frustration out on him if I don’t return.”
Hm. A blood-son. Ian had never mentioned such a person before, but obviously he was rather deeply invested in protecting him, so I tried not to let it hurt my feelings that this was the first I was hearing of it.
I asked, “Could Brendan run the House? Or is he weak?”
“He’s … not
weak
. And if anything, I think he’d be a very good judge. But I don’t think he’s strong enough to seize the position, whether or not he’s savvy enough to hold it. Maximilian is certainly more determined to fill the seat—and it sounds like he’s planning to do so, one way or another. I need to make contact with Brendan,” he said, pleading now. Begging me, or negotiating with me—even though there was no chance in hell of me holding him against his will, or even stopping him if he’d made up his mind. I should’ve been flattered, but I was horrified. “I might be able to help him, to counsel him. I may be able to give him the boost he needs to take the leadership position or, I should hope, keep him from getting killed. He doesn’t know Maximilian like I do. He doesn’t know what he’s capable of.”
“You’ve been gone now, how long—ten years or so? You think in all that time, this son of yours hasn’t climbed the learning curve enough to stand on his own two feet? You don’t give him much credit.”
A look of pure anger flashed across his face and was gone in an instant. But whether it’d appeared because I was right, or because I was insensitive, I couldn’t say. Both, maybe. He replied, “I give him all the credit in the world, for a young man I abandoned to his own devices in the middle of that treacherous family.”
“I was pretty sure you were kidnapped.”
“But I could’ve returned. I could’ve been there for him, at a distance if not in person. I could have … could have …” And finally we’d reached the crux of the matter: Ian’s unholy capacity for guilt. I was about to comment on it when he continued, “I should’ve contacted him privately, once I’d escaped. I should’ve sent for him, removed him from that snare of a House. But I was ashamed, and I was frightened that he might be intercepted somehow. I was afraid that I’d put us both in jeopardy if I reached out to him for help.”
“You think he would’ve come?”
“I
know
he would have come. I stayed away for his own protection, you see.”
Yes, I did see. It wasn’t just that Ian felt an obligation; it was that he felt an opportunity to reconnect without putting his “son” in any deeper danger than the kid was already in. I am embarrassed to admit that the jealousy felt like heartburn, clawing up my chest.
“All right,” I said, calming myself down by force. Nobody wins by being the jealous bitch. I know that the hard way. “All right. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”
“How is this—”
“You’re talking about walking out of here on the basis of a rumor, and I’m talking about taking a deep breath and giving this some investigatory attention before you do anything rash.”
“Investigatory attention?”
“Yes.” The idea had sprung into my head fully formed—a reverse-Athena, ready to raise hell. “I want you to go unpack your suitcase”—I was pretty sure he’d already packed a suitcase, don’t ask me why—“and then come back and tell me everything you know about this House—even the stuff that might be out of date. You’re also going to tell me everything about this Brendan guy, and your brother.”
“I don’t think I like what you’re getting at.”
“You can’t possibly dislike it more than I dislike the idea of you dashing off into California like the fucking cavalry.”
When you can’t even see
, I wanted to add, but didn’t. No sense in pointing out the obvious. “Here’s what I’m thinking …” And this is the part where I started winging it. “For starters, I’ll go down to California and check
Hm. A blood-son. Ian had never mentioned such a person before, but obviously he was rather deeply invested in protecting him, so I tried not to let it hurt my feelings that this was the first I was hearing of it.
I asked, “Could Brendan run the House? Or is he weak?”
“He’s … not
weak
. And if anything, I think he’d be a very good judge. But I don’t think he’s strong enough to seize the position, whether or not he’s savvy enough to hold it. Maximilian is certainly more determined to fill the seat—and it sounds like he’s planning to do so, one way or another. I need to make contact with Brendan,” he said, pleading now. Begging me, or negotiating with me—even though there was no chance in hell of me holding him against his will, or even stopping him if he’d made up his mind. I should’ve been flattered, but I was horrified. “I might be able to help him, to counsel him. I may be able to give him the boost he needs to take the leadership position or, I should hope, keep him from getting killed. He doesn’t know Maximilian like I do. He doesn’t know what he’s capable of.”
“You’ve been gone now, how long—ten years or so? You think in all that time, this son of yours hasn’t climbed the learning curve enough to stand on his own two feet? You don’t give him much credit.”
A look of pure anger flashed across his face and was gone in an instant. But whether it’d appeared because I was right, or because I was insensitive, I couldn’t say. Both, maybe. He replied, “I give him all the credit in the world, for a young man I abandoned to his own devices in the middle of that treacherous family.”
“I was pretty sure you were kidnapped.”
“But I could’ve returned. I could’ve been there for him, at a distance if not in person. I could have … could have …” And finally we’d reached the crux of the matter: Ian’s unholy capacity for guilt. I was about to comment on it when he continued, “I should’ve contacted him privately, once I’d escaped. I should’ve sent for him, removed him from that snare of a House. But I was ashamed, and I was frightened that he might be intercepted somehow. I was afraid that I’d put us both in jeopardy if I reached out to him for help.”
“You think he would’ve come?”
“I
know
he would have come. I stayed away for his own protection, you see.”
Yes, I did see. It wasn’t just that Ian felt an obligation; it was that he felt an opportunity to reconnect without putting his “son” in any deeper danger than the kid was already in. I am embarrassed to admit that the jealousy felt like heartburn, clawing up my chest.
“All right,” I said, calming myself down by force. Nobody wins by being the jealous bitch. I know that the hard way. “All right. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”
“How is this—”
“You’re talking about walking out of here on the basis of a rumor, and I’m talking about taking a deep breath and giving this some investigatory attention before you do anything rash.”
“Investigatory attention?”
“Yes.” The idea had sprung into my head fully formed—a reverse-Athena, ready to raise hell. “I want you to go unpack your suitcase”—I was pretty sure he’d already packed a suitcase, don’t ask me why—“and then come back and tell me everything you know about this House—even the stuff that might be out of date. You’re also going to tell me everything about this Brendan guy, and your brother.”
“I don’t think I like what you’re getting at.”
“You can’t possibly dislike it more than I dislike the idea of you dashing off into California like the fucking cavalry.”
When you can’t even see
, I wanted to add, but didn’t. No sense in pointing out the obvious. “Here’s what I’m thinking …” And this is the part where I started winging it. “For starters, I’ll go down to California and check
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