Lions of Cornwall (trevelyans) wrote in lightning_war, @ 2009-04-14 13:39:00 |
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Current mood: | scared |
Thursday evening, 17 September 1942, in the Trevelyans' withdrawing room on Lyonesse...
Eglantine Trevelyan’s hair was blonde that day, blonde and in curls, because she had got up that morning feeling rather blonde, and she still felt rather blonde, especially after trying to recount to her cousin Lanval what his mother—her aunt—had said as she swept out of the house just after luncheon, accompanied by his father—her uncle, their driver, and two of the four Pomeranians. One of the other two was in her lap, and the other one was draped across her feet, although probably not for long, because Lanval had a plate of cold chicken.
“You heard me the first time,” said Eglantine. “Juliana Leffoy’s not dead. It’s not a state secret that she’s alive, either. They sent her to the fucking Academy. I don’t know why they sent her to the fucking Academy. Probably because they hacked off your Aunt Dracaena and she decided they deserved it. I mean, I’m sure she’s a very nice girl, but she’s doing classified maths, they won’t know what to do with her there.”
Lanval frowned around a mouthful of cold chicken, then washed it down with a quarter of a pint or so. “She can’t have survived. Laurent told me what happened. Who does Michel think he’s sleeping with, that’s what I want to know?”
Eglantine rolled her eyes at him. “Your Aunt Dracaena thinks it’s her, and they said the same fucking thing about her, you know. Anyhow, you didn’t see any of this yourself. And I doubt Laurent Vigoreux did either. You just can’t stop talking about him because you’re going to make Tristan and Alexiel hugely jealous that you’ve met him and they haven’t.” She rolled her eyes at him again. “Anyhow. I am amazed that Michel is sleeping with anyone. I told your mum that and she gave me a dirty look of epic proportions, but there you have it, am I wrong?”
Lanval rolled his eyes right back at her. He’d hardly mentioned Laurent. Then he thought about what Eglantine had said. “You’re right. That is pretty amazing. Alessio thought he was doing Yvon and I couldn’t stop laughing for the next two days. I’d get to doing something else, working on something around here, and I’d remember what Alessio said and I’d just start laughing again.”
Eglantine snorted. “I’d say I remembered that, except I’d have to say which time and which two days?” She shrugged. “Alessio may not be your dumbest friend. But he wouldn’t be in the top five smartest ones even if you didn’t claim Yvon and Michel as your friends.”
“…he really did try to marry his niece, didn’t he?” Lanval shook his head. “The Malaspinas exist to make us look respectable.”
“That’s not the scary part,” said Eglantine. “The scary part is that they actually succeed in meeting that goal.” She shrugged. “Juliana’s not dead and she’s sleeping with your friend Michel. Alessio tried to marry his niece. And someone, I don’t know who, but her name probably begins with a P and has something to do with all the fucking laudanum she takes, told your mother that Yvon had an affair with Arianwen. Except your mother would never believe anything she said, so it must have been corroborated.” She paused. “Did I use that word right?”
“Yes,” said Lanval, frowning. He was trying to remember something that Séverine and Laurent had told him on one of the nights when they had been speaking to each other even though they didn’t admit they still spoke to each other. It was difficult, both because he had used ars memoriae to ensure that no-one could take the memory out of his mind, and that he wouldn’t recall it under duress, and also because they had all been drinking. A lot. “I don’t think it’s true that Michel has been sleeping with her since she was in school,” he demurred. “But I think that he was in love with her then. You know Séverine thinks he’s dead.”
“You know that vicious whore Séverine?” Eglantine’s eyes widened. “I fucking want to meet that girl. She’s my hero.”
Lanval raised an eyebrow at her. “She would be,” he finally said, and took off his glasses, rubbing the spot on his nose where they always bothered him. “She’s not as scary as she is in the poems. You’d like each other.” He yawned. “I found my bird,” he said, and pulled a clockwork sparrow out of his pocket. “Do you remember when Magister Goyle made us those? Why was it sitting on my night-stand, do you know?”
Eglantine shrugged. “One of the dogs?”
Lanval shook his head. “It still works,” he said, and turned the key and let it fly around the room. The Pomeranian that had been sitting on Eglantine’s feet ran off after it.
“Don’t disappoint me,” said Eglantine. “If she’s really sweet and adorable and darns Laurent’s socks, I don’t want to hear about this.”
Lanval snorted. “I don’t think she knows how to darn socks any more than you do.” He shrugged. “Michel…yeah. She was saying that the reason Juliana was like she is in all the songs was because Michel and his family were dead. And I wanted to tell her it isn’t true, that Michel is still alive and well and confusing Vonnie’s dinner guests on a regular basis, but I couldn’t.” He sighed. “And now I can’t tell Laurent that Liane’s alive either.” He almost went on to say that Séverine had gone on a crying jag after that because she thought one of her other lovers was dead too, but she wouldn’t admit it even through the door of the bathroom, and that one of the reasons he was so impressed with Laurent was that he had been incredibly patient with Séverine, given that she had locked herself in the bathroom to cry about some other guy. But he was pretty sure that Eglantine did not want to know that Séverine ever cried about anyone.
After all, Séverine was a hardened agent. And a vicious whore who broke men’s hearts and made jewellery out of the pieces, depending on who you asked.
“You’re not really cut out for this spying thing,” Eglantine observed gently.
“No,” said Lanval. “But if Juliana could do it.”
Eglantine shrugged. “You don’t, you know, have to be Madoc,” she said casually, very carefully not looking at him. “So I guess she’s not really as evil as she is in the songs. I mean…nobody could be. I suppose.”
Lanval shrugged. “Evil is one of those relative terms,” he said, and whistled the clockwork bird back to perch on his wrist.
“I like real birds better,” said Eglantine.
“I think Mother likes not having bird shite all over the floor,” said Lanval. “Dogs are more trainable.”
Eglantine eyed the Pomeranian who was still sitting in her lap. “Some of them,” she allowed. “I suppose that Madoc hasn’t saved the world yet…?”
Lanval shrugged again. “Does it look saved to you?” There was a loud thunderclap that made them both wince and the dogs run under the couch. Lanval looked up at the sky. “Nobody asked you,” he said, addressing Gregor von Thorwald, even though he didn’t especially want a reply.
“Don’t talk to anything you don’t want to answer you,” Eglantine said wearily, approaching the window with caution. It was taped, but the tape had been charmed so that she could still see out of it, even if none of the light could get out and no-one could see inside. There was a hellacious thunderstorm out there, and it gave her the same disgusting feeling she got when there were lightning rains…but the worst of it wasn’t aimed at them. Which was a good thing, since they were the only family at home. “Your dad’s been telling us that since we were five, idiot. Which, may I add, was a fucking lot longer ago for me than it was for you. How did you ever get out of Armorica.”
“Carefully,” said Lanval, frowning. “I hope Mum and Dad aren’t trying to get home in that. They can stay the night at the Leffoys.”
Eglantine shrugged. “Your dad is many things but stupid? Isn’t one of them.” She grinned. “He thinks your Aunt Dracaena should have sacrificed the Crockfords. They’re the people who were putting that idiot tabloid out that turned out to have Nazi spy stuff hidden in the back pages disguised as articles about yetis and…stuff.”
Lanval rolled his eyes. “I think building wicker men rather defeats the purpose of having a blackout, don’t you?” he suggested.
“There’s always the blood eagle,” said Eglantine with a grin, “but I guess that’s more of a Frealaf kind of thing. I mean they’re Saxon or something like that. I wonder how Estrid’s doing in all this? She quit school and wrote to the papers, that’s what got your Dad worked up. I liked her when we were in school but she never had much to say to anyone. Maybe that’s why I liked her though, it’s easy to say you like someone if you don’t really know them.” She closed the heavy curtains; she didn’t want to look at the lightning, even if it wasn’t magical. “I’m sure we could ask your dad, there are always ways of getting rid of people like that.”
Lanval felt queasy. She didn’t know—how could she—that Albrecht had sworn to do that to Séverine if he ever caught her alive, because of what she and Liane had done. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else?”
“Sure,” said Eglantine. “You pick something.”
Lanval nodded. “You courting?”
Eglantine snorted. “Not hardly. All the good ones are fighting or just got back from it or something like that. Actually it’s all of us girls working the orchards this year, you know. I should be doing more, I know.”
“I’m not Mother,” said Lanval softly. “I’m not going to tell you what you ought to be doing.”
Eglantine sat back down. “I know,” she said.
“What did the Penroses do to set Mother off this time, anyway?”
Eglantine rolled her eyes. “Same damn fucking nothing that they always do,” she said. “Alexiel actually fell out of an apple tree this summer,” she added after a moment. “When he was helping me pick apples. Everyone said we were drunk, and we weren’t.”
Lanval chuckled. “Don’t tell me I’m supposed to be surprised.”
Eglantine shook her head. “You’re not.”
“I hate storms,” Lanval said quietly. “Remember when they used to be fun?”
Eglantine nodded. “It seems like another life.” She sighed. “When Mum and Dad were alive. I mean, not that I don’t like living here, but…”
“I know,” said Lanval, and sat down beside her, and put his arm around her.
“Yeah,” said Eglantine. “Susie wrote and said the same thing happened to the Campion girl in Caerleon, the one that her little sister is friends with—I think she’s their cousin actually—over the summer. I wanted to write to her but.” She sighed. “I don’t know her.”
Lanval considered trying to tell her that it was all right, but that was ridiculous. “We’ll get through this,” he told her.
“Yeah,” said Eglantine, and sighed, grateful she wasn’t alone in the house as she’d been before, and perversely unwilling to ever admit it. “I’m glad you came home,” she finally managed.
“Me too,” said Lanval, and picked up one of the dogs from under the couch, and set it in Eglantine’s lap. It whimpered at him, but finally settled.
trevelyans (Lanval and Eglantine Trevelyan)