Free Web NovelChapter 177: An Assembly of Unlikely Scholars
Chapter 176: An Assembly of Unlikely Scholars
The evening had settled over the palace with the particular quiet that belonged to the hours between supper and retire — that stretch of time when the day’s obligations had largely concluded and the night’s had not yet begun, and the corridors existed in a kind of suspended stillness.
It was into this stillness that Earl Hawthorne moved, his steps unhurried, his destination fixed.
Beside him, keeping pace without effort despite his considerable size, walked his valet. The man was broad across the shoulders in a way that made the corridor seem marginally narrower than it was, his thick brown hair neatly dressed and his beard trimmed.
He was often mistaken for a guard due to his look, but he was a valet to the Earl. Some suggested he was wasting his potential by being a valet, but just because he was built like a guard did not necessarily mean he was one.
His name was Gerard.
He said very little, as was his custom, but what he said was always worth hearing.
They reached the door to Baron Redwick’s chambers without incident.
Outside it stood a guard — compact and watchful, with a shaved head and a scar that ran in a clean, deliberate line across one cheek. A sheathed sword rested at his side. His name was Cade, and he had been in the Baron’s service long enough to know that unexpected evening visitors were not, as a rule, a matter to be taken lightly.
He straightened when they approached.
His gaze moved between the Earl and Gerard — lingering, briefly but unmistakably, on Gerard — before settling back on the former with appropriate deference.
"My lord," Cade said with a bow.
"Good evening," Earl Hawthorne said. "I would speak with Baron Redwick, if he is receiving."
Cade regarded him for a moment.
Then he inclined his head.
"If Your Lordship will permit me a moment."
He slipped inside the baron’s chamber.
The interval that followed was brief. When Cade reappeared, he drew the door open fully and stepped aside.
"The Baron will see you, my lord."
---
Julian Redwick was not a man given to visible surprise.
He had cultivated, over the course of his life, a composure that served him well in most circumstances — a quality of stillness that allowed him to receive unexpected information without immediately betraying his reaction to it.
He adjusted his spectacles as Earl Hawthorne entered his chambers.
He had not anticipated this particular visitor this particular evening.
But he did not say so.
"My lord," Julian said, inclining his head.
"Redwick," Hawthorne replied.
He glanced briefly about the chamber — its orderly arrangement, the fire burning at a steady and sensible height, the small writing desk near the window where correspondence had evidently been in progress — and then back to his host.
Edmund, who had been attending quietly near the sideboard, moved without being asked.
Julian gestured toward the chairs near the fire.
"Sit," he said. Then, after the smallest pause, "What brings you to my chambers at this hour?"
Hawthorne settled into the offered chair, his movements filled with a quiet tension.
"You are aware," he said, "of the competition?"
Julian studied him from across the small distance.
"It has been announced on the scrying veil," he replied. "Though the precise nature of the next event has not yet been made public." He paused. "That, I understand, will be revealed tomorrow. At the competition itself."
Hawthorne nodded.
"Yes," he said.
He was quiet for a moment, his elbows resting upon the arms of the chair, his hands loosely linked.
"I need your help," he said at last.
Julian’s brows rose a fraction.
"I am not good at poetry," Hawthorne said. "I may fail this competition entirely if left to my own devices. And I would rather not."
Julian regarded him steadily.
Then he removed his spectacles, cleaned them once with a small cloth from his breast pocket, and replaced them.
"I see," he said.
Before he could say anything further, the door opened again.
Cade appeared in the entrance, his expression carefully neutral in the way it became when he was uncertain how his next words would be received. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
"My lord," he said. "Forgive the interruption. You have another visitor."
Julian turned to look at him.
"Another," he said. It was not quite a question.
"Yes, my lord."
Julian’s brow furrowed slightly. He drew a breath — the faint, instinctive reach of a werewolf’s sense of smell toward a source of information — and then stopped.
There was nothing.
He frowned.
"Who is it?" he asked.
Cade’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
"The Duke of Blackmere, my lord."
The silence that followed was brief.
Julian looked at Cade.
Then he looked at Hawthorne, and then sighed.
"Show him in," Julian said.
---
Evander entered the chamber with the particular quality of unhurried arrival that seemed to follow him everywhere — as though rooms adjusted themselves to his pace rather than the other way around.
His gaze settled on Earl Hawthorne, who looked at him, somewhat guarded.
"Benedict," he said. "What are you doing here?"
Hawthorne gave him a look.
"I might ask you the same."
Julian, who had risen briefly upon the Duke’s entrance, looked between them.
"Your Grace," he said to Evander. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Evander turned toward him.
"Perhaps it will be more appropriate to speak when the others have arrived."
Julian’s expression did not change.
"Others?" he asked.
"Yes."
"How many others?"
Evander considered this.
"Two?"
Julian looked at Edmund then, and the valet immediately understood the message.
Edmund moved to the sideboard without a word and began quietly augmenting the arrangements.
They did not wait long.
Cade appeared once more, his composure intact, though there was something in his posture now that suggested he had revised his expectations for the evening entirely.
"My lord," he said. "There are two more visitors."
Julian exhaled once through his nose.
"I know," he said.
He could detect them now — two distinct scents, familiar enough from the days of the competition, drifting through the gap before Cade had even finished speaking.
"Show them in, Cade."
"Yes, my lord." fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
Duke Aurelgrave and Duke Thorncrest entered together, and the chamber, which had been comfortably sized for one man’s evening, became something considerably more populated.
Edmund set down another cup without comment.
Evander, who had settled himself into a chair near the window with the ease of a man accepting hospitality he had essentially invited himself to, looked around the room at the assembled company.
"Good," he said simply. "We have a full room."
The others looked at him.
Hawthorne, who had not moved from his original chair, gave him a long, steady look.
"Are you here for lessons as well?" he asked, a frown on his face.
"Very perceptive of you, yes," Evander said, without the faintest trace of embarrassment.
"You," Hawthorne said, "are bad at poetry."
"I am spectacularly bad at poetry," Evander agreed pleasantly. "I had thought that was evident."
Hawthorne considered this.
"It was not evident," he said.
Julian, who had remained standing near the fire with his arms loosely clasped behind him and the expression of a man recalibrating the shape of his night, looked at Evander.
"And what led Your Grace to conclude," he said, with measured patience, "that I would be well suited to instruct anyone in the art of poetry composition?"
"Instinct," Evander said.
Julian’s jaw moved faintly.
"And you, Julian," Evander continued, "strike me as a man who knows poetry."
Julian said nothing, which was itself a form of confirmation.
"As for Alistair—" Evander turned his gaze toward the Duke, who had settled into a chair with the comfort of a man entirely at ease in any room he happened to occupy. "A man of his particular pursuits and society has, in my estimation, encountered a considerable volume of romantic verse over the course of his life."
Alistair chuckled at that.
Edmund set a cup of tea in front of Evander.
Evander glanced at it, then at Edmund.
"Thank you," he said.
Edmund inclined his head and withdrew.
"And I am quite certain that Lucian must know poetry," Evander added with a smile.
Lucian released a slow breath.
"I am not certain it is a pleasure to have met you," he told Evander.
Evander only smiled at him.
