Story - Embrace ch. 6

[maderr]

Syringa

(chapter six)

"What are you doing?" Aubrey repeated.

Ruthven stood to his full height. "Nothing harmful, master, I promise. I wanted only to look."

"This is my mother's room," Aubrey snarled, stalking toward him, hands balled into fists, all but vibrating with renewed anger. "I cannot believe—"

A finger was placed over his lips, startling him into silence.

"Have a care, master, unless you want your father to find us here."

"Then I could tell him—" Aubrey cut his own words off, realizing just how not well the conversation would go were he to reveal that he had known all along that Ruthven was problematic.

But that was selfish, and this was his mother's room, damn it.

"No one is allowed in here," he said, but hissed the words quietly.

Ruthven laughed softly, light from the hallway making him a just visible shadow. "Then why is it free of dust and well-cared for, master?"

Aubrey opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. He had noticed that very thing upon entering – there was no odor and feel of dust in the room. He heard the scratch of a match, the noxious smell of sulfur, then a lamp on the vanity table was light, casting a warm orange glow across their small circle of the room.

It really was clean and well-cared for, at least what he could see of it. As though someone lived here still.

He frowned, reaching out almost without thought to pick up a delicate glass bottle which stirred some foggy portion of his mind. He remembered this bottle…

His mother's perfume, of course, but he had never remembered anything about her before. Not really. Vague impression that were like as not pure whimsy.

But as he pulled the stopper and inhaled the scent, it struck him hard, as only a true memory could. He remembered this scent, it was not merely wishful thinking. As a boy, he had not recognized it. Now, he did. Yellow Acacia. There were traces of other things, but the acacia was the dominant scent.

He set the bottle back down slowly, ignoring the way his hand trembled slightly.

The night of his mother's death was a complete blank. He knew from others that they had gone shopping, that he had bought flowers for his sickly sister…

He sort of remembered his father, but not really. Just another vague image grown foggier still with time.

The sound of movement jerked him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see that Ruthven was helping himself to the contents of a writing table. "Ruthven!" he snarled. "We are leaving!"

Stomping across the room, he reached out to snatch away the book that Ruthven held in one hand – spilling the pages out all over the floor. Heaving a sigh, glaring at Ruthven, he bent to begin picking them up.

Ruthven had lit another lamp, making most of the room visible now. It was striking, but pretty. Not at all what he would have pictured – yet he remembered the way his mother smiled in the portrait in his study, and thought perhaps he should not be surprised after all. It had not been the smile of a delicate woman who simpered in delicate pink and eggshell lace.

The walls were painted a rich cranberry, with accents of cream and pale browns and golds.

On a small table near the window was a crystal vase, filled with dried out dog roses, the withered leaves scattered across the table and on the floor.

He bent to gather more pages, crawling over and stretching out to snag one which had landed by the table with the dead roses, slowly righting himself as his eyes absently skimmed the faded writing.

The words Pet Rally caught his eye, and despite himself Aubrey started reading.

It seemed to be a journal entry. Not in diary fashion, but a clear and concise documenting of events. A though his mother had been writing a report.

Without even noticing, he moved to sit in the chair, absently brushing off a few dried petals and leaves, utterly absorbed in the page, and all the others which he still held.

He sat in silence as he finished reading what he could of the few pages he still clutched, setting them down amidst the dead petals when he realized his hands were trembling. "My mother…"

Ruthven's steps were soundless, but Aubrey heard him anyway. Felt him, maybe. He sat on the arm of Aubrey's chair, taking Aubrey's hand in one of his own. "Master?"

"She…" Aubrey shook his head and looked up. "My mother hated the situation with Pets. She hated they were slaves, that they were treated as Pets. She was fighting for their freedom. These journal entries are all about the rallies and fundraisers and meetings she attended. Tons of them, and so much correspondence – she logs what she sent to whom. Quite thorough, she wanted nothing missed."

"Mmm," Ruthven murmured. "That is certainly where you get your thoroughness, then. Your father does not miss things, but he lacks the…focus, I suppose is the word, that you possess. That your mother obviously possessed."

Aubrey looked at him. "You haven't been here long enough to know all that."

"I am observant," Ruthven said mildly. "So you did not know your mother was an activist for the rights of Pets?"

"Of course I didn't know it," Aubrey said. "My father is so strict and old-fashioned, he would never have allowed such behavior in his wife…but she could scarcely keep all this secret." He shook his head. "I had no idea she was so intent upon this."

Ruthven was silent.

"I wonder if it was Mina," Aubrey said. "She must have loved Mina very much."

"Indeed," Ruthven replied. "It is obvious that Mina was as cherished and adored as your mother."

Aubrey nodded. "If my mother loved her that much, of course she was cherished and adored. I'm certain my father loved my mother deeply; he must have indulged her greatly." He let out a soft snort of disbelieving laughter. "I cannot fathom my father being that generous."

"No?" Ruthven asked. "I think you are too harsh."

"Bah," Aubrey said. "I do not think he will ever forgive my defiance is going away to school. My defiance in general. Gille is much more the son he wants." He could not help the bitterness in his voice, though he hated that was saying such things to Ruthven. Something about the setting, the discovery, drew it from him.

Ruthven let go of his hand, then cupped his chin, turning his face and tilting it up. "You do not see as clearly as you should, master," he said quietly. "That seems to be a problem around here. Some of it is willful, some of it is not. The eyes should open to some things…but should remain closed to others. You should speak with your father, I think you are not the disappointment you think, master."

"Stop calling me that," Aubrey said, jerking away. "We both know I am no master to you, for whatever you are, it is no Pet. No Pet in the ordinary sense, anyway. That word you used before…"

"What word, master?" Ruthven asked.

Aubrey reached out to pick up a dried rose petal, rubbing it between his fingers. "Vampire," he said softly. "That's what you said before – vampire. That word has not been used for more than a century."

"I must have read it somewhere," Ruthven said with a shrug.

"You're a liar," Aubrey said. "I simply cannot tell if you're a poor one, or far too good a one."

Ruthven grinned, all fang. "Which would you prefer I be, master?"

"Honesty," Aubrey snapped. "A normal Pet."

"What is a normal Pet?" Ruthven asked, and Aubrey realized his chin was still held fast by Ruthven's fingers. "Elisabeth? Francois? Mina?"

Aubrey scowled, and retorted, "Not you."

Ruthven laughed, and let him go, fingers pulling away slowly in a lingering caress.

Pretending he did not feel a lingering touch upon his face, traces of warmth, Aubrey gathered up the papers and stalked to the writing desk. Sitting down, he began slowly to sort them as best he could, lingering over the pages he had not read, losing himself once more to the words written by the woman who had been his mother, who had been brutally murdered by bandits more than a decade ago.

"What were you doing in here, Ruthven?" he asked a few minutes later, as he carefully set the journal back on the writing desk, then pulled the cover down over it before sliding the chair back into place and stepping away.

He wanted to stay, to read more, to learn more – his mother had had hated the slavery as much as he did…but she had done something about it. What had Aubrey ever done, but complain and avoid Pets as much as possible?

She had harassed and cajoled and fought and argued and made a stand. He'd done none of that. If she had lived, would he have wound up helping her? Would she be disappointed in him now?

He rather thought she would. His fingers twitched, and Aubrey barely resisted an urge to open the writing desk once more, to glean from it all he could about his mother, about Mina, about the cause his mother had fought on Mina's behalf.

"You look as though heavy thoughts weight you down, master," Ruthven said, his calm voice almost soothing.

It just annoyed Aubrey further.

"I was thinking about my mother," Aubrey replied. "I wonder if she would still be doing this, now. If she would have accomplished something by now…if I would be helping her."

Ruthven quirked one thin brow. "Master?"

Aubrey frowned in thought. "Do people still try to free the Pets?"

When he replied, Ruthven's voice was so soft Aubrey could barely hear him. "There will always be a voice of dissent, master."

Nodding, decided, Aubrey spun away from the desk. "I am going to continue what my mother began."

"What?" Ruthven asked, and for once that cool voice slipped, surprise slipping into it. "Master, I do not—"

Aubrey spun around to face – and collided hard, breath whooshing out of him. He stumbled back, but was caught about the waist by Ruthven. He blinked up at Ruthven, the words he'd been about to say skittering away, forgotten.

Ruthven stared back, eyes unfathomable in the weak light, a tall shadow with the lamps behind him.

"What were you doing in here, Ruthven? Do not think I've forgotten you have not answered me that question."

"Only looking, master," Ruthven replied.

Aubrey snarled. "Stop calling me that! We both know you use it mockingly."

Ruthven shook his head. "No." He leaned in close, until his words were almost more an impression than actual sound, so close that Aubrey had only to twitch and those lips would be against his, and he hated himself for even thinking it. "Your blood I have tasted, and so to you I belong."

He shifted, and Aubrey jerked, shoving hard, the movement causing him to stumble, taking the hard fall on his backside from which Ruthven had saved him a moment ago.

Grunting in pain, he slowly dragged himself back to his feet.

Ignoring Ruthven, deciding he would get answers later, he started to stalk back to his own room.

Ruthven's words drew him up short. "Is this really what you want to do, master? Attempt to free Pets?"

"Yes," Aubrey said. "It's what my mother would want."

"That is what you want? For me to be free?"

Aubrey turned around. "You don't want to be free?"

"It's not about whether I want freedom," Ruthven replied, walking toward him, hair gold again in the light of the hallway lamps, skin gleaming where it was not covered by dark silk. "I asked if you want me to be free?"

He stared at Ruthven long and hard. "You're a Pet. You should not be a slave, even if you are the most confounding Pet I've ever encountered or heard about."

"You think me so unusual? Yet you know nothing about Pets, you have said so yourself."

Aubrey shrugged. "Then the first step is the one I have already begun – learn more. I do not particularly care, though. Slavery is slavery, and no man should be a slave. Being under my father's thumb brings me no joy. Anyway, my mother devoted her life to the cause. That must mean something. I'm tired of discussing this. We are going back to my room, and you are giving me the key to my mother's room."

"I cannot," Ruthven said. "I promised to return it."

Aubrey scowled, but nodded "To Elisabeth."

Ruthven was silent a moment. "Yes, master."

Which reminded him of the bizarre exchange between them. "Why did she kiss your hand?"

"I do not know, master," Ruthven replied, and as quickly as that he was his false, demure self again, bowing low, looking at Aubrey through his lashes. "Maybe she simply thought I was that pretty."

Aubrey snorted. "Pretty is as pretty does. If you appear as what you are, Ruthven, then I would say you look like trouble."

Ruthven grinned, and bent in a deep, formal bow. "You flatter me, master."

Rolling his eyes, refusing to be amused by the situation because there was nothing funny about any of this, Aubrey turned away and resumed his walk down the hall. He paused as he reached the main landing, realizing for the first time that he was hungry.

"I'm going to get something to eat," he said as Ruthven drew up close.

"Yes, master," Ruthven replied, and his tongue flicked out briefly to lick his lower lip. Slowly, the barest hint of fang visible for a moment.

Aubrey turned hastily away. "You can join me or not, as you like – but don't touch me. You fed earlier, and I know you had more than enough."

"I can never have enough of you, master."

"Ruthven!" Aubrey hissed, drawing to an abrupt halt on the stairs, turning sharply around to glare. "Cease that nonsense at once!"

Mouth quirked in a smile that held entirely too much smirk for Aubrey's taste, Ruthven leaned down until their noses were just barely touching. "No. Master."

With that, Ruthven moved past him, strolling down the stairs as casual as could be.

Aubrey was left sputtering. "You! You are incorrigible, and sorely in need of a thrashing."

Ruthven stopped at the foot of the stairs, grinning up at him. "I did not know you liked such things, master."

His face suddenly felt as though it might burst into flame. "Ruthven!" he hissed, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Yes, master?" Ruthven asked, all innocence.

Aubrey quickly finished descending the steps. "You—" His reprimand faltered as he caught the faintest hints of music. Piano. Someone was in the music room at this horrendous hour? "Who the devil is in the music room?"

"I could not say, master," Ruthven replied. "Did you want to beat him too?"

"You!" Aubrey sputtered. "Do not say such things. I do not permit it."

Ruthven dipped his head. Aubrey wanted to tear his eyelashes off, that look drove him positively mad – and he rather suspected Ruthven knew it. Infuriating Pet. "Shall we adjourn to the kitchen, master?"

"You did not agree to stop saying such things," Aubrey said.

"Yes, master," Ruthven said, then turned and walked away, before Aubrey could figure out whether he was agreeing to stop, or agreeing that he had not agreed to stop.

Rubbing at his temples, willing away the headache he could feel forming, Aubrey gave up for the time being and followed Ruthven to the kitchen.

When he reached it, Ruthven was at the farthest end, staring out the wide window over the bank of sinks. Aubrey frowned, for there was something to the set of his shoulders…

"Is something wrong?"

"No, master," Ruthven said absently. "I thought I saw…" He drifted off, and then suddenly leaned forward, one hand braced on the windowsill.

"What is it?" Aubrey snapped, striding across to join him.

Ruthven turned, and caught him by the shoulders. "Nothing, master," he said firmly. "You look sleepy. Sit down and rest a bit, and I will return in a moment."

Aubrey blinked, caught by the dark eyes – and a sudden, overwhelming yawn. "Did you see…"

"Go rest, master. Perhaps you should go to bed, at that, and I will bring up tea and breakfast for you, in a little bit."

He started to argue, but the words only came out a yawn, and before he even realized it Aubrey was leaving the kitchen and returning to the upstairs. Back in his room, he paused long enough only to strip out of his clothes before he climbed into bed and fell promptly to sleep.