Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Six, Part Two
Title: Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Six, Part Two (Prologue+6/?)
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Beta: mothergoddamn
Rating: Rated R
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings:: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons between men, murder, torture, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 34,000+ This Chapter: 5600+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. The House of York has come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know.
Morning had not even dawned before Kurt was rousted out of his bed at the Bristol inn that he and St. James had stopped in for their night's sleep, was tossed a fresh set of clothing, and hustled into a new carriage with only a packet of hot buttered bread and cheese to break his fast. “We must get to Oxford by early evening to meet with our contact,” St. James had tersely explained while thrusting a flask of hot cider into Kurt's hand. “He will be writing your letter of introduction to Lord Crawford, but he wants to meet you and ensure that you'll be believable as a music instructor first. You'll spend the journey studying and singing for me, then. We cannot waste a single moment.”
“Letter of introduction? I thought you'd secured me the job?” Kurt already had a book opened on his lap and was studying by lamplight as he ate, being careful not to drip melted butter on the pages.
“No, I secured you an audience. One that you had better win over, Renner.” St. James leaned back. “Sing.”
And so they passed the hours to Oxford, bouts of reading and singing interspersed with verbal sparring matches between the two young men. They rode from pre-dawn to just before dusk, arriving in the cobbled streets of the scholar's town as the lamplighters began to go about their business. “Who will we be meeting?” Kurt inquired as he alit from the carriage with St. James close behind. The Steward consulted what appeared to be a letter that he retrieved from his tunic.
“We'll be meeting one of the local merchants of paper goods and music,” he explained as he motioned for Kurt to follow him to the inn they would be lodging in this evening. “He happens to be the same man who sells music to Edward Anderson and Amelia Freville. As Crawford is Lady Amelia's father, you can see why my contact wants to be sure you know what you're doing before he puts his name down as an endorsement.”
“I do see.” Kurt skirted an icy puddle in the road as he kept pace with the other man. “Will I have to sing for this man as well?”
“Of course.” St. James cast an incredulous look back over his shoulder. “You can do the Italian piece.”
Kurt frowned. “Do you mean Fortuna Desperata?”
“Certainly, if you like.” St. James pushed open the door to the inn.”When we get our rooms, go wash up and come back downstairs. We're going directly to the meeting.” With that, he disappeared to find the innkeeper.
The former stableman couldn't even bring himself to roll his eyes at St. James' continued assumption that he was to be bullied around. He was suddenly too preoccupied. This was to be the true beginning of his mission. Kurt was suddenly seized with an attack of nerves that left his knees trembling.
“For the love of God, Renner, pull yourself together,” St. James snapped, shoving a key into his shaking hand. “Go. Go upstairs and splash some water on your face. I'll meet you here by the door.” With a push, he got Kurt moving up the stairs to locate his room.
He found it in short order, twisting the key in the lock and stumbling inside before leaning back against the door, drawing in deep breaths and trying to stop shaking. Darting his eyes around the room, he spotted a basin with water and a small mirror. Good. He made his way over and splashed the cool water onto his face, feeling instantly more calm as the droplets hit his skin.
Gently, Kurt patted his face dry with the small towel laid at the side of the basin, and then faced himself in the mirror. Against the gray velvet of his tunic - a darker one than yesterday's - his eyes were gray-green and wide with apprehension. He did not look like the self he knew, the stableman...but neither did he think he looked like a confident music teacher. Certainly he did not feel like one.
He felt and looked exactly like what he was - a frightened young man with the price of a very valuable life hanging over his head.
The banging on his door startled him. “Let's go, Renner. I'll be waiting.”
“I'll be down in a moment, St. James.” Kurt took a deep breath and stood up straight, never taking his eyes off of the man in the looking glass. “For your father,” he whispered softly. “You can do this, for him. You can do anything for him.”
The reassurance melted away the last vestiges of fear, and suddenly Kurt could see Florian Renner in the glass, standing tall and proud and confident in a way that Kurt Hummel never had. He nodded to his new self, taking in the slightly amused smile, the raised eyebrow. This was a man who could be believed as a singer and teacher.
Armed now with his new persona, Kurt turned on his bootheel and strode directly out of his room, greeting St. James at the door of the inn. “Come now, let's not be late,” he snapped at the astonished Steward, nodding his head abruptly towards the street. “After all, this man is waiting for us.”
“Indeed.” Fastening his cloak around his shoulders, St. James ushered the both of them out of the inn and onto the streets of Oxford. “Well, well, Renner. What's got into you?”
“You said I have a job to do. This is me doing it.” Kurt fumbled only a bit with the clasp of his own cloak, a fine charcoal gray wool that complemented his outfit. “Now, you said we were meeting with the proprietor of a shop. What's his name?”
“Noah Puckerman.” Jesse was clearly off-balance at a newly confident Kurt, and answered with none of his usual superiority or disdain. Instead, he seemed to be actually treating Kurt like the equal he was. Interesting. “He and his wife Rachel have sold music, books, and other paper goods to the good people of Oxford for the last three years. As I said before, they are the principle providers of music to your target and your presumed future employer's daughter.”
“So this Edward sings as well?” Could music be used for seduction? Kurt wondered to himself. He knew he liked music and thought he would like to be sung to by another man. Perhaps this would be something he could use.
“Yes, as far as I know. I believe he plays the lute as well.” This information wasn't terribly important to Jesse clearly, given his dismissive shrug. “Lady Amelia plays the harpsichord - you won't have to worry about teaching her that. It's a very specialized instrument that requires very specific instruction, and there's a limited number of teachers. At any rate, she apparently plays very well and has for several years. All you'll really need to do is continue the work she's accomplished with her singing.”
“Breath techniques and new songs, I believe Mistress Corcoran suggested.” They were keeping an even pace as they made their way towards a building labeled “The Barrel and Bottle”. This, then, must be where they were meeting the mysterious Noah Puckerman. “What sort of name is Noah Puckerman?” Kurt wondered aloud, earning a familiar scornful glare from St. James as they made their way into the noisy pub and fought through to a private room in the back
“It's Jewish.”
Kurt frowned. “But Jews have not been allowed in England for decades. Centuries.”
“And there are still no Jews in England,” intoned a gruff voice from the back of the room just as Jesse closed the door behind them. “Only Christian men with Jewish names.”
Kurt felt his eyes widen at the sight of the man dressed in unrelieved black, his dark eyes seeming to burn holes right through to see into Kurt's very soul. His dark hair, olive skin, and a voice that almost swallowed all the vowels it uttered marked him as a definite non-native of England. As he stood up and prowled across the room to greet them, he seemed like no merchant Kurt had ever encountered in his young life. He seemed much too dangerous to be a mere merchant.
Then again, perhaps that was why he was acquainted with Jesse St. James. Certainly no reputable and safe merchant would be involved in the sort of scheme that the Steward had planned.
“Noah. It's good to see you again.” Jesse put forth a hand and a bright smile. The shopkeeper glanced down at the hand and snorted in derision.
“I'll never be able to say the same about you, St. James.” He glanced at Kurt. “Is this your little songbird?”
Kurt liked the imagery of himself as a songbird. It wasn't inaccurate - he was captive, in a metaphorical iron cage, forced to sing and be attractive. He also liked that this dangerous merchant seemed to dislike St. James as much as he himself did. Maybe he would be more help to him than the Steward had been.
Disconcerted, Jesse motioned for Kurt to move closer. “Noah, this is Florian Renner - ” He frowned at being cut off by another snort from the merchant.
“Whatever his name is, it's not Florian Renner, St. James. But never mind.” The man inclined his head and looked Kurt over, taking his measure and not seeming displeased at what he saw. “Whoever he is, he is clearly worth ten times what I could get for your conniving hide.”
Kurt had to fight to stifle his laughter. He liked Noah Puckerman more with each passing moment. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Noah smiled and it managed to be both menacing and gentle at the same time. “No, it's probably not. Not if this bastard is involved. You don't seem a bad sort - what's he holding over your head?”
I like men. “My father's life. You?”
Puckerman ignored the question to turn an incredulous stare on St. James. “I knew you were a first class jackass, St. James, but this is a new low even for you. You're going to kill his father if he doesn't do what you want?”
“The future of England and her king depends on the success of our mission,” Jesse snapped, not noticing that Kurt's eyes had just grown to the size of plates at this information. “I'd kill my own father to ensure that, were he not already dead.”
“I do wager that you would,” Puckerman muttered, turning to stalk back to the table in the back of the room, snatching up a mug of ale. “I also happen to know that there is no way you'd be doing this strictly for the cause of king and country, but it makes me ill just to look at you, so I won't ask.” He took a long drink of his ale. “Renner, why don't you go ahead and sing for me?”
“What, now? Already?” A vestige of the old Kurt manifested in his momentary panic.
“Yes, now. I'll buy you a drink afterwards.” Noah seemed to be trying to be kind to Kurt in a way he couldn't be bothered to do for St. James, who was glowering in the opposite corner of the room. After being stuck with the Steward's hateful company for so many hours, even a small drop of kindness could go a long way; the tension that had seized Kurt melted away in its influence. “Just something short will do. I need to ensure that my recommendation is backed by actual talent and knowledge.”
It was a sensible precaution, Kurt knew. He took a deep breath and nodded. “All right, then.” With no fanfare or prelude, he launched into his selected piece.
Fortuna desperata
Iniqua e maledecta, maledecta
Che de tal dona electa
De tal dona electa
La fama hai denigrata
La fama hai denigrata...
It wasn't a terribly long song when only one person was singing it, but he thought it sounded nice enough all the same. He glanced at the other two men. St. James was, predictably, picking at his cuticles and could not be more bored. Puckerman, on the other hand...
Noah Puckerman, who looked like he could break Kurt over his knee and not sweat a drop, was open-mouthed in astonishment and it almost appeared that he was going to cry.
“That voice...” Puckerman was on his feet pointing at Kurt, but glaring accusingly at St. James. “A voice like that and you're sending him to do your dirty work with it?”
St. James looked up and shrugged. “Someone has to do it. What of it?”
“I could run you through right now and no one would mourn your passing,” Noah spat, and sure enough, Kurt saw that the man had a hand on the hilt of a sword that was resting on the table. A flash of fear went through him, but he saw that the same could not be said about Jesse St. James, who pushed himself away from the wall upon which he leaned and paced over to the angry shopkeeper.
“But you,” he said simply. “You, Noah, would very much miss your lovely Jewess if her throat were to be slit, wouldn't you?”
It was hard to tell in the light of the lanterns that circled the room, but Kurt thought that Puckerman might have suddenly gone very pale. Certainly he went exceedingly still.
“I have people everywhere,” St. James mentioned casually, like he was talking about purchasing livestock or a new doublet. “If anything happens to me, then everything that I have ever promised the two of you would happen, will happen. Never doubt me, never challenge me.”
Kurt's mouth was dry, and he was willing to bet that Puckerman's was as well in the face of St. James and his fearless cruelty. There was no low to which the man would not stoop, he was beginning to realize with a sick feeling in his stomach. Worse, there was nothing he nor Puckerman nor anyone else could do about it.
Jesse was continuing on. “I'm afraid Florian and I won't have the time to have a drink with you, Puckerman,” he purred with mock regret in his voice. “I gather from your reaction, however, that you're quite willing to write the letter of introduction to Lord Crawford?”
“Yes.” Noah nodded, obviously defeated. “I have an order of music in for Lady Amelia. I'll send a messenger to notify her tomorrow, and when she comes in I'll have the letter ready to give her as well.”
“Excellent.” St. James was brusque and confident in a way he had not been since he'd been greeted with the persona of Florian Renner for the first time a mere hour ago. This was a man who knew he'd regained the upper hand. “We're staying at The Owlery. Be sure you notify us as soon as you know they're ready to give Florian an audience.” With a nod of his head, he directed Kurt out the door of the room. Kurt tried to aim a glance of apology and commiseration to the merchant, but the man's head was hung too low with anger and defeat to notice it.
Jesse took Kurt by the elbow and hustled him through the pub. “Well! That went excellently!” He was practically skipping in his delight as they exited to the street. “We'll go get supper at the inn and then retire early so that you can study some more. I expect we'll be waiting a few days for your summons to arrive.”
Kurt could only stare at him. “You just threatened that man's wife. Have you even met his wife?”
“Rachel? No. But I don't need to. I only need to know that she's alive and important to him.” St. James shrugged and strode through the streets of Oxford to get them back to their lodgings. Kurt followed, still rocked with incredulity.
“There is truly no depth to which you will not descend, is there, St. James?”
The Steward flashed his cold, charismatic smile back over his shoulder. “In the service of king, country, and my own ambition - no, Renner. No, there is not.”
A chill went through Kurt that had nothing to do with the early January weather, and not for the first time since this had all began, he prayed to a God he was no longer sure he believed in for mercy, grace, and his safe deliverance from evil.
...Chapter Seven, Part One...
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Beta: mothergoddamn
Rating: Rated R
Pairing: Klaine endgame, bumps along the way.
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings:: This is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time. There will be, throughout the story, sexual liaisons between men, murder, torture, sexual blackmail, and political incorrectness.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 34,000+ This Chapter: 5600+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. The House of York has come to the same conclusion and want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. There are some historical and some original characters that interact with the characters we know.
Morning had not even dawned before Kurt was rousted out of his bed at the Bristol inn that he and St. James had stopped in for their night's sleep, was tossed a fresh set of clothing, and hustled into a new carriage with only a packet of hot buttered bread and cheese to break his fast. “We must get to Oxford by early evening to meet with our contact,” St. James had tersely explained while thrusting a flask of hot cider into Kurt's hand. “He will be writing your letter of introduction to Lord Crawford, but he wants to meet you and ensure that you'll be believable as a music instructor first. You'll spend the journey studying and singing for me, then. We cannot waste a single moment.”
“Letter of introduction? I thought you'd secured me the job?” Kurt already had a book opened on his lap and was studying by lamplight as he ate, being careful not to drip melted butter on the pages.
“No, I secured you an audience. One that you had better win over, Renner.” St. James leaned back. “Sing.”
And so they passed the hours to Oxford, bouts of reading and singing interspersed with verbal sparring matches between the two young men. They rode from pre-dawn to just before dusk, arriving in the cobbled streets of the scholar's town as the lamplighters began to go about their business. “Who will we be meeting?” Kurt inquired as he alit from the carriage with St. James close behind. The Steward consulted what appeared to be a letter that he retrieved from his tunic.
“We'll be meeting one of the local merchants of paper goods and music,” he explained as he motioned for Kurt to follow him to the inn they would be lodging in this evening. “He happens to be the same man who sells music to Edward Anderson and Amelia Freville. As Crawford is Lady Amelia's father, you can see why my contact wants to be sure you know what you're doing before he puts his name down as an endorsement.”
“I do see.” Kurt skirted an icy puddle in the road as he kept pace with the other man. “Will I have to sing for this man as well?”
“Of course.” St. James cast an incredulous look back over his shoulder. “You can do the Italian piece.”
Kurt frowned. “Do you mean Fortuna Desperata?”
“Certainly, if you like.” St. James pushed open the door to the inn.”When we get our rooms, go wash up and come back downstairs. We're going directly to the meeting.” With that, he disappeared to find the innkeeper.
The former stableman couldn't even bring himself to roll his eyes at St. James' continued assumption that he was to be bullied around. He was suddenly too preoccupied. This was to be the true beginning of his mission. Kurt was suddenly seized with an attack of nerves that left his knees trembling.
“For the love of God, Renner, pull yourself together,” St. James snapped, shoving a key into his shaking hand. “Go. Go upstairs and splash some water on your face. I'll meet you here by the door.” With a push, he got Kurt moving up the stairs to locate his room.
He found it in short order, twisting the key in the lock and stumbling inside before leaning back against the door, drawing in deep breaths and trying to stop shaking. Darting his eyes around the room, he spotted a basin with water and a small mirror. Good. He made his way over and splashed the cool water onto his face, feeling instantly more calm as the droplets hit his skin.
Gently, Kurt patted his face dry with the small towel laid at the side of the basin, and then faced himself in the mirror. Against the gray velvet of his tunic - a darker one than yesterday's - his eyes were gray-green and wide with apprehension. He did not look like the self he knew, the stableman...but neither did he think he looked like a confident music teacher. Certainly he did not feel like one.
He felt and looked exactly like what he was - a frightened young man with the price of a very valuable life hanging over his head.
The banging on his door startled him. “Let's go, Renner. I'll be waiting.”
“I'll be down in a moment, St. James.” Kurt took a deep breath and stood up straight, never taking his eyes off of the man in the looking glass. “For your father,” he whispered softly. “You can do this, for him. You can do anything for him.”
The reassurance melted away the last vestiges of fear, and suddenly Kurt could see Florian Renner in the glass, standing tall and proud and confident in a way that Kurt Hummel never had. He nodded to his new self, taking in the slightly amused smile, the raised eyebrow. This was a man who could be believed as a singer and teacher.
Armed now with his new persona, Kurt turned on his bootheel and strode directly out of his room, greeting St. James at the door of the inn. “Come now, let's not be late,” he snapped at the astonished Steward, nodding his head abruptly towards the street. “After all, this man is waiting for us.”
“Indeed.” Fastening his cloak around his shoulders, St. James ushered the both of them out of the inn and onto the streets of Oxford. “Well, well, Renner. What's got into you?”
“You said I have a job to do. This is me doing it.” Kurt fumbled only a bit with the clasp of his own cloak, a fine charcoal gray wool that complemented his outfit. “Now, you said we were meeting with the proprietor of a shop. What's his name?”
“Noah Puckerman.” Jesse was clearly off-balance at a newly confident Kurt, and answered with none of his usual superiority or disdain. Instead, he seemed to be actually treating Kurt like the equal he was. Interesting. “He and his wife Rachel have sold music, books, and other paper goods to the good people of Oxford for the last three years. As I said before, they are the principle providers of music to your target and your presumed future employer's daughter.”
“So this Edward sings as well?” Could music be used for seduction? Kurt wondered to himself. He knew he liked music and thought he would like to be sung to by another man. Perhaps this would be something he could use.
“Yes, as far as I know. I believe he plays the lute as well.” This information wasn't terribly important to Jesse clearly, given his dismissive shrug. “Lady Amelia plays the harpsichord - you won't have to worry about teaching her that. It's a very specialized instrument that requires very specific instruction, and there's a limited number of teachers. At any rate, she apparently plays very well and has for several years. All you'll really need to do is continue the work she's accomplished with her singing.”
“Breath techniques and new songs, I believe Mistress Corcoran suggested.” They were keeping an even pace as they made their way towards a building labeled “The Barrel and Bottle”. This, then, must be where they were meeting the mysterious Noah Puckerman. “What sort of name is Noah Puckerman?” Kurt wondered aloud, earning a familiar scornful glare from St. James as they made their way into the noisy pub and fought through to a private room in the back
“It's Jewish.”
Kurt frowned. “But Jews have not been allowed in England for decades. Centuries.”
“And there are still no Jews in England,” intoned a gruff voice from the back of the room just as Jesse closed the door behind them. “Only Christian men with Jewish names.”
Kurt felt his eyes widen at the sight of the man dressed in unrelieved black, his dark eyes seeming to burn holes right through to see into Kurt's very soul. His dark hair, olive skin, and a voice that almost swallowed all the vowels it uttered marked him as a definite non-native of England. As he stood up and prowled across the room to greet them, he seemed like no merchant Kurt had ever encountered in his young life. He seemed much too dangerous to be a mere merchant.
Then again, perhaps that was why he was acquainted with Jesse St. James. Certainly no reputable and safe merchant would be involved in the sort of scheme that the Steward had planned.
“Noah. It's good to see you again.” Jesse put forth a hand and a bright smile. The shopkeeper glanced down at the hand and snorted in derision.
“I'll never be able to say the same about you, St. James.” He glanced at Kurt. “Is this your little songbird?”
Kurt liked the imagery of himself as a songbird. It wasn't inaccurate - he was captive, in a metaphorical iron cage, forced to sing and be attractive. He also liked that this dangerous merchant seemed to dislike St. James as much as he himself did. Maybe he would be more help to him than the Steward had been.
Disconcerted, Jesse motioned for Kurt to move closer. “Noah, this is Florian Renner - ” He frowned at being cut off by another snort from the merchant.
“Whatever his name is, it's not Florian Renner, St. James. But never mind.” The man inclined his head and looked Kurt over, taking his measure and not seeming displeased at what he saw. “Whoever he is, he is clearly worth ten times what I could get for your conniving hide.”
Kurt had to fight to stifle his laughter. He liked Noah Puckerman more with each passing moment. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Noah smiled and it managed to be both menacing and gentle at the same time. “No, it's probably not. Not if this bastard is involved. You don't seem a bad sort - what's he holding over your head?”
I like men. “My father's life. You?”
Puckerman ignored the question to turn an incredulous stare on St. James. “I knew you were a first class jackass, St. James, but this is a new low even for you. You're going to kill his father if he doesn't do what you want?”
“The future of England and her king depends on the success of our mission,” Jesse snapped, not noticing that Kurt's eyes had just grown to the size of plates at this information. “I'd kill my own father to ensure that, were he not already dead.”
“I do wager that you would,” Puckerman muttered, turning to stalk back to the table in the back of the room, snatching up a mug of ale. “I also happen to know that there is no way you'd be doing this strictly for the cause of king and country, but it makes me ill just to look at you, so I won't ask.” He took a long drink of his ale. “Renner, why don't you go ahead and sing for me?”
“What, now? Already?” A vestige of the old Kurt manifested in his momentary panic.
“Yes, now. I'll buy you a drink afterwards.” Noah seemed to be trying to be kind to Kurt in a way he couldn't be bothered to do for St. James, who was glowering in the opposite corner of the room. After being stuck with the Steward's hateful company for so many hours, even a small drop of kindness could go a long way; the tension that had seized Kurt melted away in its influence. “Just something short will do. I need to ensure that my recommendation is backed by actual talent and knowledge.”
It was a sensible precaution, Kurt knew. He took a deep breath and nodded. “All right, then.” With no fanfare or prelude, he launched into his selected piece.
Fortuna desperata
Iniqua e maledecta, maledecta
Che de tal dona electa
De tal dona electa
La fama hai denigrata
La fama hai denigrata...
It wasn't a terribly long song when only one person was singing it, but he thought it sounded nice enough all the same. He glanced at the other two men. St. James was, predictably, picking at his cuticles and could not be more bored. Puckerman, on the other hand...
Noah Puckerman, who looked like he could break Kurt over his knee and not sweat a drop, was open-mouthed in astonishment and it almost appeared that he was going to cry.
“That voice...” Puckerman was on his feet pointing at Kurt, but glaring accusingly at St. James. “A voice like that and you're sending him to do your dirty work with it?”
St. James looked up and shrugged. “Someone has to do it. What of it?”
“I could run you through right now and no one would mourn your passing,” Noah spat, and sure enough, Kurt saw that the man had a hand on the hilt of a sword that was resting on the table. A flash of fear went through him, but he saw that the same could not be said about Jesse St. James, who pushed himself away from the wall upon which he leaned and paced over to the angry shopkeeper.
“But you,” he said simply. “You, Noah, would very much miss your lovely Jewess if her throat were to be slit, wouldn't you?”
It was hard to tell in the light of the lanterns that circled the room, but Kurt thought that Puckerman might have suddenly gone very pale. Certainly he went exceedingly still.
“I have people everywhere,” St. James mentioned casually, like he was talking about purchasing livestock or a new doublet. “If anything happens to me, then everything that I have ever promised the two of you would happen, will happen. Never doubt me, never challenge me.”
Kurt's mouth was dry, and he was willing to bet that Puckerman's was as well in the face of St. James and his fearless cruelty. There was no low to which the man would not stoop, he was beginning to realize with a sick feeling in his stomach. Worse, there was nothing he nor Puckerman nor anyone else could do about it.
Jesse was continuing on. “I'm afraid Florian and I won't have the time to have a drink with you, Puckerman,” he purred with mock regret in his voice. “I gather from your reaction, however, that you're quite willing to write the letter of introduction to Lord Crawford?”
“Yes.” Noah nodded, obviously defeated. “I have an order of music in for Lady Amelia. I'll send a messenger to notify her tomorrow, and when she comes in I'll have the letter ready to give her as well.”
“Excellent.” St. James was brusque and confident in a way he had not been since he'd been greeted with the persona of Florian Renner for the first time a mere hour ago. This was a man who knew he'd regained the upper hand. “We're staying at The Owlery. Be sure you notify us as soon as you know they're ready to give Florian an audience.” With a nod of his head, he directed Kurt out the door of the room. Kurt tried to aim a glance of apology and commiseration to the merchant, but the man's head was hung too low with anger and defeat to notice it.
Jesse took Kurt by the elbow and hustled him through the pub. “Well! That went excellently!” He was practically skipping in his delight as they exited to the street. “We'll go get supper at the inn and then retire early so that you can study some more. I expect we'll be waiting a few days for your summons to arrive.”
Kurt could only stare at him. “You just threatened that man's wife. Have you even met his wife?”
“Rachel? No. But I don't need to. I only need to know that she's alive and important to him.” St. James shrugged and strode through the streets of Oxford to get them back to their lodgings. Kurt followed, still rocked with incredulity.
“There is truly no depth to which you will not descend, is there, St. James?”
The Steward flashed his cold, charismatic smile back over his shoulder. “In the service of king, country, and my own ambition - no, Renner. No, there is not.”
A chill went through Kurt that had nothing to do with the early January weather, and not for the first time since this had all began, he prayed to a God he was no longer sure he believed in for mercy, grace, and his safe deliverance from evil.
...Chapter Seven, Part One...