Maelstrom (13 page)

As we sat, Persephone seized a fork, holding
it in her fist like a barbarian. “I know this! This is a fork,” she
declared.

To my shock, rather than look horrified,
Father smiled indulgently. “Indeed it is. That one is for the fish
course.”

“Fish?” She cocked her head to the side. “Is
it...cooked?”

His smile faded. “You don’t care for it?”
Then he shook his head. “Of course—I don’t suppose you exactly have
ovens and fires beneath the sea, do you? I didn’t think. Cook will
bring some raw for you.”

I just managed not to gape at him. After
haranguing me for every tiny infringement of what he saw as
propriety over the years, he practically fell all over himself for
Persephone. If I’d made such a request, he would have refused it
without hesitation. Certainly he wouldn’t have gone so far as to
suggest it himself.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Or...do you have
waffles?”

Father blinked. “Waffles?”

“Yes. Or are those for special occasions?”
She cast me a questioning look. “Like our birthday?”

“No,” Griffin said, grinning. “Waffles are
not reserved only for birthdays.”

“Then my brother and I will have waffles,”
she said, smiling broadly. Fenton paled sharply at the sight of her
rows of teeth, and even Father looked shaken.

“I’m sure Percival—” Father began.

“Would love waffles,” I finished for him
with a glare.

He sighed. “Then waffles you both shall
have.”

Griffin

If nothing else, dinner at Whyborne House
was never boring. While the rest of us dined on mock turtle soup,
celery salad, and stuffed lobster, Whyborne and Persephone ate
their waffles, with Whyborne giving their father a defiant glare at
every bite. For his part, Niles inquired as to Persephone’s life
beneath the sea.

“And...Heliabel?” he asked hesitantly. “Is
she well?”

“Her sea name is Speaker of Stories,”
Persephone told him. She poured more syrup onto her waffles. “She
is well. Happy. I think she will be a matriarch soon.”

“The matriarchs are the true power among the
ketoi, are they not?” Christine asked.

“Yes and no.” Persephone licked her fork
thoughtfully. Niles looked slightly pained at her manners, but said
nothing. “They decide many things—what cities we trade with, when
it is time to perform the ceremonies for the god, other things. I
say when it is time for war; I stand before the god. Other
things.”

“Very sensible,” Christine said. “Humans
could learn a great deal from your kind.”

Niles didn’t press further, and the
conversation moved onto other topics. He missed his wife, though;
that much was clear.

But Heliabel didn’t miss him. If she had,
she would have returned to visit before now, or at the least taken
this opportunity to accompany Persephone. Instead, the suggestion
had never been raised, not even by her children.

I couldn’t help but pity Niles. I tried to
imagine how I would have felt, had Whyborne gone to the sea and
never returned, never reached out to me again in the smallest way.
I would have wondered what I’d done wrong. If he hated me or was
simply indifferent, and which possibility was worse.

When dessert was at last cleared away, Niles
said, “Persephone, would you care to learn a bit about our family
history? Where you came from?”

She nodded. Her tentacles hung loosely
around her shoulders, her earlier nerves having vanished with
dinner. “Yes.”

“We should view the ballroom and discuss
wedding plans,” Iskander said with a glance at Christine.

“Of course. Ask Fenton if you need
anything.” Niles rose to his feet. “Griffin, would you care to
accompany us?”

“Very much so,” I said.

“Are you well?” he inquired, as we walked
back to the foyer. “Your eyes...”

“We ran afoul of magic at the old Somerby
estate last night,” I said with a grimace.

“Ah.” He nodded. “I’d worried it was a
consequence of your shadowsight.”

“Not directly, at least.”

“That’s good. Before we go upstairs, here’s
something you might find interesting.” He gestured down the hall
leading to his study. “I’ve had a telephone installed, to better
keep pace with happenings in New York.”

The telephone sat on a small table in a nook
once occupied by a Roman bust. “I’ll have Fenton demonstrate its
manner of operation the next time you visit,” Niles offered.

“I don’t see why one can’t
simply rely on the telegram,” Whyborne said, eyeing the telephone
with an air of distrust. “Why on earth must you
talk
to people when you can simply
write a short message?”

Niles and I exchanged exasperated looks.
Whyborne noticed and scowled at us both.

We followed Niles up the grand staircase to
the third floor. The hall, which ran to the family quarters, was
lined with oil paintings. I’d passed by them before, of course.
Once on my way to view—among other things—the room Whyborne had
slept in as a youth. The other had been to inspect Guinevere’s
belongings, hoping for some clue as to who had murdered her.

Niles stopped in front of what looked to be
a very old portrait, its paint darkened as if it had at one time
hung above a smoky fireplace. “This is Fear-God Whyborne,” he told
Persephone. “He left England to try his luck in the colonies.”

“What Father means to say,” Whyborne put in,
“is he fled England one step in front of the hangman’s noose. I
can’t recall, Father—was he arrested on charges of thievery or
whore-mongering?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh no, wait I remember.
It was both.”

Niles’s thick brows drew together in
disapproval. “He was a resourceful man, who came to this land
penniless and died a respected land owner.”

“And by resourceful, you mean ‘fell in with
a necromancer and practiced black magic against anyone who stood in
his way.’”

Niles’s frown deepened. “He didn’t practice
sorcery himself, but yes, he did what he needed to for his family.
Who were grateful for his sacrifices.”

Persephone peered at the portrait. “He was
very ugly, even for a land dweller,” she remarked.

“Moving on,” Niles grated between clenched
teeth. “Here we have his eldest son and daughter, George and
Prudence.”

“Her body was never found,” Whyborne said.
“You’ll note, sister, that the Whyborne family tree doesn’t have
many branches on it.”

“And the Endicotts a few too many,” I said,
hoping to lighten the mood. Although perhaps doing so by reminding
everyone of murderous sorcerers who wanted Whyborne and Persephone
dead wasn’t the best way to go about it.

We continued on, Persephone and I admiring
the paintings while Whyborne and Niles bickered. Their voices grew
louder and louder the further we went, and I noted a vein standing
out on Niles’s forehead.

“My younger brother, Charles,” Niles
said.

“I didn’t know Percival had any uncles.” I
examined the portrait curiously. The man depicted looked to be
perhaps twenty-two or -three at the time it had been painted,
handsome but stern.

“Of course not,” Niles growled. “Percival
will go on and on about the misdeeds of our distant ancestors, but
the bravery of his own uncle is never mentioned.”

“He died long before I was born!” Whyborne
objected hotly.

“As did Fear-God and the rest, but you have
no qualm slandering them!”

I cleared my throat before the quarrel grew
any worse. “I’d like to hear the story, and I’m certain Persephone
would as well.”

“Yes.” She touched the gilded frame lightly
with her clawed fingers. What would her uncle think to see her?
Would he greet her as family, or curse her as an abomination?

Niles gazed up at his brother, hands folded
behind his back. “Charles was captured during the war—we served in
different units, and it was some time before I learned what had
happened to him. He was sent to Camp Sumter.”

I’d heard stories of the prison for union
soldiers, and of the atrocities that had led to its commander’s
trial and execution once the war ended. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, he survived that.”
Bitterness coated Niles’s words. “He lived through starvation and
plague and God alone knows what other horrors. And when it was
over, he made for Ohio, to recuperate with our mother’s family
before returning to Massachusetts. His transport ship was
the
Sultana
.”

Persephone’s tendrils contracted slightly in
distress. “I do not know what that is, Father.”

“A steamship.” His mouth was a tight line.
“Overcrowded and poorly maintained. The boiler exploded and carried
nearly two-thousand men to the bottom of the Mississippi River.
Charles was one of them.”

“How awful,” I said quietly.

Niles took a shaky breath. “He survived so
much, only to be struck down by capricious fate. It destroyed our
parents. Father wasted away from grief and died later that year.
Mother found new life in her grandchildren—Stanford was born the
next year—but she died when Percival was still quite young.”

“I remember,” Whyborne said. “Or rather, I
recall her funeral more than the woman herself. All the black
clothing and weeping, shutting her away in the mausoleum, seemed
very confusing at the time.”

“I’m certain it did.” Niles straightened his
shoulders and turned away. “Well. We should return to our guests,
before they think we’ve deserted them.”

Whyborne and Persephone went ahead, but
Niles lagged behind. I slowed my steps to match his. “Thank you,” I
said. “I appreciate that you shared such a personal story with
me.”

He nodded. “It seemed appropriate.” A
hesitation, then: “I never had anything against you, Griffin. I
know that must be difficult to accept, considering how we first
met, but it is true. I didn’t realize Percival was...fond...of you
at the time, not until he nearly died trying to undo the
Brotherhood’s mistake.”

What mistake did he refer to? Trusting
Blackbyrne, or killing innocent people for their own ends? I didn’t
ask; the answer would change nothing at this late date, and likely
lead to us quarreling as well. “I see.”

“Percival was always stubborn, from the
moment he was born.” Niles frowned at his son’s back. “I dare say
Persephone is probably the same, given how she stood up to the old
chieftess that Hallowe’en. But I had hoped he would eventually see
reason and wed.”

“It would never have happened,” I said.
“Even if I hadn’t come along.” At Niles’s look, I shrugged. “I’ve
known many men with a wife and children, who
seek...different...pleasures among other like-minded fellows. I
might, had things gone otherwise, have fallen in love with a woman
and married. And been perfectly faithful to her. But Percival’s
nature is not thus, and he couldn’t change it for you any more than
he could have made himself shorter, or altered his eyes to look
like yours instead of Heliabel’s.”

Niles was silent for a long moment. Then at
last he said, “I hadn’t realized.”

“I know.” I wasn’t certain how much to say,
what sort of confidences this man might want. But for Whyborne’s
sake, I’d try my best. “But don’t underestimate him because of it.
I prayed to change, when I was younger. If it were possible, I
would have done it in an instant.” I tipped my head back and
studied the ornate ceiling. “Whyborne—Percival—never would have.
Not even to please all of society, no matter what the cost. And God
knows the man is pig-headed at times, but don’t mistake courage for
stubbornness.”

We reached the bottom of the stairs.
Iskander was speaking warmly of the ballroom’s gallery to Whyborne,
while Christine had a slightly blank look on her face. “I see,”
Niles said at last.

I paused, so we remained just out of
earshot. “My adoptive father died before we reconciled. I have no
wish to see you and Percival suffer the same.”

“Thank you.” Niles met my eyes, and I shook
my head at his calculating look.

“I won’t be your advocate. Only you can do
that.” I fixed my gaze on Whyborne, looking so uncomfortable in the
very home in which he’d grown up. “My first duty is to him, always.
But he can’t see clearly when it comes to you, and I’ll try to
remind him of that, if it becomes necessary.”

Niles let out a long breath. “I understand,”
he said at last.

We rejoined the others. Whyborne glowered at
me, folding his arms across his chest, although I didn’t know why
he’d be upset with me.

“You’re going to be married here?”
Persephone asked Iskander and Christine. Her hair curled around her
shoulders in delight. “Oh! Have you decided where to place the
skulls?”

“Skulls?” Christine asked, seeming
intrigued.

“Or teeth. Trophies of your enemies.”
Persephone regarded the space, then pointed. “There would be a good
place.”

Christine sighed. “I’m afraid we don’t have
any skulls, or anything else of the sort.”

Persephone looked dubious. “I could lend you
Dives Deep’s skull. I’ve kept it for my own wedding.”

“Would you?” Christine asked, a slightly
fiendish grin on her face.

“No!” Iskander stared at her in horror.
“Don’t be absurd, Christine.”

“Oh, very well.” She turned to Persephone.
“What else would you suggest?”

Persephone regarded the room. “Shells.
Shark’s teeth. Pearls. I will bring some to you.”

“Excellent!” Christine clapped her hands.
“Between you and Miss Parkhurst, this wedding business is all but
taking care of itself.”

Persephone beamed. Iskander looked
speechless. I took pity on him, and said, “For now, we’d best
return Persephone to her people.”

“Yes, thank you for your hospitality, Mr.
Whyborne.” Iskander shook Niles’s hand. “We can never repay your
generosity.”

“You’ve stood by Percival when he needed it
most,” Niles said gruffly. “It’s the least I can do.”