“It just occurred to me that if you were out there tomorrow, I might have made enough to put a dent in this ridiculous pile of debt. Well, never mind. We’ll set the tongues a-wagging from our absence.”
“I suppose people are going to talk either way,” said Ix with a scowl. Either he went out there and his lack of demon features were immediately noticeable, or he didn’t attend at all.
A healer mage arrived then, looking heartened that Ix was awake and moving by himself, but also with the news that they still had no idea how to help him. “We have little record of the kind of magic you imbued in the mirror. If it’s some innate demonic skill then there’s little we can do. If it’s something that can be formed with a spell then certainly we will put our bestscholars on it. Perhaps it would help if we could look over your notes, too. We’ll come measure your vitals twice a day to make sure there are no after effects or sudden changes, but begging your pardon, Prince Ixthan, I think the best path forward is for you to become familiar with your new form. Even if the research is possible, it will likely take some time.”
Ix didn’t look satisfied with that answer but then again, neither did the healer.
“Like I said. The Magisterium are useless. I need to talk to Lymond, he’ll understand this magic better than I do,” said Ixthan after she left. He tried to stand, but his legs shook so visibly that his knees knocked together. The robe was drenched through with sweat already, Eric noticed suddenly. That explained why he had been wandering around shirtless so often recently.
“This is ridiculous!” Ix looked down at himself in astonishment. “You’re telling me that a mere bout of fucking is enough to send this body into collapse?”
“I mean, I don’t think there was anything ‘mere’ about it,” said Eric, somewhat offended. His entire ass still hurt.
Ix’s face did something Eric had never seen it do, and then straightened itself out again. “Come here.”
Eric did so, but only because he could see Ix gripping his bedpost, refusing to sit down.
Only when Ix brushed his thumb across Eric’s cheek, pressing a brief kiss against the side of his temple did Eric realize what it was. Fondness. He felt something in his chest, like a trapped butterfly trying to get out, and hastily cleared his throat. “Why don’t you write a note and ask Lymond to come visit?”
“Because then he’ll see me like this!”
“He’ll see you looking even worse if you have to drag yourself to him,” said Eric, feeling on firmer ground as the voice of reason. He slung an arm around Ix’s waist to help steady himand tugged him toward the desk. He pressed paper and quill into Ix’s hands and bullied him into the chair. “Come on, write him a letter. I’ll deliver it and make sure he answers.”
Only when Ix was sat down thinking of how to word his letter did Eric turn away so Ix couldn’t see him, and press his hand to the place where Ix kissed him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HOWEVER MUCH ERICwanted to stay by Ix’s bedside, making sure he was all right, other business pulled him away. It wasn’t as if Ix was short on friends to come and entertain him, and King Ruben had countermanded Ix’s standing wishes to have no servants in his wing. A nervous-looking page boy now stood on attention at the end of each corridor with strict commands to run toward any threatening noises.
Eric felt ridiculous at the amount of concern he felt. Ix was only two rooms over. The estate managers – whom Eric still had difficult thinking of ashisestate managers and not his father’s – had what seemed like a host of new questions every time he thought he made a decision and could move on.
Petra came by after he sent her a page full of scribbles on things he wanted her opinion on. He’d missed this. They’d shared a reception room at home, a parlor when they had friends visiting or pushing the sofa and armchair back against the wall when they didn’t to make room for Petra’s easel and paints or for Eric to practice his swordwork.
Whenever Father had started making noises about arranging his marriage, Eric had always hoped that his relationship withLydia could be like that, mutually existing together in a shared place with their separate interests. In hindsight, perhaps he should have examined the idea that his perfect marriage would be like his platonic relationship with his twin sister more closely. In any case, the man was dead and Eric didn’t need to pretend to anyone that he was going to bother with going through the motions anymore.
Eric was good at seeing the overarching picture; Petra had a better eye for how small details might have a ripple effect. Together, they thrashed their way through ten pages about land rentals and farming agreements and expenses for a manor in the countryside neither of them had been out to in years.
“There, that wasn’t too bad. And, it’s much easier to talk through in person when I’m not trying to decipher your unintelligible handwriting,” said Petra brightly. It was the most lively Eric had seen her in months; clearly she needed some purpose and debate in her life.
“Thank you. Are you sure you don’t want to come the next time I go talk to them?” asked Eric again.
“Absolutely not, that’s your headache to have,” said Petra, pushing the stack of paper back at him pointedly. “But I was thinking, do you think we should do something with the gardens? I know they’ve belonged to the country house for centuries and it’s all very traditional and the done thing, but, well, it could help shore up the debts.”
Even though they colloquially called them the country house and the city house, the country house was more of a manor. House Marrawton was around four times the size of the city house, but lay mostly empty with a skeleton staff from the local town doing the upkeep most of the year. Occasionally, their father had gone back to see the affairs, but only for a week or so each time, but Eric hadn’t been since Mother had passed. Heshould probably plan a trip up reasonably soon, at least to see the state of it with his own eyes.
“What do you mean, sell off the land to farmers or the temple or something?” asked Eric.
“I don’t know, it was merely an idea. The woodland’s spoken for but the gardens themselves are huge and since we don’t live there, I’m sure they’re just tended to and empty. I just saw in one of these notes here that we’re paying three gardeners for its upkeep right now.”
It did seem like a waste when Petra put it like that. And despite her words, Eric assumed she had some inklings of things they could do with it instead or she wouldn’t have brought it up. “All right then. Why don’t you think of something?”
“Me?” Petra looked at him with surprise.
“Why not? Not to sound mercantile about it, but turning it into some source of income would ease things a lot. And like you said, it’s not as if we’re using it.” Eric was warming up to the idea. It would give her something to do, something to organize as well. She scrunched her face up for a moment, as if trying to think of some protest, and then clearly decided that she quite liked the idea as well. Good.
“Fine. I’ll let you know when I have a plan. And since this is all sorted, I’m going in to visit poor Ix,” said Petra.
“Don’t baby him too much, he’s milking the attention,” said Eric, as if he weren’t the one bestowing said attention. He waved her out as he turned to their notes to put them together in a coherent manner for Roger Williams before he forgot.
