Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 24: Twist the Knife In

Ah.

This was awkward, Isaac thought.

Dartmouth continued to gaze down at him from the top of the marble steps. He looked pissed as hell. And really, Isaac thought, the whole "dagger-in-the-arm" incident was unfortunate, but that had been two years ago now. And the dagger hadn't even entered the arm. Surely they could move past it.

Camille turned. "There must be a mistake. Isaac wouldn't..."

He could see the moment Camille saw his face — the moment she realized it was true — because her mouth popped open. Isaac curled his hands into fists. He couldn't explain. Not now, in front of Dartmouth.

And speaking of the asshole.

Isaac crossed his arms. "I'm only being civil for her."

"Well," Dartmouth said softly. "That makes two of us." He pushed open the door, curling his fingers at Isaac in a mocking gesture. "Come in."

Camille didn't look at him as they entered. There had been a time, Isaac knew, following her into the entrance hall, where she would have assumed the best of him. He didn't blame her for assuming the worst now — he'd given her every reason to — but gods. It fucking hurt.

Dartmouth led them into a cozy parlor. A large wooden desk sat in the corner, groaning under paperwork and discarded quills. A map of Lucerna was pinned in the corner, pockmarked with tiny red pins. The ruined villages, Isaac realized; Dartmouth must have been charting them. The general tugged on a shirt. Then he crossed to the sideboard, holding up a bottle of cherry-coloured liquid.

"Would you care for some sherry, Your Highness?"

"Oh." Camille flushed. "No. I'm not..." Her throat bobbed. "Please just call me Camille."

Dartmouth stared for a moment and then shook his head. "Sorry. You look so much like Aurelia. The similarity is uncanny."

Camille took a seat. "Did you know my mother well, then?"

"Too well." Dartmouth poured out two glasses, handing Camille the second one. "My parents were both in the royal army, so I grew up at Helos Castle. Aurelia made it her personal mission to force-feed me shepherd's pie about once a week."

"And this home?" Camille asked. "It belongs to your parents?"

"It did," Dartmouth said. "They died a few months ago when Eris took the castle."

Camille's face softened. "I'm sorry."

Dartmouth took the seat across from her. "I wasn't the only one to lose people."

Dartmouth leaned forward to set down his glass, and Isaac didn't miss the way the young general's knee brushed Camille's. Irritation shot through him.

"I hardly knew them," Camille said.

Dartmouth reached forward to touch her knee. "Sometimes that's worse." His voice was a murmur. "Mourning the loss of what you could have had, instead of what you did. It's the wondering that hurts the most."

Isaac looked at that hand and imagined chopping it off with a sharp axe.

Camille was staring up at Dartmouth, her cheeks flushed. Her mouth darted out to lick her lips, and a wobble of uncertainty went through Isaac. Did she... by gods, could she actually find Dartmouth attractive? Did she fancy him? It wasn't like the bloke was bad looking, but he had the charisma of a shoelace.

Surely not.

And yet...

Isaac glanced toward the door. He ought to leave. The faeries would be privy to any information he heard; it was better to make an excuse and miss most of the meeting. But the idea of leaving Camille alone with Dartmouth... the thought of Dartmouth touching her godsdamn knee again... His stomach clenched. Not ideal, either.