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After dinner, Iakov asked where he could smoke without bothering anyone, and I offered to show him the grounds. Armed against the darkness and the cold with an old storm lantern and our coats, we make our way to the lake. Once we get there, Iakov crouches to sit on the shore, his boots right where the edge of the lake laps at the shingle. He lights a cigarette while I remain standing to the side.
“I’m sorry my sister is such a pain in the arse,” I say suddenly.
I can’t think of a more elegant way of starting this apology, but I doubt Iakov cares much for elegance. He just cares for saying what he’s trying to say in as few words as possible, a skill which flies in the face of everything I stand for.
He shrugs and waves a hand, the butt of his cigarette a red glow. “Nah, it’s alright.”
“She told me she calls you dog names.”
“Inside joke,” he says.
Even though Zaro said the same thing, it sounded like a lie when she said it. From Iakov’s mouth, it sounds like the truth.
Either that or bone-dry sarcasm. It’s almost impossible to tell with him.
I press a little. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather spend the holiday with your family than looking after Zaro and her friends?”
“Definitely not.”
“You sure, Kav?”
“Yea, trust me.” He lets out a sudden bark of laughter. “My dad’s a cunt.”
He doesn’t offer any elaboration, and I don’t prompt him for some.
Iakov will tell me more if he wishes to tell me more, and I might ask him for more information someday, but this is not the moment to do that. I need some time first, time to process what Zahara told me, time to get used to this sudden change in the status quo of my life.
The change from a world where Iakov is a rough, silent giant with a proclivity for violence to a world where Iakov is a rough, silent giant with a proclivity for violence and an abusive father.
Thefollowingday,Theodoraarrives.
She’s welcomed into the house by the butler, who ushers her into the Blue Parlour—our cosiest living room—where I’m sitting in an armchair reading while Iakov slumps on the couch playing a video game.
We both look up when the door opens. Theodora stands a little behind Arthur, who introduces her before excusing himself. She thanks him and watches him leave, then she turns to look at me, then Iakov.
“Hey,” he says, glancing up briefly from his game.
She tilts her head. “Hi, Iakov.” She turns to me and gives me a stiff smile. “Did you invite everyone from Spearcrest?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I point at Iakov with my copy of Spinoza’sEthics. “He wasn’t invited.”
“Liar,” Iakov says without any emotion whatsoever.
“Well, he was invited but not by me.”
“Oh.”
Theodora stands looking at me. She’s wearing a cream coat in the palest wool, her hair gathered back and caught in the grip of a gold hair claw. Her posture is rigid, her shoulders a little hunched, and her arms are crossed over the lapels of her coat.
And yet she looks so soft I have to make a conscious effort not to wrap myself around her.
“Want me to leave you two alone?” Iakov asks suddenly, lowering his controller to glance from me to Theodora.
“To do what?” I ask, the sharpness of my tone perfectly matched to the sharpness with which Theodora turns to throw him a glare.
He shrugs. “Fight. Flirt. Fuck. Whatever you two do.”
“Iakov,” Theodora says in a tone of warning.
