Chapter 108: Ch108 – Blood

There was a knock at the door.

“Lunch is in five minutes, sir.” Adrian’s voice came through the wood.

Ryan sat up and ran a hand through his hair.

The third floor corridor was quiet. The afternoon light came in through a narrow window at the far end, falling across the floorboards in a single pale strip. Everything else was in shadow.

Ryan walked down the strip.

Ryan slowed without meaning to as he passed the black door.

He looked at it, and walked past.

The bracelet flickered for a moment.

A faint pulse, too quick for Ryan to notice.

He turned the corner and went down the stairs.

Eleanor’s door opened just as he reached the landing.

She gave him a nod in greeting, then fell into step beside him, book already in hand, apparently having decided that the time between her room and the dining room was not to be wasted. They passed the library together.

The staircase brought them down into the entrance hall, and then through the corridor that brought them to the dining room.

Ryan could smell it before they reached the door.

The chandelier above the table burned fully now, every candle lit, throwing warm light across the length of the room. The table was set with perfection. Fine silver cutlery at every place, polished to a brightness that caught the chandelier and threw it back. The plates were beautiful—cream with a deep red border. Water glasses were already filled. Wine glasses empty and waiting.

Eight sets of cutlery were laid out. Us four, Cedric, William and Edward. Who’s the eighth person?

Ryan pulled out his chair and stood beside it for a moment, taking it in.

James was already seated, talking to William across the other side of the table. William was perched forward in his chair with the posture of someone deeply invested in whatever he was currently saying.

“—but why is the sigil a red tree?” James was asking. “All of your trees are black.”

William’s eyes lit up. He straightened, drew a breath—

“The Blackwood crest,” he began with the enthusiasm of someone who had been waiting for this exact question, “is red because we used to nail our enemies to the trees. The blood soaked into the wood and turned it red. That’s why it’s called—”

“William.”

Lord Blackwood had entered without Ryan noticing. He moved to the head of the table. He settled into it and looked at his youngest son.

“That is not an appropriate topic before lunch,” he said. “Nor is it, I would add, a particularly joyful topic to be telling our guests.”

“But it’s true,” William protested.

“Only far back. Not one of our ancestors have done that for a hundred years,” Lord Blackwood said, which appeared to close the matter.

William subsided, though his expression suggested he reserved the right to revisit it later.

Lord Blackwood looked at Ryan and Eleanor as they took their seats. “I trust your rooms are comfortable.”

“Very,” Eleanor said.

“Good.” Cedric folded his hands on the table. “Adrian tells me you’ve already seen the library.”

“Briefly,” Eleanor said.

“You’re welcome to it. My wife was the collector—I’ve added very little since.”

Jared arrived a minute later with heavy breaths suggesting he’d rushed over.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Not at all,” Lord Blackwood said pleasantly.

They settled. The table filled with chatter.

A servant appeared at Ryan’s shoulder.

“Would you like wine, sir?” Ryan accepted enthusiastically. Everyone else did too. When the servant reached William, the boy held out his glass with complete confidence.

Lord Blackwood looked at the servant. “A little water in his.”

William frowned.

“And for me,” Lord Blackwood added, “just a measure.”

The wine poured, the servant withdrew.

Ryan lifted his glass and drank. It was unlike any wine on Earth—it was spiced, dark, faintly warm at the back of the throat. He set it down and made a mental note not to drink too much of it.

Lord Blackwood was already drawing the table into conversation, the way a great host did.

Ryan watched and ate bread and thought that whatever else Lord Blackwood was, he was very good at hosting guests.

Then the door opened.

A young man came in, at most 17 years old.

Edward Blackwood.

He was covered, head to toe, in dried blood.

It ran dark across his shirt in broad, soaked patches, clung to his forearms, tracked down his trousers in dried lines.

His hair was long and also, died by blood. It fell to his shoulders. He was slender, much narrower than his father, with eyes that were sharp, pinpoint sized and unhurried in a way that didn’t match the rest of him. On his hands were black leather gloves though you wouldn’t be able to tell their colour… due to the blood.

What the fuck.

He walked to the table as though he intended to sit down.

The room had gone very still.

“Edward.” Lord Blackwood’s voice was quiet.

Edward stopped. His expression didn’t change.

“You will not sit at this table in that state.”

“I came straight from the forest.” His tone was easy and unbothered. “I didn’t want to be late.”

“You are already late.”

“Later, then.” He glanced at his own shirt as though noticing it for the first time, mildly. “It’s just some monster blood.”

“Go and wash,” Lord Blackwood said. “Now.”

Edward’s face morphed into amusement. “You have guests, Father. I was trying to be courteous.”

“Don’t be a fool. Leave us. Now.”

Edward looked at the table—a brief survey, the same quality of unhurried attention his father had. His gaze moved across the guests and landed on Ryan for just a moment, a fraction longer than the others, before moving onto William.

William looked away from Edward.

“Fine,” Edward said.

He turned and left, closing the door behind him.

William was staring at the tablecloth.

Lord Blackwood was quiet for a moment. Then: “I deeply apologise for my son. Please.” He gestured to the table. “Don’t let his actions disrupt our meal.”

Then multiple servants came in. They came with bowls and bread. The first course had arrived.

One of the servants placed a bowl infront of Ryan.

It was soup, dark and rich, the smell of it was hearty. Ryan ate and said nothing. Letting the conversation settle back into something approaching normal. Lord Blackwood returned to his role as host without effort, as though the previous five minutes hadn’t happened.

“The forest is available to you during your stay,” Lord Blackwood said, after a few minutes had passed. “If you wish to explore it, or the city, speak to Adrian. He will arrange a guide.” A pause. “I would recommend the deeper sections only with a guide. It becomes difficult to navigate beyond a certain point.”

“How large is it?” James asked.

“We have never fully mapped it,” Lord Blackwood said. “Every attempt has returned with incomplete results.”

William looked up. “There’s something in the middle of it that—”

“William.”

“I was just going to say there’s something there.”

“Don’t spread false rumors.”

William relented.

Ryan finished his soup and looked at the empty seats across the table.

The second course arrived—a roasted meat, dark and rich, served in thick cuts with a sauce that had taken serious work. It resembled beef in colour and texture.

He was reaching for his glass when the door opened again.

Edward had changed. Clean shirt, dark, hair pushed back from his face. He moved to his seat and settled into it easily.

His hands were still gloved. Brown leather this time, slim-fitting, almost formal looking.

Odd, having gloves on during lunch. Though not as odd as arriving head to toe in blood.

Edward looked across the table at the four of them with open. His eyes moved from Jared, to James, to Eleanor, and then to Ryan, where they stayed a moment longer before moving on.

“You are the ones from the trial,” he said. Not a question. “I heard about it. Adrian told me when I came in this morning.” He picked up his fork. “You were the accusers?”

“We were,” Ryan said.

Edward nodded slowly, cutting into his meat. “And my brother’s side lost.”

“It was interrupted,” Lord Blackwood said quietly.

“Yes.” Edward’s knife moved precisely. “How did it feel? Fighting in something like that.” He looked up, the question directed at Ryan specifically. “I’ve never fought in a formal trial. I imagine the pressure is considerable.”

“It was,” Ryan said.

“You won though. More or less.” Edward tilted his head. “That must feel strange. Winning something that ends the way that did.” Edward pointed his knife casually at Ryan. “Were you the one who killed my brother?”

The table went quiet.

William’s body shook.

Lord Blackwood set down his glass. “Edward.”

“I’m just making conversation, Father.”

“Don’t bring that up, you are making our guests uncomfortable.”

“Am I?” Edward looked at Ryan with an expression of inquiry, as though the answer actually interested him. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Ryan held his gaze. “No.”

Edward smiled. “Good.” He looked back at his plate. “Then I’m simply making conversation.”

Lord Blackwood exhaled once, quietly, and reached for his wine.

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