Page 172 of Ashen Torment

“Are you lost,” I say, without detaching my eyes from the polished wood, “or are you merely losing?”

He sketches a half-smile, strained, barely a hollow in the skin.

“I suspect I am playing out of habit.”

“As do we all.”

Nathaniel does not intervene. His fingers follow the rim of the glass, the firelight caresses his face, illuminating the white line on his cheek.

Richard stands, moves toward the decanter, and takes a new bottle.

“I shall call Étienne,” I say, but he shrugs.

“It isn’t necessary, I can manage at least this much.” His voice slides through his teeth with a hint of pride.

“I am not completely useless,” he adds more quietly.

Nathaniel lifts his chin slightly.

“I did not say you were useless, Richard. It is your behavior that is in poor taste.”

He uncorks the bottle with a decisive pull. The cork pops and strikes Nathaniel’s head.

“It isn’t my fault if you feel no interest in anyone.”

I turn toward him, intrigued.

“Do you feel interest in someone, Richard?”

“No... I did not mean that.”

He approaches slowly, pouring with care; two glasses first, in mine he stops halfway, in his own he lets the wine fall with a broader hand. Then he lingers, for just an instant, and tilts the bottle again. The third chalice fills more than necessary, for Nathaniel.

“Did you choose this,” I point to the wine, “or was it suggested by someone with a certain inclination for boredom?”

“I thought we needed something softer.”

Nathaniel takes his chalice. He swirls it slowly, watching how the wine climbs the glass and falls back. He brings the rim to his nose.

“It is passable.”

Richard lets out a brief laugh.

“You have tasted worse.”

Nathaniel offers a ghost of a smile.

“I have tasted everything.”

“Everything... in what sense?” I ask.

Richard brings the glass to his lips at the same instant. The wine goes down the wrong way; he coughs, turning slightly aside, a hand closed in a fist against his chest. A few drops remain on the edge of his mouth. His next swallow is forced.

Nathaniel raises an eyebrow.

“Is it the fever that makes you so bold in your speech?”

I set the chalice on the table.