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I even feel better about my altercation with Zale. Sure, he's one hell of a dangerous freak, but I was aware of that before yesterday. I’ll just have to stay clear of him as much as possible, starting with getting out of his summons.
I lower the speeder to ground level when I get to Stateside, and glide up to the gate of the Rhodes residence. I only have time to open my window half an inch before the automated barrier unlatches. Whoever's guarding the gate must have had a description of my speeder. The model’s certainly not hard to identify.
Objectively, the vehicle is beautiful, and if someone had asked me what kind of transport I'd love to own when I was twelve, I might have dreamed up something quite like it: a cotton candy blue convertible built for racing, sun powered, with wide bumpers and silver accents. It's no less ridiculous. I would have returned it, but to travel all the way from Five to the lanes on foot would take me over an hour each way. Asking for another choice of speeder would have felt too much like being the spoiled daughter, and I'm not about to take that position. I keep my communications with the duchess to a bare minimum.
Yet here I am, entering her home.
I leave the speeder in front of the main entrance to the red brick house. A footman dressed like a penguin swings the dark green double doors, bowing low as I pass him by. “Lady Rhodes.”
By now, I'm almost used to that strange new name of mine.
Stovrj is a common northern name. Grandma Lyn told me her husband's folk used to come from Vanemir. She herself was a daughter of Flaur, though she left for Magnapolis in search of work when she was younger than me. Her maiden name was Beauchamp, a farmer's line of no note.
The Rhodes have been around for so long I can name some of them from history books referring to events from before the common era, in the days immortals roamed Xhera as they pleased. The family isn’t truly local to Ravelyn—they have a foothold in practically every kingdom, except maybe Dorath. Every single one of them is either rich, a noble, or both. And now I'm one of them, according to all new edition of the peerage for sale. I bought a copy after the duke showed me his, just to check.
I learned to drive and pilot at nine, with one of Grandma Lyn's gentleman friends—the butcher on Goblesquare. He had a small hovercart to deliver his meats to the restaurants all over the undercity, and he showed me how to operate it so that I could make a buck helping him out occasionally. I never bothered to file for a permit; no one checks licenses in the lanes, and I didn't go anywhere else. One of the formalities I had to complete was passing driving and flying tests this summer. The permit that arrived in the post was my first glimpse at this strange new life. Next to my photograph, the holographic card read “Lady Helyn Stovrj-Rhodes, 7 Green Lane, Stateside, Magnapolis.” I stared at it for a full ten minutes, and when I passed it around, Alva did the same.
"Ms. Helyn.” A tall, pale servant with a face so skeletal I half expect him to keel over in the next breath comes down the grand staircase leading to the two upper levels.
I can't for the life of me recall his name, but I know he's the duke's butler.
"I don't believe you are expected." I note his odium in the arch of his eyebrow as well as his judgmental tone.
Luckily for me, I couldn’t care less.
"I didn't call ahead."
"Well, it is your home." His lips press even thinner, and I smirk, highly amused.
He clearly disapproves of me, but a professional such as he isn't about to make it more obvious than a subtle change of expression. "I'm afraid your lady mother is away at this time. Shall I arrange for refreshments while you wait?”
Perfect!"That's all right. I'm here to see the duke, if he’s at home and can spare a moment."
Both surprise and suspicion flash in his beady eyes. "I'll inform His Grace of your arrival. Would you care to sit in the library, the drawing room, or shall I open up your bedroom?"
Though he hasn't said it in so many words, this jerk is implying I might wish to bed my ancient stepfather. I could vomit, but I hide that his barely veiled barb offends me.
"I can wait right here, pal." As I hoped, my familiarity makes his weak chin twitch.
I lean against the marble wall.
"I believe the duke would prefer if you made yourself comfortable."
In other words, he might get an earful if he’s seen treating me as less than an honored guest.
Good.
"I'm perfectly comfortable here. I'd be more so if you could get my mother's husband, so I can be on my way."
The pale butler’s eyes flash. I can practically feel energy crackle around me. If we were in a dark alley, I'd be in trouble with this demi, but we’re in Salvar Rhodes’s home, and he’s but a servant. Cutting his scowl short, he returns to the second floor, muttering unintelligible curses under his breath.
I can’t afford to make another enemy, even a servant, but whatever I do, this one isn't about to be my friend, so I don't mind infuriating him.
Never one to waste time if I can help it, I look through my bag, and pick up the e-stone I rarely use. I ignore the instant pressure at the back of my skull and check the university platform for any updates.
There's a metamorphosis lab I can take in two days, covering how to change a rock into a living thing. As the requirements are an intermediate understanding of shifter biology, but no specific magik skills, I could take it. The attendance would count toward my science credits, but it clashes with an astronomy class.
I consider my options. If given a choice, I'd much rather study the stars than stare at a rock for hours on end, but I haven’t done much metamorphosis. I'm weighing the benefit of each option, half wishing I could turn back time and attend both, when the duke's booming voice resounds through the vast entry hall. "Helyn!"
