Page 37 of Apple Boy

“Farrar, I am not to be disturbed until dinner.” Ivon barked as, assisted by the footman, he bundled his inebriated girth out of the carriage and up the steps, none too steady on his feet.

Garbed in the finest quality clothing I’d seen since I’d arrived in the province of Erias I watched him sway as he mounted the steps. However, Ivon’s richly embroidered garments were no longer the finery they had been when he first dressed this morning. His clothes had taken on a disreputable look, soiled as they were with wine and smears of makeup from women or men he entertained at his club. Ivon had also remained thoughtfully silent for the journey up the hill, and his habitually jovial face was etched with lines of worry. I was sure then that there were things afoot here in Serein that I was not yet party to. I had not been schooled in anything but the bones of the politics of Serein, in fact, that was one of the reasons for my visit. I was to learn who I should trust, and who I should fear. I was to make alliances that would see our family right for years to come. Ivon is my blood-kin, I trusted him implicitly, and he, in turn, trusted Mr. Percheval and Mr. Wrenfrey. Therefore, I trusted them on Ivon’s say so. But I worried about the Great Council. I knew nothing of them or their alliances. I wondered if they would believe my tale of betrayal on the high-seas, or think me some Lordling whose boisterous behavior had seen him punished by the captain of the ill-fated Trojan Star, or maybe that I had an agenda and wanted to cause trouble by telling tall tales. Whatever was coming, it was coming soon. I could smell a change in the post-rain air and feel the uncertainly roil in my gut. I was part of whatever changes were to come to this city and even though I could not explain it, I sensed I needed Adam by my side to face it.

Uncle Ivon stopped mid-way up the stairs, turned, and called, “Nephew, come.” I exited the coach and hurriedly mounted the steps.

“It goes without saying; my home is your home.” He informed, “Even though I do not sound it, I am joyful you are unharmed and with me at last. However, all you have told me of your travels troubles me deeply and poses many difficult questions. I need to write to Brioc again, at once, for it is up to your father to decide how we retaliate. Betrayal of an Aeling heir is the betrayal of the whole province of Thorn. The murder of a beloved Aeling retainer is unacceptable, and justice must be served.”

“Thank you, uncle. Jossuah was a good man and did not deserve such a gruesome end.”

“True, true. I commend you for your good heart. It takes a man with courage and fortitude to stand up for those less fortunate. They are traits worthy of the next Lord of Thorn. But you, mah boy had a lucky escape and, quite frankly I am in awe that you survived. Mark my words, Osia will pay for the suffering that they put you through. But in the meantime, you and your companion will stay with me until your father can arrange safe passage back to Thorn.”

“I am worried for Summer.” I admitted “ Part of the deal to give me passage on that godforsaken ship was that Summer should visit with Kristoff and Fabian. Father needs to have her returned to Thorn as a matter of urgency.” I said concern all too evident in my voice. “She is a pawn in a game she does not even know she’s playing.”

“We will not let Osia have either of you, Winter. Never!” Ivon blustered, nearly losing his balance on the step. I reached out and steadied him.

“I need to think on the ramifications of what transpired on that ship, and—” He paused for a moment and seemed to look past me into the never-ending distance.

“On second thoughts, Farrar, inform the cook I will take dinner in my chamber this night.” He said distractedly. “I have far too much to think on… far too much.” And with that Ivon stormed into the house.

I heard a bellow of “Jaxon! Attend!” and I saw the valet I recalled from my youth scurrying after my Uncle Ivon as he stamped up the stairs to his chamber.

The gemstone in my pocket jumped as if to seek my attention. I slipped my hand inside and was comforted by the warmth of it in my palm. One of the things I had neglected to tell my uncle was about the discovery of my precious Star-fall. I trusted him implicitly, but it now felt as if the stone belonged to me. As the days passed my connection to the gemstone and its power were becoming stronger. Selfishly, I wanted this precious gem for myself and Adam.

Looking a little dazed, Adam alighted from the carriage. We ascended the steps and strode into the foyer of the grand airy mansion.

“This reception is bigger than my whole damn house,” Adam exclaimed, looking wide-eyed at the splendor of our surroundings.

I could see why the house was named Copperdall. The architect seemed to have a fondness for copper, and not only to clad the roof. The interior of the house was adorned with green or bluish patinated copper in the bespoke door handles, ornate chandeliers, and candle sconces. The balustrades of a curvaceous grand marble staircase were also artistically wrought from the metal. The floors were smooth, pale grey and white stone tiles laid in a diamond pattern, and dark timber panels bisected the cream walls. Art decorated the upper half of the walls. Oil paintings featured old bearded men with curious sparkling eyes, and women wearing voluminous dresses, outlandish hairstyles, and coquettish smiles. These long-dead people were not my kin, and I found the paintings unnerved me. There was a notion of them looking down on me and their eyes following me. I could not deduce what it was that I found so strange about the paintings, but the feeling was visceral. I wondered about the history of Copperdall House, and if Adam and I were to stay here for an extended time, I would visit the library and seek out its history, for a house this size was bound to have a well-stocked library of books, scrolls, and secrets.

I glanced up and with a start saw another manservant standing on the gallery overlooking the reception hall. He was in the twilight of his life, stern-faced, with a thin mouth that had a hint of cruelty to it. The servant’s fine silver hair was back swept severely over a bald pate and styled with pomade to give an oily appearance. To be honest, I found him a little scary.

“Good day, my Lord, sir.” He addressed us.

“I am Mr. Elliot, Head Butler of Copperdall. Farrar will see to your baggage.” His voice was a little less fearful than his overall countenance.

“Oh, not to worry Mr. Farrar, we have no other baggage,” I admitted, guiding Adam towards the curvaceous staircase, our small packs both threaded over his shoulder. “We will each require a new wardrobe of garments. Which tailor does my uncle favor?” I asked as we ascended.

“The master commissions Mediean & Moncroix for all of his tailoring, my Lord.” Mr. Elliott revealed.

I recalled my uncle’s garb. The generosity of the cut of the Sereinean clothing was flattering for his expanding waistline. He did look highly fashionable and comfortable, and it would be wonderful to not only wear well-made garments again but also to see Adam clothed in such finery.

“Very good, arrange a fitting!” Elliott nodded to Farrar who took off to do my bidding.

At the top of the stairs, Mr. Elliot walked ahead along the carpeted hallway to guide us to our chambers. I could not say what a relief it would be to shed the heavy woolen traveling cloak and these filthy garments. I longed to sit in a warm soapy bath and ease my aches away.

As we proceeded down the somberly decorated hallways, I saw rows upon rows of portraits and carved on the timber frame of each painting were gilded runes and sigils similar to those I’d seen light up the grates on my way to the depository. The artwork did not look very old, and the hand of the artist was remarkably accurate as if I were looking through a window at each subject. Who were these people in the portraits?

“Have you been in service at Copperdall long, Mr. Elliott?”

“Approximately forty summers, my Lord.” He replied flatly. “I began my employment as a kitchen boy and worked my way up to now run the household.” He said proudly, so there was no mistaking who was in charge.

“So, you are familiar with the people who feature in these paintings?”

“Aye my Lord. The De Belamine family. Such wonderful masters—“ I could hear the tremble of emotion creep into Mr. Elliot’s voice, “And they are much missed.”

“Missed? What happened?”

“That’s the thing, my Lord.” He said ominously “My memory is somewhat hazy as to the truth of it, and when I ask what became of my master and when they are coming home, nobody can say. The house is leased to your uncle by the Great Council and has been for some twenty summers, as are many of the larger mansions in the district.” A shiver of unease prickled at my skin, and I shared a wary glance with Adam.