Page 238 of Ashen Torment

“If we go,” I pause, “and he truly conceals something,” I push the glass toward him with a finger, “he will interpret it as an aggression. And a man who feels besieged says nothing.”

“So we send a letter of courtesy?”

“We shall request a meeting.”

“And we shall go to him regardless.”

He takes a step forward. “What sense is there in waiting?”

I pass my hand over my chin. “He will propose another location.”

I let my hand slide away. “I am certain of it.”

Lucien remains standing, then huffs softly and gestures toward the letter.

“And what had you written to Zima, pray tell?”

A corner of my mouth lifts. “That the duke has taken something very precious from me.”

He shakes his head. “Your sense of humor is detestable, Dorian.”

I cannot deny it.

I wager a certain Viscount finds it detestable as well.

“And so this...” he pauses, his tongue tripping, his lips tightening for an instant, “Mias—” he stops, annoyed by the very sound, “—mis—”

I cross my arms.

“Miazma.”

“Yes. That.”

He makes a vague gesture with his hand. “What distinguishes it, exactly, from the Vasiliev? Why use different seals?”

“The House of Vasiliev is ancient, as you already know.”

The words come out slowly. “Respectable. Russian Dvoryanstvo. Unimpeachable business, impeccable salons. But what they show is only the surface.”

Lucien keeps his gaze fixed on me.

“They reach much further,” I continue, “than they lead one to believe.”

“Criminals.”

I pour myself more brandy.

“To be indulgent,” I reply, “let’s say yes.” I bring the glass to my lips. “They manage an internal network, primarily in Russia. But over the years...” I take a sip, “...they have stretched their hands into Europe as well.”

A brief laugh rumbles in my chest. “Dyadya Ilya’s ambition knows no bounds.”

Lucien’s fingers tighten on the arm of the chair, then relax.

I set the glass down. “Miazma,” I resume, “is only a part. The part Oskar handles.”

Lucien lifts his gaze.

“His personal army,” I say calmly. “Let’s call it that.”