamaand's enemies for a momentary discussion on business. I expect it to be a quick trip towards the Father of Abuse—don't look at me like that, it's the name of the place—guaranteed to keep us entertained the entire night, though some parts are for our own interests. If you wish to convince me, I expect your participation in this endeavor."

Excitement overtook Henri's previous bitterness. "You're coming with us?"

"Our night will be with Mr. Solamaand's enemies?" Damn it. That wasn't the only problem.What was she going to wear? Every coin she managed to find was scraped towards Nicol's present, and she couldn't reuse her gowns when Eric had already seen her in the spare she owned. The rest of her closet was sold, reworked. The other she currently wore. An improbable shame grated against her at the sensation of being unable to purchase something new.

"You only have one night for my forgiveness," Nicol insisted, "I hope you don't slack off."

Christine swallowed. "I'm not going to change, then. I plan to arrive as I am now." She fiddled with a button about to fall off her cheap surcoat, the wool itchy and drab. "Plain as it might be."

Leaning against a bookshelf, Maze shook his head. "You don't need to worry about your attire."

She spun off her heel, inching closer by a ledge's worth. "Why not?"

The door creaked open, and Eric spilled through it with a comfortable gait. He answered her question with a thinly veiled frown, adjacent to his rare disdain, unlike his indifferent facade. "Because our benefactors will be in charge of our appearance, not the other way around."

—❀—

Buckle up kiddos. We're going to a party.

Also I just watched dear evan handsome and what the fuck?? Like I LOVE Ben Platt because he's such a good singer but my god he does not know how to use sunscreen. He also doesn't slurp that water. For real he looks like he's in his forties and this man is 29. I also just learned that his dad was the director of the movie. Talk about nepotism.

-Mel

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