His father broke the silence.“Come for your inheritance, then, I suppose.”
The dull and dusty observation emerged in the dry, arch manner of speaking down his nose that Wren had grown up under; the same way his father dressed-down servants that displeased him.All at once Wren felt like a boy of twelve again, on holiday from school and dreading every minute of it.
This was the only excuse Wren had for the sullen and sharp reply, “Not from you.”
One of his father’s brows arose at a glacial pace.“From whom, pray tell.”
Not once in all Wren’s years had his father’s voice ever lifted to form a proper question.Mr Lofthouse, Esq., never spoke enquiries.Only imperatives.
And yet Wren answered him.“From Mother.”
If it pained the widower to hear of his lost wife, it never showed in his stone-carved face.His flat gaze seemed at most unimpressed.His eyes roved over his son’s features.Wren wondered how much of his mother showed in his own visage.Small, sharp features set in a heart-shaped face… Did it trouble his father to gaze upon him?
“I’ve come for her mementos,” Wren continued, his tongue blathering on to fill the silence without his permission.His mind had fallen back into old patterns.He knew not how to claw his way out.Not with his father before him.“And her books.”
His father’s lip curled into a sneer.“And so you’ve thrown in your lot with a common sneak-thief.”
Wren bit back a startled bark of laughter.Yes, he’d come face-to-face with the man who kicked him out of his home twelve years hence—but now he stood side-by-side with the man who’d made him a king.If his father only knew what Shrike was to him.Or, Wren wondered, would his father’s tone change at all if he realized he spoke to the kings of a realm beyond his wildest imaginings.
If Wren were only a rake like Felix had been—if he’d only drawn lewd women instead of a man he’d loved—then his father would’ve understood him.Would’ve celebrated him.Congratulated him, even.
Instead they’d not spoken in more than a decade.
Wren had imagined this moment more oft than he cared to admit.A confrontation.Reclaiming his inheritance.
Then again, he never could’ve imagined he might have the quiet strength of Shrike at his side.
Wren swallowed down the unaccountable lump in his throat.“I hope to God you understand someday.For your own sake.”
“Bold words for a boy who steals from his dead mother.”
Whatever grace Wren possessed fled him.Indignant rage surged in its wake.He heard himself snarl back, “No more a theft than the Audubons.”
His father inhaled sharply through his nose.His grip on the fireplace poker tightened.
Wren’s fist clenched at his side without his permission.If ever there was a time to flee, it was now.If it came down to a fight, he doubted his own strength would best anyone, but Shrike might well murder his father.And as much as Wren despised the man, he knew his conscience couldn’t withstand that.
A songbird whistled behind him.
“We’ll be going, then,” said Wren.
A sneer plucked at his father’s lip.“Will you, now.”
Wren doubted his father would seriously attempt to detain them by force.At least not alone.But he did stand within a few strides of the bell-pull.Wren braced to tackle him should he reach for it.He only hoped he wouldn’t shatter any bones in the struggle.
The songbird whistled again.
Wren whirled towards the sound.In the instant it took him to do so, his mind likewise raced to make sense of what he’d heard.The window must be open for a bird’s voice to travel so clearly into the room.But night had fallen, and while the hour might be morning on the purest technicality, it could by no means be called anywhere near dawn.And therefore…
Shrike perched astride the open window, one leg out-of-doors and the other still swinging within.
Wren blinked.He hadn’t noticed Shrike leaving his side.No doubt his father hadn’t either, so intent they’d been on trading barbs.Though he supposed there was something yet to be said for Shrike’s natural fae stealth.Shrike, who could stride through thickest woodland in total silence, could of course slip into the shadows of a manor library without detection.
Shrike caught Wren’s eye and jerked his head towards the night sky beyond.
Wren took the hint and bolted to join him.
His father shouted.The hound bayed.The bell rang deep within the house.Footsteps resounded overhead and through the halls.
