Page 115 of Besieger
He has forgotten he looks like someone else, a servant even.Raffaelle would have found the panic in his demon’s movements amusing had the body before him not started to transform.
“What are you—”
He gaped at the sudden appearance of Silvio before him, dressed as a footman, and watched as his eyes melted from gold to green.
“Nothim, you idiot!” Raffaelle hissed, and shoved Tabes under the table right as August walked through the door.
His brother and sister would have passed through the hall without paying him notice had it not been for the crash of his chair as he stood up to drag Tabes. Raffaelle smoothed his hands over the rumpled tablecloth and composed his expression into one of calm. He was acenturies-oldvampire, one who prided himself on holding the key to the Council’s secrets and desires. And now, his own servant had made him act like a naughty child caught in wrongdoing.
I will whip you raw, you imp, he gritted his teeth and stepped away from the table. If Tabes could peer into Raffaelle’s mind and pluck from it the form that would please him most, Raffaelle hoped he could see now just how angry he was.
“Brother!” He extended both his arms and embraced August, spinning him back in the direction from which he and Penelope had come. Both of them appeared dressed for a night out, or perhaps had just come back from a trip into town. Penelope wore a wool pencil skirt and a matching coat in dove-grey and blackheels. He caught a glimpse of her white blouse and its pearl like buttons, peeking under the coat. August, too, was wearing a suit, though his was olive green and his shirt appeared to be burgundy; the colour palette, although not to his usual taste, suited him well.
His brother muttered something unintelligible, surprised to find Raffaelle in this part of the mansion.
“You have heard, have you not?” Penelope asked, and looped her hand and through the crook of his arm, and guided both men back into the dining hall. Raffaelle tried to match their pace, crushed between them.
“About theMarquis?” He flashed her a toothy grin.
“Yes!” Penelope laughed and despite himself, Raffaelle enjoyed the sound of it. Something must have happened to put her in such high spirits. “The prodigal son has returned!”
“Splendid news for our Master, no?” Raffaelle said, nudging August before he pulled free.
“Yes, indeed,” his brother agreed and sat on the nearest chair, legs crossed. He had the decency to seat himself facing them.
Raffaelle forced himself to look at Penelope so his eyes would not stray to the feet of the table, where the tablecloth barely touched the ground. He caught a glimpse of a shape crawling away from the spot where August has been standing.
“We were just talking about how Silvio has got it into his head to bring more sunlight into the mansion. Skylights! Have you ever heard of anything more absurd?”
“If he wants to have Emerick bask in the light, the glass house would suit him better,” August grumbled.
“Ah, the garden, yes.”
Penelope leaned into Raffaelle. She began to slowly promenade them across the room, making a wide berth so she could study the paintings and mirrors lining the walls.
“Do you like the new gardens, sister?” he asked, somehow too eagerly.
“I think I prefer the ones theSultanahas.”
Raffaelle waited for her to elaborate, but Penelope continued to walk in silence; her grip on his arm tightened slightly.
“Speaking of our dear mistress,” she tipped her head and lowered her voice, “has there been no letter for Betül?”
Ah…
Not long after the Council disbanded, Raffaelle had made the mistake of sharing his little game with Penelope—how he read through Betül’s correspondence, curious to learn more about the East and the sultanate.
“There has not, I’m afraid. Either our sister has caught on to me, or there is nothing worthy of theSultana’sattention unfolding in our home.”
Tabes had caught sight of the Turkish vampire. She continued to write her letters, yet never seemed to seal and send them once the pages were full. No maid had been summoned to dispatch or collect her correspondence. Raffaelle had not been lying when he said he did not know. If Betül had not deemed it worthy to inform her mistress, Raffaelle saw little reason to risk stealing the letters.
He was far more interested in the letters Penelope had been getting from Greece and her recent liaison with August. The two had been spotted sharing more than a stroll through the halls.
“Oh, but I am glad we stumbled upon you, Raffaelle.”
“And why is that, my dear?”
They took another turn around the room, strolling across the marble floor as if they were outdoors, in the sun, in the gardens, the click of their heels like the opening notes of an aria. For a moment, Raffaelle allowed himself to be carried by the mundanity of it; he forgot to worry about a certain rat listening in on their conversation.
