Page 251 of Ashen Torment

Étienne stops. His gaze slides over the disorder, lingering for a moment on the overturned inkwell and the trampled papers.

“Remind me of what?”

He approaches, stepping around the objects.

“You were meant to go to Piccadilly.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, pushing it back.

“Right... Richard m’attend là-bas.”

“Shall I have the carriage prepared, Viscount?”

I nod.

I wonder if he will be there as well.

No.

I... I hope he is.

34

Blue Eyes, Black Hair

Evander

The door to Gunter’s faces me like a small, gilded theater set against the gray of Piccadilly.

Above the window, the name glitters in pure gold lettering.

GUNTER’S.

Far too brilliant for a late October afternoon.

I pause for a moment, my eye sliding over the display: miniature Greek temples, fluted marzipan columns, candied swans with arched necks, cornucopias overflowing with crystallized fruit, indecent in their abundance.

For an instant, the glass reflects my face, pale in the cold.

I push the door; the leaf gives way, a small brass plate bearing a single word: ENTRANCE.

I cross the threshold as the warm indoor air reaches my ankles, heavy with sugar, butter, and vanilla. The noise of the street closes behind me with the door, my eyes run over the counter where plum puddings and mince pies defy the cold with their warm hues.

The confectionery is nearly full, a few patrons are seated at white marble tables while waiters in black jackets move discreetly between them. One of them approaches and extends a hand to take my coat. I lift it slightly and seat myself at an isolated table, the crimson velvet of the chair yielding slightly under my weight.

“What is your pleasure, Viscount?”

“A coffee, black. Piping hot, please.”

He nods, withdrawing. The rustle of newspapers between tables, the clink of porcelain, and the sweet scent of marzipan fill the time spent waiting.

The door opens again, and heavier footsteps approach my table. The waiter arrives shortly after with the steaming cup of coffee, placing it before me. I bring the cup to my lips, tasting the bitter heat as it slides down my throat.

“Have you granted yourself a moment’s respite from your duties?”

A familiar voice from behind distracts me. I look up, Nathaniel is removing his coat, handing it to the waiter.

His eyes meet mine, and a brief smile curves his lips. I smile in return, nodding toward the chair.