She held out her hands to him. “Titus,” she said, “it’s good to see you again.”
They had known each other many years—Lady Callista had sometimes brought Aramia to the castle so that Titus would have someone his own age to play with. They should have made perfect playmates: She was patient, uncomplaining, willing to try new things. Not to mention that, like him, she had never known her father. But Titus, a demon child in the years immediately after the loss of his mother, had tormented her instead.
He locked her into cupboards when they played hide-and-seek, snuck stinkbugs under her blouse when they played outside, and asked her why she was ugly when her mother was so beautiful.
But she had only shrugged and said, “Maybe my father was not so beautiful.”
In recent years their paths had not crossed often. But guilt was like a bog. Whenever he did see her, he would realize he was still neck-deep in it.
He kissed her on both cheeks. “How have you been, Aramia?”
“Oh, same as usual. You know Mother, still trying to make a swan out of me,” she answered, not managing to be completely dismissive about it.
She had never been ugly—plain, perhaps, but not ugly. But even otherwise attractive women faded into insignificance next to Lady Callista. He could not imagine what it must be like to live entirely in the shadow of her beauty.
“But you are already a swan,” he said, trying to cheer her up.
“I don’t think inner beauty counts for much with Mother.”
“Who said I was talking about inner beauty?”
This made Aramia smile. “That is very sweet, Titus, thank you. Would you like some snapberry punch? It’s my own recipe, just a drop of snowmint essence as the secret ingredient.”
He wished she had not called him sweet. He sank a little deeper into his bog. “You still enjoy tinkering with recipes?”
“I might as well be useful.”
Since she could not be beautiful, she meant.
It was heartbreaking how much she wanted her mother’s approval.
“I will have a glass.”
She squeezed his hand. “Let me see what I can do so Mother doesn’t pester you too much.”
Aramia left to fetch the punch herself. By the time she returned, Alectus and Lady Callista had found Titus. Aramia, true to her word, drew her mother away on the pretense of something that needed the latter’s attention.
Alectus by himself was easier to take. With the enthusiasm of an overgrown child, he recounted the epic quest that had been his search for a new overrobe, entailing five emergency fittings in the past two days.
Titus listened to him prattle as he pretended to drink Aramia’s ice-cold punch. He did not distrust Aramia, but one never knew what Lady Callista might be up to.
“Have a glass of Aramia’s punch,” he said to Alectus. “It will quite restore you.”
“Ah, you like it then?” said Alectus.
“I do. And why do you look so surprised?”
Alectus laughed awkwardly. “Well, it is just that Your Highness does not like very many things.”
“Yes, the burden of having been born with exquisite taste.”
“I believe that is indeed the c—”
“Stop that! No, not you, Alectus, you may carry on. I am speaking to my bird.”
Fairfax had been acting strange. Pecking on his shoulders, chirping directly into his ears, and just now, taking a sharp snip at his neck.
“Perhaps Miss Buttercup is hungry?” Alectus suggested.
It had been a while since Fairfax ate, and there was a great deal of food being passed around. Titus took out a wrapped biscuit from inside his robe—he did not trust Lady Callista’s food, either—and held it up to Fairfax.
She pecked his hand—hard enough to hurt.
“What the—”
“Oh dear, I do believe that is the Inquisitor arriving,” said Alectus breathlessly. “She said she might make an appearance, but I had not quite believed it. She socializes so rarely, Madam Inquisitor.”
Titus turned cold. He had thought he would have a little more time.
The Inquisitor’s chariot was plain black, unadorned except for the whirlpool emblem of Atlantis. The Inquisitor herself was also in black, her hair sleeked back into a knot at the top of her head.
She looked like death walking.
“If you will excuse me, Your Highness,” said Alectus, and rushed off to personally welcome the Inquisitor.
Aramia came back to his side. “I shouldn’t say this, but she gives me the jitters.”
“I am surprised your mother tolerates her. She would have disowned you if you went anywhere in such an ugly overrobe.”
Aramia chuckled softly. “Unfortunately, Uncle Alectus is very fond of the Inquisitor. Mother says the Inquisitor is the one woman Uncle Alectus would choose over her, so she has no choice but to be very convivial.”