Day 2: Ostentatious
“What’s this one?”
Silvaineaux started a little in his seat, jerking his eyes up from the pile of papers he’d been leafing through. He hadn’t heard Honore come in and he blinked, tugging his thoughts out of the muddle of mission logistics and priorities. “What’s… which one?” He asked, looking around at the piles of papers he’s spread over the big table in the library.
Honore was not looking at any of his loosely organized piles. “This one.” He said, tapping the cover of the book with one forefinger.
Silvaineaux reached for his cup of tea, then sighed when his fingertips found it cold. His eyes settled on the book and he couldn’t help frowning. He had shoved it into the corner of the table when he’d come in and continued studiously ignoring it as he had been for moons. “It’s a book.”
Honore’s look was eloquent as he slowly raised his eyebrows.
“It’s an Enchiridion.” Silvaineaux clarified.
“I can see that too.” Honore said, reaching idly to open the cover.
Silvaineaux was hardly aware he had intended to move before his palm slapped down over the gold and gemstone adornments on the cover, hard enough to sting and fast enough to keep that cover closed. “It’s old.” He said.
Honore drew his hand back. “I can tell.” He said. “It’s the only thing that saves it from being grotesquely ostentatious. But where did it come from?”
“An old Manor House out in the Western Highlands. I cannot tell you a great deal more than that just yet.” He was aware even as he said it that one of the reasons it was true was that he had been avoiding the thing. He drew his hand back. “I have been meaning to find out if there’s someone here it should be returned to.”
“That seems kind. But why do you have it?” Silvaineaux eased his hand from the cover, straightening until the tense muscles in his spine eased. He glanced at the darkening windows. “That’s a long story.” He said. “And one very ill-suited to a dark evening with the wind howling outside. And it will be dinnertime in a moment.”
Honore nodded stiffly, a look of ill-concealed hurt in his eyes.
Silvaineaux stood up, walking around the table to set a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I mean just that.” He said. “It’s a spooky unsettling kind of tale and it has no proper ending. It’s not a story for an evening like this. But I promise, if you remind me I’ll tell you all I know of it some sunny afternoon.”
“I will hold you to that.” Honore said.
“I know.”










