Chapter 7: Peach Blossom, Part 1

Aubrey had reached his limit on foul tempers.

Well, Milla he could not blame. She was tired, and her illness had taken a turn, so she was permitted to be a bit off. Father was as sour as he always was when the weather was foul. Aubrey had not expected cheerful conversation from that corner in any case.

Gilles was even nastier than Aubrey could ever remember him being. Even Stregoni, upon whom he'd been counting for happy companionship, was in a foul mood.

He could not escape outside; the weather was a breath away from being a proper blizzard. Feeling very much sour himself, now, Aubrey wandered the house looking for either a way to soothe his ill-temper, or something on which he could vent it.

When his hunt proved in vain, he retreated at last to the small room he had taken over as his private study.

He startled upon entering when he realized someone else was in the room.

Since returning home a week ago, Aubrey had done his best to avoid Ruthven for all but the necessary feedings. Of course, Ruthven slept in his bed. Much to his dismay, Aubrey had seen no way out of that particular problem. Elisabeth and François both slept with their respective owners. It would be humiliating in the extreme for Ruthven if Aubrey were to make him sleep in the servant quarters. Neither would he banish Ruthven to one of the empty rooms as though he were a visitor.

Currently, Ruthven was ensconced in the study's window seat, the main reason Aubrey had stolen this room away to be his own. It was wide and long, and gave a beautiful view of the west side of the house, the lush lawn and the forest beyond it.

At the edge of that forest were the faded remains of a path which led straight to the house of his Uncle George.

There were other paths, even more faded than the one made by brothers who had once been close, but fear had always gotten the better of him whenever he set out to explore.

Ruthven had made himself quite comfortable, propped on pillows that also served to separate him from the cold glass. He was wrapped in a blanket, and had a book set in his lap. Some heavy tome that looked familiar but which Aubrey could not at the moment place. There was very little light coming from the window, all of it blocked by piles upon piles of snow, the wind whipping up even more flakes and tossing them about.

All the reading light came instead from the various lamps Ruthven had lit, one pulled near the window so he could better see to read. It made his beeswax hair a rich gold, warmed the sun-kissed skin.

He turned the pages with his left hand, the faintest of smiles curving his pale pink lips. Aubrey noted this only because in his right hand, Ruthven held a teacup - one from the winter set, pale green porcelain decorated with mistletoe.

"Pets drink tea?"

Ruthven looked up, then smiled and closed his book, setting his teacup aside. "It doesn't help us, but it doesn't hurt, either. I like tea."

Aubrey frowned. He did not know much about Pets because he hated the whole idea and so avoided the matter...but he was fairly certain the breeding grounds and the Pet houses did not feed the Pets anything but blood. "Where did you drink tea?"

"Here and there," Ruthven said, head dipping, eyelids falling so long lashes just brushed his cheeks. Then he brought his gaze up to meet Aubrey's directly. "Mostly during interviews. It is rude to refuse, is it not?"

Drat it, he still could not tell the color of Ruthven's eyes. Why did it bother him so much?

Something else suddenly occurred to him. "You can read."

Ruthven's mouth quirked. "Yes, Master."

Aubrey scowled. "My name is Aubrey."

"Yes, Master," Ruthven said again, doing that thing with his lashes. A demure move, submissive. Yet something prickled along Aubrey's skin that said submissive and Ruthven did not belong in the same breath.

He was a Pet, though. A blood drinker bound to Aubrey for the rest of his life. If there was any life more submissive than that, Aubrey did not want to know about it.

Why was he even thinking about such things?

"How is it you are able to read? That is expressly forbidden to Pets."

Ruthven smiled. "I was...I guess you could say, my upbringing was a bit more loose than it should have been. The woman who raised me in the nursery, until I was sent off for lessons, indulged me overmuch." He dipped his head and looked up through his lashes, the very pictures of subservient and eager to oblige. "If it bothers my master, then of course I shall cease at once."

Aubrey frowned. It was one of the top rules regarding Pets. They were taught all the basics of moving in polite society, but nothing that might encourage them to be dissatisfied with their lot. Keeping Pets that drank blood was much like playing with fire, even if controlling them had long ago been turned into a fine art.

They were not allowed to read or write. Before being sold, Pets were rendered unable to procreate. They did not converse with Pets outside their own household unless given permission and strictly supervised, and even within the household, the Pets did not spend overmuch time together. Scores of rules existed, for the good of everyone involved, or so the supporters said.

"What are you reading?" he asked finally. If he was going to be saddled with a Pet, why not one who broke a few rules? At least Ruthven seemed to be in a good mood.

Ruthven lifted the book so he could see the cover.

"What do you think of it?" Aubrey asked, almost smacking himself for not recognizing it - a popular philosophy book. Not one of his favorites, but a compelling one. He stepped closer despite himself, already eager for the chance at conversation and debate.