At least nobody else got hurt. Quenton tried to comfort himself as he sat with Camilla, Viola, and Rosalind in the drawing-room. Doctor Silver had departed the house after administering healing ointments to reduce the swelling and bruising on his face as well as applying a herbal mask that would remove any cuts given enough time.
It looked almost like Quenton was at a spa due to the mask and the less formal clothes than he normally wore at this time. Aliss had changed him quickly into a more casual light-blue evening dress before he went down to join his siblings.
He had to actively avoid scratching at his face as the substance coating his face itched something fierce. Normally, he would have not been able to help himself but scratch that itch, but the somber atmosphere of the room kept him still.
Viola had clearly wept based on the redness around her eyes and she had been the first to hug Quenton after he had entered the drawing-room. Clearly, the death of Jonah the footman had struck her harder than Rosalind or Camilla. The former was embroidering a golden rose on a white background, but dispassionately and with mechanical motions. Camilla was cradling Candle while looking like she was both shaken and utterly furious at the world.
Quenton on his end was simply trying to not relive the fight with the assassin in his mind and failing miserably. In the silence of the room, he thought back to the fight and how brutal it had been. The feeling of being backhanded, kicked, and wrestled with on the ground was almost like phantom pains. He could feel a kind of throbbing around his ribs and a stinging on his lips in spite of the treatment. The breath of the Assassin was against his ear and he could hear that final crunch of the acreau paddle pulping their skull.
That was not how it was supposed to be. Was his one coherent thought in the buzzing of sensations and memories. Quenton had thought his first fight was going to be against a slime or a goblin or something else like that. Not a brutal struggle against a full-grown man who handled him effortlessly and almost killed him.
I am only alive because of the pets and Aliss. And a man who had served me food for days now is dead. That didn’t sit right with him. Someone who lived under the same roof as himself had been killed casually and without any chance for him to intervene at all.
Maybe I made a mistake of some kind, perhaps there was some rustling in the bushes or a flash of brown in between the leaves that I could have noticed? Quenton tried to think about what he could have done differently to avoid dwelling on the fact that an entire human being was dead.
“When one person dies, the whole world is over.” Quenton didn’t realize he had said anything until Camilla casually prodded him with her arm. “Hm…pardon?” He asked as he looked around to see that all of his new sisters were looking at him.
“I asked where you had heard that quote before, Briony,” Viola asked with a slight twinge of impatient intermixed with curiosity in her voice. Rosalind watched Quenton languidly and gestured with her needle for him to speak.
“Oh, well I just remembered having read that quote once. I must confess that I do not recall where I read it.” Quenton sheepishly rubbed the back of his head before quieting down once again. Maybe one of the sisters said something, maybe they didn’t. He didn’t notice or rightly care at that moment as his mind slumped back down into recollections and recriminations.
The doors to the drawing-room burst open with such force that it made two paintings fall down from the walls on either side of the double doors. Camilla shrieked in fright and hid Candle behind her, Rosalind darted her head towards the doors, and Viola rose up with a fierce look in her eyes. But she was immediately cowed by the woman who stood in the doorway.
Ivonne Moray stood in the opening to the drawing-room with Lyndon standing timidly to the left and behind her. Her hair stood out like some sort of malformed cactus and if her eyes could have sent sparks flying out of them, this would have been the moment as she looked at Quenton with such bale that he wanted to curl up into a little ball and hide behind a blanket.
“BRIONY LADISLAVA MORAY!” She shrieked like a banshee and with such volume that her eyes began to almost bulge as her face reddened like a watermelon. Ivy stopped as a cough came over her as her throat gave out due to the scream and she hissed out with equal emphasis and fury. “What. Did. You. Do.”
Quenton faced two problems at that moment besides the fact that his new mother was beyond angry with him. The first was that he had never been particularly comfortable with confrontations like these, having always preferred retreating to fighting, his argument with Aliza being a notable exception. And the second being that the mother he had back on Earth, had always been a sweet and gentle figure. He couldn’t actually remember her ever raising her voice at him.
Which was a problem because that meant he had never acquired the skills needed to handle a raging parent before, so when Ivy stormed over to him and began shaking him silly. All he could do was dumbly stammer in confusion and awkwardness while she shouted.
“What did you do with Aliza Warwin! Were you actually daft enough to insult a Lady of such high standing at her own family’s soiree?! Do you not understand the position you put our family in you selfish little chit.” She was incandescent with rage and her thin gloved hands were surprisingly strong as Quenton felt them constrict around his shoulders as she shook him madly.
What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck-, Quenton thought over and over again as her words hit him along with the possible cause. Did that Aliza lady send the assassins? He managed to wonder when Viola pulled their hissing mother off him after having wrapped her arms around her waist.
“Control yourself, mama. Explain what you have learned.” Viola spoke with such calm assurance that even Ivy seemed to take a moment to compose herself and she spoke more slowly. “I have just spoken with Harold after he interrogated the surviving assassins. They were reticent to talk, but he managed to convince them with some help from the other servants. He learned that they were assassins sent from the guild known as the Blades of Grass, the personal assassins of House Bywind. Apparently, House Bywind had heard rumors that dear Briony had acted like a discourteous little strumpet in the presence of Aliza Warwin. To the point that she has had cause to remark upon it to others, making the implication that our house is in conflict with the Warwins.”
Quenton could hear a collective gasp come from all of his assembled siblings except notably Camilla who watched him with a neutral expression. All of the others were glaring at him with varying degrees of anger and disappointment on their faces. He realized he had to speak up for himself and so gently tried to speak up in the brief interlude of silence.
“I-I just tried to stand up for Lady Juliana, she was being incredibly rude and insulting towards-” He didn’t get to say anything else before Ivy shrieked again. “I don’t care if she was slapping that lumbering sow across the face with a book! You do not give cause for someone among the high nobility to take insult from our actions, words, or presence. Even with your recent…issues, I would have thought that you would have had that much sense. Not getting between a woman of higher standing and the sister of a notorious slattern ought to have been common sense!”
Ivy collapsed into a nearby chair and began resting her face against her hands before pointing at Quenton. “Get out of my sight. Go to your room, just wait until your father returns from Tetrigard.” Her voice was significantly calmer than before, sounding tired rather than furious. Quenton wasn’t dumb enough to stick around so he hurried up and away from the couch he had been seated in and past his glaring siblings. He stumbled away from the drawing-room and up to his own bedroom while he heard the conversation resume behind her.
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Quenton curled up on his bed and began to shake. I got Jonah killed. He couldn’t deny the truth as it stared him right in the face. If he had just shut up at the party then the rumor wouldn’t have spread and the family would never have been attacked.
I could’ve gotten them all killed. Aliss, Viola, Camilla could’ve died because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
Thinking about the poor old man and the bloody arceau paddle and the nick on his neck from the assassin's blade made bile rise in his throat and he felt as though he’d swallowed broken glass.
Alone in the comfort and darkness of his room, his eyes welled and even as he rubbed angrily at his eyes they continued to fall. What started in trickles became a flood as he took in shaky breaths. He buried his head in his pillow and choked back a scream. I’m so fucking stupid. Just a useless failure. His corset was constricting around him painfully and his dress rubbed uncomfortably against his skin but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
It doesn’t matter if I am in a new world and have a leveling system to help me. I’m still just a moronic loser who can’t do anything right. He could hear that insidious voice that had been following him for years whispering in the back of his mind.
The thoughts repeated themselves interposed over images of the dead assassins. A glinting knife reflecting torchlight as it was lifted above his prone body. Aliss and her scream as she ran over and brained the man, and of course, that sickening crunch as his skull was smashed by the metal within the acreau paddle.
He knew that he would never be able to unhear that sound, nor the sight of the blood spilling into the grass and dirt as the corpse hit the garden floor. He wanted for the first time since the gala, to give up and go home. Slink back to his original life and leave everyone the better for it.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A rustling sound filled the room as Quenton felt a weight jump up and land on the mattress by the area around his legs. He heard soft pawing sounds as talons scraped against the duvet and the little wyvern crawled along his body and up to his face.
It was hard for him to discern the small horned round head of the creature, but he saw it tilt while holding something in its mouth. The wyvern had come upon his chest and curled up while stretching out its wings. He saw a long chitinous leg and half a fragile wing sticking out of the little maw.
A grasshopper was his guess, his wyvern had found itself a treat after he and Aliss had left it there in the room. Quenton hesitantly began to rub the head of his little wyvern who purred almost like a cat in reply. “I guess I should give you a name huh? What about…Hop? I have never been good at naming things to be honest, but you hopped on that guy and then you seem to like grasshoppers. So y’know, I think it works.”
He was honestly too tired to think of anything better than that and just resigned himself to petting Hop while he drifted off into sleep.
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Well, it could have been worse. Quenton thought as Tomas left his bedroom early the next day after having arrived from Tetrigard. He had stepped in while smoking his pipe and looking halfway stern and said. “I have had a talk with your mama and I must say that I am very disappointed in you, Briony. Don’t do that again and try to be less daft.”
He had said it almost akin to how Quenton had done school presentations back in his old life, with minimum passion and inflection before he left the scene as quickly as possible. And Tomas had similarly left as soon as possible while Quenton was still trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“He didn’t even point out that I had a Wyvern sleeping on-” Quenton stopped as he sniffed the air and noticed the buzzing sound of flies in the room. Hop had crawled off Quenton and curled up next to him in bed at some point during the night, or that was what he had initially thought at least.
Because on the floor by his side of the bed lay a dead mouse with a couple of flies swarming over it in the air. Quenton gaped as he looked from the mouse and over to his wyvern and for the first time took actual notice of how it looked.
It had very muted black scales, almost like the smoke coming out of a chimney rather than the black of night. Grey streaks passed between some of the scales where the skin was visible and around the long neck of the creature, it had what looked almost like a little furry mane. Almost akin to a bat, except that when looked closer the mane was actually very small bristles like on a porcupine.
Hop had almost completely white eyes except for the very faintly velvet pupils within the small eyeballs. Contrary to the eyes it had enormous bat ears and a pair of horns that were curved back to cover the top of its head.
As he looked at Hop he woke up and slid down from the bed to land on the opposite side of the mouse that Quenton now stood on. Hop pushed the mouse forward using its horns and then gave him what Quenton guessed was an expectant look.
“Wait,” Quenton said as he looked up from the wyvern and towards the bedroom mirror. It was wide open and with the curtains halfway hanging out letting the cool morning breeze into the room. “You littl…Hop! Did you open the window and jump out to get food while I slept?”
He asked not really expecting an answer as he tried to look sternly down at the little creature, who did not look the least ashamed as it pushed the mouse yet another time. I can’t let Aliss see that mouse…I’ve made enough trouble for her. Quenton resolved as he walked into the bathroom and began looking for something he could use to pick up the mouse with, while Hop happily ate the various flies that had tried to convene around it.
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In a lot of ways that first morning helped set the tone for what Quenton's days would be like for most of the week. Every day with Hop was a new discovery as he tried to tame and train the little wyvern while actively avoiding his family for as long as he possibly could.
Aliss and the servants that he met didn’t treat him differently, but they were of course all marked by the grief they felt even if they masked it well. His siblings and parents treated him coldly, with the odd exception of Camilla who seemed to maintain the same pert indifference, however, the others didn’t punish or outright ostracize him beyond the scolding he had already received.
If only because apparently punishing him would, “validate the rumors and make the family even more vulnerable.” But he felt less welcome in their presence and he still felt incredibly guilty, the dinners were by far the worst as the yawning void where there once had been three men serving the food, was strongly felt by everyone present.
Quenton resolved that he would not let the same thing happen again. He wouldn’t ignore the servants, he knew Aliss but he had only the barest knowledge of the others. There were several people living in the manor and he resolved that he would get to know them all.
Yet his routine did not make it that easy for him. First, there was waking up and breakfast. Then came an early morning walk with Hop where he watched him clumsily fly in the morning light. When that was done he had studies with Mrs. Seaver until luncheon, and then Hop demanded that he take him out for more of a walk.
He had still not actually been able to determine whether Hop was male or female, the booklet he had on the subject of wyverns was unclear on the subject. But Quenton had come to default to referring to Hop as a dude. “If he isn’t a dude then I can always just think of him as a girl later.” Was the attitude that Quenton had adopted.
Ivy had refused to talk to him for the entire week and was rarely seen by anyone outside of the evening dinners. And when she was seen she looked like she had wept, scratched at herself, and spoke with a rather hoarse voice. Her attempts to disguise this with cosmetics had been…less than successful. Quenton was made more uncomfortable by the fact that she was staring at him like he was a lost lamb who had made his way into her bedroom, whenever they were in the same area.
Quenton had at least ground up his Composure and Endurance to 3 after having had to endure the multiple awkward dinners, and the stress of having to tame a new pet without having any idea what he was doing.
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Quenton woke up as the scent of smoke filled the room and he groaned loudly. “Oh Hop, again?” Hop on his end was mewling pitifully down on the floor where he lay next to a puddle of grayish sludge. According to his book on wyverns, they all produced a sort of liquid in a secondary stomach that they used to power their breath attacks. In the case of bat wyverns they produced smoke, but young wyverns were particularly vulnerable to…eject the contents of that stomach.
“God damned.” He didn’t finish the complaint as he felt the onset of a Detect Faux Pas headache come over him, and instead, Quenton rolled out of bed.
“S’okay Hop, accidents happen. Accidents happen, a lot apparently.” Quenton grumbled to himself as he desperately searched through his bathroom cupboards for something to clean up the mess with. Thankfully, most of the time when Hop had done this he had left the weird sludge in the grass by the gardens. At which point Quenton lifted him up and made a run for it with the philosophy that it probably served as fertilizer and if not, the rain would sort it out.
Quenton sighed as he searched and eventually found some paper and what looked to be a tissue. “It will have to do.” He said as he walked over to the small puddle and began to desperately try to clean it up.
“Ew.” Hop looked forlornly up from where he lay while Quenton scrounged up his face in disgust as he ineffectually tried to clean up the mess. He suddenly stopped as he heard a loud and girlish shriek come from the door.
Standing at the edge of the door holding a large woven basket filled with firewood stood a short woman with a brown nightcap and a dusty gray apron. Her hair had been put up in a bun and was probably stuffed into the cap, but Quenton saw a few wheat-colored strands. She had a rather freckled face and brown eyes that seemed to hold silent laughter in them.
The young girl looked a combination of terrified and deeply amused as she looked at Quenton, then hop, and then finally at the mess in front of him. “Erm…apologies milady.” She curtsied clumsily before Quenton who boggled at his new guest.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, finally, more confused than hostile, but the girl still flinched and looked down at her feet.
“I’m just here to prepare your fire come dawn, your ladyship.” She practically whispered out into the air, Quenton strained to hear.
Somehow, he guessed that it was not just the question that caused the strain to have entered her voice. He canted his head and looked at her for a few silent moments as he processed the statement. That did explain why his fireplace was still going every morning, Quenton had not given the matter much thought as he had never dealt much with fire before. But it did make sense that the hearth would have to be refilled over the course of the night.
“Sorry, I am not offended, I was just a bit confused, is all. I’ve uh…not had the most pleasant awakening here.” Quenton gestured apologetically and the girl nodded with exaggerated seriousness. “I can see that milady…erm you have some…fluid on your cheek.” Her arm trembled a bit as she pointed at him, his hands went up to his left cheek and he noticed that it had a bit of sludge on it. Quenton's finger passed by under his nose as he retracted it and the scent of smoke and bile filled it, which caused him to grimace and then laugh.
And when he laughed the woman followed suit after clearly trying to desperately restrain her giggles. Their mingled laughter filled the room and Quenton felt a bit of warmth that he hadn’t felt since before the attack enter him.
“I…I must look rather silly like this.” He forced out, tears welling as he laughed. The lady in her fine nightgown on her knees with a handkerchief and some paper trying to wipe up weird smoke vomit, while a baby wyvern forlornly mewled and stared up at her while trying to get her attention.
“Heh, no offense milady but I rather agree with you there.” She said, nearly dropping her basket before their laughter began to die down. Quenton looked at the servant and tried to smile warmly like he had seen Rosalind do. “I am Briony but you probably already know that. What is your name?”
“Ella, your ladyship. I am the scullery maid, y’know.” She said almost proudly as she walked over and placed the basket next to the fireplace and began pushing in bits of firewood while trying to build some sort of construct with them within the hearth.
Quenton looked away from the mess and over to Ella and she tried to come up with something worthwhile to say. Why do I have to be so bad at this? He asked himself before he tried to venture into the conversation. “Strange circumstances aside, I am happy to meet you though the circumstances are…” He gestured at the vomit. “Unfortunate.”
Ella snorted a bit at the exaggerated sarcasm that Quenton let slip into his voice and she replied. “Nice to meet you as well, milady.” She turned and gave him a proper smile showing off a slight gap between her two front teeth and inclined her head to the mess. “Let me find something to clean that up with, your ladyship. I’ll have it clean right quick so your ladyship can sleep.”
That said, Ella then quickly left the room and came back with a bucket and a mop and easily cleaned up the floor. After that was done she hefted up the heavy basket, slung the mop over her shoulder, and lifted the bucket in her available hand. “Have a good night milady.” She said with a clumsy attempt at a curtsy under the weight and began to walk out.
Quenton spoke up at the moment she was about to pass through the door. “Wait!” He hated himself for the note of desperation that crept into his voice at that moment and the girl turned to look at him. “Could you come by to talk sometime? When you are not busy working that is?” Quenton almost stumbled over his words, but the diction training from Mrs. Seaver helped him through.
Ella looked shocked at the question and stared at him for a long moment but then she gave a small nod before scurrying off. Quenton sat back down at the edge of the bed and heard the mewl from Hop again. That had been very nice and also weird, but he would take it. And with that determined, he picked up Hop and crawled back beneath the covers so he could return to sleep.