Page 255 of Ashen Torment

Elijah is now a vivid burgundy.

“How dare you, you pathetic—”

Nathaniel turns toward me. “Is it not so?”

I bring my hand to my mouth, feigning a composure that is fast beginning to waver.

“Yes... once or twice—but that is not the point.”

“Then I know nothing else of this man.”

Elijah’s eyes narrow. “Tell me, Nathaniel, is that how you came by that scar? The fruit of audacity and ill-breeding?”

He merely taps his forefinger against the table once, then again.

He is growing angry.

Elijah leans further forward, his curls move with him, sliding over his shoulder.

“Have you no words?”

Nathaniel’s voice hardens. “Lord Brownell.”

“What?”

“Lord Brownell, to you.”

Julian intervenes. “Elijah, if you have not yet understood, he does not deign to notice you because you are not his equal, in his view. Nothing more.”

Elijah grinds his teeth, his jaw tightens, the effort to swallow evident.

At that moment, the waiter arrives and deposits porcelain saucers upon the table: glossy pears submerged in a ruby-colored syrup that smells of wine and spices, and golden slices of pineapple, almost unnatural in their winter freshness. Nathaniel takes a saucer, selects a pear, and pushes it toward me with two fingers.

“One cannot live on bitterness alone,” he says. “Eat something, before you waste away.”

Elijah lets out a short, rough laugh.

“Lord.” He says it quietly, but he whets the word until it becomes an insult.

I lift my eyes to Nathaniel, and he lifts his in turn.

“Always so attentive to the needs of others?” Elijah persists.

The bell above the door rings with a light chime. I shift my gaze. Richard enters; he walks slowly, his eyes finding me immediately, and a warm smile curves his lips, his freckled nose reddened by the cold.

Behind him, Isobel approaches in her burgundy dress. She pauses on the threshold, watching the man beside her with a caution I recognize all too well. Her cheeks color; the man takes a step forward, and the light catches him from the side, illuminating his ivory hair.

I cut into a pear, and when I look up again, his gray eyes are already fixed upon me. Dorian crosses the threshold without haste. His gaze sweeps the room and comes to rest on Nathaniel.

Step by step, he approaches, Richard follows him, and the two hand their coats to the waiters, Isobel following suit. The waiter behind us sighs but utters not a word. He moves and adds a table near ours, positioning it with care between our seats.

Dorian takes his place to my right, between me and Julian, Isobel seats herself beside Nathaniel, and Richard takes the seat immediately following hers. There is a brief exchange of nods, slight bows, and greetings.

Dorian draws off his gloves slowly and sets them beside my plate. “An interesting day, I see.”

“Oh, finally. I had nearly exhausted my repertoire, having to entertain the public alone,” Julian replies.

Dorian does not answer him, his gaze slides past me, settling on Nathaniel.