Chapter 35. The effects of the night
I sat by the fireplace until dawn, listening to the silence of the manor and my own thoughts. I couldn't get the image of Ragnar burning his creation in a fit of rage and shame out of my head. It was a crack. A crack in the Crimson Clan's impenetrable armor. And I unwittingly became the one who inserted a wedge into it.
With the first rays of the sun coming through the bars of the window, I got up. Yuki was still asleep, her breathing was even and calm. I covered her with a tangled blanket and went out into the hallway. The air was filled with predawn freshness and silence, but now it seemed shaky, taut as a string.
I headed for the dining room, hoping to find it empty and have time to have breakfast before the main inhabitants of the castle arrived. But luck wasn't on my side.
Two people were already sitting in the spacious hall with a long oak table. Solomon, engrossed in reading a report, and Quinn, absently picking at a plate of omelets with a fork. They sat at a respectful distance from each other, lost in thought.
My appearance made them both look up. Solomon nodded at me with cold politeness, his gaze heavy and appraising. Quinn met my gaze with a strange mixture of interest and... apprehension? It was as if she could feel the tension in the air after the night's skirmish, although she hardly knew about it.
I silently picked up a plate, helped myself to some food from the dishes on the table and sat down at the opposite end of the table, pointedly moving away from them. We ate in oppressive silence, broken only by the clink of appliances.
Ragnar broke the silence.
He entered the dining room with a bang, opening both doors so that they hit the walls. His face was pale, his eyes were feverish, and his movements were abrupt and impetuous. He smelled of alcohol and sweat. He obviously hadn't slept all night and was trying to drown something out with strong alcohol.
When he saw me, he froze for a moment, and a spasm of hatred ran across his face. He roughly pushed back the chair next to Solomon and plopped down on it, scooped up a piece of bread from the table and began to chew it furiously, staring into space in front of him.
Solomon slowly put down his report and looked at his brother. His gaze was cold and ruthless. — Did you allow yourself too much, brother? His voice was low, but there was a hint of contempt in it.
Ragnar only grunted hoarsely in response, without taking his eyes off the table.
"I said, minimize contact with our... guest," Solomon continued, and his words fell like a whip. — Your morning condition clearly indicates that you did not follow my instructions. I've succumbed to my... animal nature again.
I could see Ragnar's fists clenching. His shoulders tensed. He looked up at his brother, full of rage and pain. —Leave me alone, Solomon,— he rasped. "You don't know everything.
"I know you're the weak link," the Patriarch retorted coldly. "I know that your wildness is putting everything we're building at risk. And if you can't pull yourself together, I'll have to take action. More radical ones.
The threat hung in the air, thick and undeniable. Ragnar looked at his brother with mute defiance, but there was also a shadow of fear in his eyes. Fear of what Solomon is capable of.
Quinn, who was sitting between them, looked from her father to her uncle. Her face reflected an internal conflict—family loyalty versus the growing realization that her uncle was... broken. And that her father could be ruthless.
Suddenly, Ragnar abruptly stood up, pushing back his chair with a bang. "The weather is disgusting today," he muttered to no one in particular and staggered towards the exit, giving me a parting glance full of such mute, impotent hatred that I almost felt sorry for him.
The door slammed shut behind him. There was silence in the dining room.
Solomon sighed and picked up his report again, but I could see that he wasn't reading it. His fingers tapped lightly on the parchment.
Quinn put down her fork and looked up at me. "What did you tell him?" "What is it?" she asked softly but clearly.
I raised my eyebrows at her. "To whom?" Your uncle? We just... talked last night.
"He didn't look like a man who just 'talked,'" she persisted. "He looked like someone had spit in his soul."
I took a sip from the mug of water. "Maybe he just looked in the mirror and didn't see the person he wanted to see. It happens to me often.
Solomon cleared his throat, drawing attention. "That's enough, Quinn,— he said, without looking up from the papers. — Your lessons start in an hour. Be ready. And be... careful today.
His words sounded like a hint. Or as a warning.
Quinn frowned, but obeyed, nodding and getting up from the table. She gave me one last thoughtful look and left.
I was left alone with Solomon. He finally put down the report and looked at me. His scarlet eyes were like two bottomless wells. "My daughter is showing an unexpected interest in you,— he said. — And my brother, as you can see, too. Be careful, Azrael. Interest is a double—edged weapon. It can open doors. Or maybe slam them shut. It hurts a lot.
He got up and, without waiting for an answer, left the dining room, leaving me with an unfinished breakfast and a heavy foreboding.
The crack I found was starting to widen. And I wasn't sure if I could control what came out of her.