Chapter 182: Two Wrongs Don't Make a Right (5)

The library in Tír na Móin Manor had always been regarded as the largest collection of ancient and rare books and scripts on a variety of subjects, occupying nearly the entire ground level of the East Wing, the room's pristine white walls gleamed, catching the sunlight that filtered through towering arched windows. Crafted from rich, dark green timber, the shelving stretched from polished marble floors to vaulted ceilings, their surfaces reflecting the room's gilded accents. Brass bookends and ornate frames cradled old, leather-bound tomes, each carefully curated for their rarity and worth.

Living plants adorned the room, their vibrant foliage softening the scholarly ambiance. Some perched in ceramic pots of delicate craftsmanship, while others cascaded in vines from high corners, their blooms infusing the air with subtle floral notes. At the heart of the space, a large desk, strewn with parchments and quills, faced the grand fireplace. Above it, a carved relief depicted a golden keyhole encircled by intricate ornamentation, bearing the inscription, 'Custos Portae.'[1] It was a reminder of the library's sacred purpose—guarding the knowledge and legacy of the O'Dargan family.

Duke O'Dargan sipped tea from an elaborate Flora Danica cup, his eyes skimming the pages of a weathered book resting on his lap. In his late thirties, he had wavy blond hair that framed his face naturally, giving him a relaxed yet refined appearance. His grey eyes, warm and mischievous at a glance, concealed the sharpness of a proud and calculating mind.

"You're such a bookworm, Raven." – a rough male voice broke the serene stillness of the library, prompting Duke O'Dargan to raise his gaze and frown. Standing in the doorway was a tall, red-haired wizard with a sharp, chiselled face and piercing blue-green eyes that seemed to radiate confidence and determination. Without so much as a knock, the intruder strode in, his tailored three-piece suit of light brown tweed lending him an air of sophistication that was immediately undercut by the mud clinging to his boots.

He dropped into the seat across from the Duke with an unapologetic grin, oblivious—or indifferent—to the smears now staining the pristine marble floor. Raven's frown deepened as his eyes lingered on the mess, his irritation clear.

"How did you get past the house-elves?" – the blond man asked impatiently, setting his book aside – "And why are you even here? I somehow doubt you just happened to travel from Anglesey to Fermanagh on a whim."

Marquess Lauren Whiters shrugged with an air of practiced indifference, his movements languid yet deliberate. From a sleek, ebony box inlaid with silver filigree, he retrieved a cigar, turning it between his fingers as though testing its texture. With the click of a gold-plated lighter, its polished surface catching the light, he lit the cigar with a slow, precise motion. The flame flared briefly, illuminating his face before settling into a steady glow at the tip. He took a deep drag, releasing a plume of rich, aromatic smoke that spiralled lazily upward, blending into the air of casual decadence around him.

"You know I have my ways of persuading magical creatures to do as I please." – he said with a smirk, watching the faint twitch of annoyance flicker across the Duke's otherwise impassive face – "And you've been so preoccupied with the Academy lately that we've hardly had a minute to talk."

"There are numerous issues requiring attention." – the Duke replied icily, waving a hand to dispel the lingering smoke curling from Lauren's cigar– "And I've told you more times than I care to count: don't smoke those stinking cigars in my home."

"Oh come on!" – the Marquess laughed, leaning back in his chair – "Don't pretend to be such a prude! Besides, I brought you a gift."

With a flourish, the red-haired wizard pulled out a velvet box and tossed it to the other man. Raven caught it midair, his movements sharp and precise. He opened the box, brow furrowing at its contents.

"What kind of barbaric trinket is this?" - the Duke asked coolly, his distaste barely concealed.

"It's an amulet made from a Basilisk fang." - Lauren explained with a glint of amusement - "I don't have much use for it myself, but it's excellent for repelling lesser Dark creatures."

"Charming." – Raven replied, his voice laced with veiled disgust as he set the fang aside – "I hope it wasn't taken from one of North's beasts. I don't have the patience for another of his sanctimonious rants."

"Don't worry." – the Marquess said, waving off the concern – "This one dwelled in a cave near Penwyllt. Even his esteemed Lordship Redmond can make no claims on it."

"Rationality has never been Redmond's strongest suit." – the Duke noted – "So, tell me—are you bored of your dragon hunt, or is there another reason you've brought this to me?"

The red-headed man grin faltered, replaced by a sharper edge. "You're not a very kind host, Your Grace." - he said, his gaze locking on Raven's - "Hunting dragons is a task House Whiters has taken pride in for generations. It's no burden. But yes, there is another reason I've become interested in Basilisks lately."

He paused, his expression darkening. "As you may know, Borealis and Redmond have grown quite chummy recently. And that little weasel Adrian keeps as his footrest has taken to watching my wife."

Raven raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Don't tell me you're jealous."

Lauren's frown deepened. "Of course I'm not!" - he snapped - "There's no chance in hell that snob Adrian Borealis would find Leona remotely interesting. Light knows I don't! But he likely thinks spying on her is the easiest way to uncover whatever information he's after. Since getting anything from Adrian himself is nearly impossible—and I've no desire to subject myself to his Legilimency—I thought it might be wiser to turn my focus to House Redmond. What better way to get their attention than to meddle with their precious Basilisks?"

"Are you really sure Adrian is spying on your House?" – the Duke asked contemplatively, his gaze narrowing – "I've heard your wife has been spending quite a bit of time with Duchess McMahon recently."

The Marquess blinked in surprise and leaned back, studying the man across from him. "You think he's after Louisa?" - he asked, tapping his nose thoughtfully - "Well, I can't exactly blame him. She's a spectacular specimen. I wouldn't mind getting my hands on a Veela one of these days."

"Keep that to yourself." – the blond wizard scoffed, his tone sharp.

"Apologies, Your Grace!" – Lauren grinned mischievously – "I keep forgetting your obsession with purity. But bloody uffern, sometimes I envy Edward McMahon! And I mean just the part about having that creature in his bed, not the bit about that fox Carsilion bending him over whenever he gets the chance."

The Duke's huff turned into a growl, his face twisting in clear repulsion. "Don't speak of that poofter in my house!" - he demanded, his eyes darkening dangerously.

"Fine, fine, I won't." – the red-headed wizard shrugged, raising his hands in mock surrender – "I know he's a touchy subject for you. But I do wonder—what exactly are they plotting between the sheets?"

"He's not a touchy subject!" – the other man hissed – "But I will not tolerate being disrespected, especially in my own home! And as if that weren't enough, the McMahons think they're too good for the Academy. Can you imagine? As if Hogwarts could offer a refined, tailored education even remotely comparable to what we provide!"

The Marquess refrained from commenting, knowing full well how deeply the Duke's pride was tied to the aristocratic school. Instead, he decided to cut to the heart of his visit, and the reason why he had come all the way from Wales.

"I may not have the foresight your bloodline possesses," – he began sincerely – "but even I can see the landscape shifting. Borealis and Redmond are up to something, and I'm certain it won't benefit the rest of us. North is getting old, and without sons to secure his House's future, he had placed all his hopes in Carsilion. But let's be honest—there's no way he will abandon Edward McMahon now. Their bond is hard to break."

The Duke said nothing, though his fingers drummed rhythmically on the arm of his chair.

Lauren pressed on. "It's clear they've been playing some kind of game in recent years—something I haven't quite grasped yet. They may have caught wind of Borealis and Redmond's plans and are angling for support from other Houses in case an alliance forms against them."

"Your point?" – the blond wizard interrupted, his voice clipped with impatience.

The Marquess stood abruptly, his face intense. "My point is that we cannot allow ourselves to be swept away by the storm that's coming." - his voice rose with conviction - "You're a Basilisk Earth Mage, Your Grace, but both I and my son are lower-tier Elementalists. Worse, we've lost our inclination to fire, which has significantly upset the balance among the major Houses."

He paused, his hand gripping the back of his chair. "Imagine what would happen if we were forced to contend with that demon bound to the McMahon's bloodline? We need true fire to subdue her!"

"This is just a hypothesis." – Duke O'Dargan said calmly, his tone measured – "I agree it would be advantageous to restore a line of Fire Mages among us, but what can we do? It's not for lack of effort on your part."

"If only I could get my hands on a female Fire Mage." – the red-headed wizard sighed, pacing restlessly in front of the fireplace – "It's only a ten percent chance of giving birth to a fire-inclined son, but that's still far better than simply hoping it happens naturally."

"That sounds more like fantasy than reality." – Raven replied, exhaling heavily. The easily excitable Head of House Whiters always managed to test his patience – "Female Fire Mages are exceedingly rare, and their families guard them fiercely, precisely because of the chance they pass their inclination to their children. You'd probably have better luck seducing a Veela. They're fire creatures, after all." 

"I don't think that's how it works, but it's an intriguing thought." – the Marquess laughed, a sardonic glint in his blue eyes. He paused, turning back to face the Duke – "Still, I think we can agree that we must do whatever is necessary to ensure the survival of our Houses. That means putting our legacy in the most capable hands, whether or not the heir is born within marriage. We wouldn't want to end up like poor old Alexander, would we?"

"True." – the Duke murmured, staring into the bottom of his empty cup. His expression grew sombre – "It's an unusual and precarious situation. Sooner or later, the House of Prince will be up for grabs, and that could lead to war. If we end up on the wrong side, our lineages could disappear as well."

He looked up, his gaze sharp. "The real question is—do we pick a side, or do we act alone?"

[1] From Latin translates to Guardian of the Gate or Keeper of the Gate.