The Age of Undeath

6. A wicked guest - Trill

"I'm not sure who's pecking from who's hand but it doesn't matter. They both have air for brains."

Heat burned across his skin. To think, Trill had almost defended Clémence earlier to the Chevrolets. Had every courtesy from her been a lie? How dare she smile to his face and laugh behind his back. Was that a flash of red passing from Olivier and into the folds of her dress?

"He's taking advantage of your brother," Isabel Ortega hissed, leaning over Olivier to reach Clémence. "You should speak out to the House of Nobles." The displaced woman had never set foot in the same room as Trill and Eresin, but her intense gaze and hand pressed to her chest made it seem as if she had personally witnessed a crime.

"What would you know?" Trill snapped.

Isabel gasped and sank against Olivier's side, as if his twitching little moustache and skinny frame could save her from anything. Caladrius, Tucapon's Champion-turned-bodyguard, had been studiously massaging his palm. His gaze shot to Trill now, those large, murdering hands still working out a knot or pain. He stood taller behind the sofa, expression neutral.

"Monsieur Trill..." Isabel almost sounded chipper. "Hello."

He puffed out his chest, trying to emphasize the gold broach near his shoulder, the four pointed star in the Imperial shield. "I'm taking advantage of no one. What's the meaning of this gossip?"

Clémence crossed one leg over the other, her every gesture elegant and unperturbed. He wished she was not so beautiful. "They're simply concerned over your sudden promotion onto the City Council. It was rather sudden. They're listening too much to rumours of mind control."

"Mind control?" Trill scoffed. "I move water to put out fires and I translate letters from the war front, but still you think that means I have not earned my place." He pointed to the broach, just to be absolutely sure they couldn't miss it. "How dare you steal one of my feathers. Give it back, now."

Olivier raised his hands to show his palms were empty. "Have you lost your mind? We don't have such a thing. Look."

"Curious, I wasn't asking you," Trill replied, "But the Captain saw what happened, so I demand that you return what's mine."

"Did she indeed." The tone in Clémence's voice suggested the Captain would pay for interferring. Trill regretted his bluster at once. At a nearby table he caught sight of Archer, his expression begging Trill to stop, beckoning him away.

"You don't scare me, Madame, and I will tear it from you if I must."

Clémence clenched her hands atop her knee. "Monsieur, you are being unreasonable and exceptionally rude at my party."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You might have a spit of gold pinned to your rags but you don't belong here, avishkar. You're nothing more than my brother's court jester. Just because you wormed your way onto the Council does not make us equals, so remember who you're talking to."

"Trill," Archer called, "can I have a word?"

"Oh look," said Isabel, "the farmer's calling home his cattle."

The room was swallowed behind his trembling fury. He couldn't look them in the eye, their mockery so piercing it dug beneath his skin. All he could focus on was their lucious silks and human hands. It enraged him further that he coveted their shimmer and polish. That they saw his talons and his magic as dangerous. It made him want to rip and tear and shred, like their glamour was painful to behold. Painful to desire.

Adrenaline pounded through his veins, heightening the strength of his magic, and without a second thought he lifted two pints of wine into the air and threw it at them.