Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(176)

“And we’re to believe Franka continues to put herself in jeopardy for kin and country?” Frey asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.

Valeria cut sharp eyes to her son. “They killed her lover.”

“Indeed,” Frey replied. “But this is Franka. I’m certain she’ll find something to amuse her that will assuage her grief.”

She lifted her chin and held her son’s gaze. “It is clear you do not know your cousin well, my son. They tortured then killed the only man she’s ever loved. This is not for kin and country. This is for vengeance.”

“That, I can believe,” Frey murmured.

“Then I bid you to believe it,” Valeria retorted. “She was not wailing her despair when she imparted her message on me. But she was determined. Exceptionally determined. And I do believe you know your cousin well enough to know what that means.”

It was then Frey lifted his chin.

He knew.

At this juncture, a knock came on the door and Apollo called, “Come.”

Lucretia appeared holding a large silver tray on which was tea, to which Valeria said irately, “Finally.”

Apollo ignored her and moved, ordering Lucretia, “See to Lady Drakkar.”

When she nodded, he looked to Frey but Frey was already moving to the door.

Once outside it, Apollo closed it and followed Frey who’d continued walking.

They stopped some ten feet away from the study and turned to each other.

“Your thoughts?” Frey asked.

“I would like to look in Franka’s face when those words were delivered,” Apollo answered. “But I cannot think that she spoke false to your mother. Our protections are such that they cannot break them. If she’s shared our plan, they’d know it was an ambush and she would not be suggesting we carry on with it as it stands. She’d be altering it.”

“Agreed. There are no vulnerabilities to our plans and Franka knows this.”

Apollo nodded.

“I’ll send a return message through my mother,” Frey stated.

“And I’ll leave you to do that. I must have a word with my son,” Apollo replied and Frey’s focus on him intensified.

“All is well?”

“Not close,” Apollo confided. “But I’m working on it.”

“I couldn’t help but note that today, Madeleine spent some time in your study with you,” Frey observed.

“At least with that, all is well.”

“I’m glad of it, cousin,” Frey murmured. “The rift was concerning Finnie. However, she feels she doesn’t know Maddie well enough to broach it.”

He tipped his head to Frey. “Feel free to share this news with your wife to ease her worries. Now, I must see to my son.” He looked to the door of the study then back to Frey. “In order to rest before she again leaves, your mother is welcome to stay the night here.”

Frey grinned before noting, “Well done, saying that without wincing.”

Apollo shook his head feeling his lips quirking..

“However,” Frey went on, “I believe she’ll be perfectly comfortable at The Swan.”

Frey wanted her under Karsvall’s roof less than Apollo did.

“Your choice,” Apollo murmured.

Frey nodded and turned toward the study doors.

Apollo moved to the stairs.

He found Christophe in the first place he looked, his room.

His son was sitting at his desk, head bent, quill in hand, scribbling on a piece of paper.

His was so engrossed in this endeavor Apollo leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and took the time to enjoy watching his son’s concentration for long moments before he saw Christophe start and look his way.

“Papa,” he said.

“If you’re at your studies, Chris, I won’t disturb you,” Apollo replied.

Chris quickly turned the paper on his desk over as he shook his head and stated, “I’m not at my studies.”

He was writing and what he was writing was not Apollo’s to see. That was his son’s prerogative, it always was and it always would be. Apollo never read Christophe’s writing unless asked to do so. Indeed, no one did, unless it was an assignment from his tutor. And Christophe was very particular about who he allowed to read it.

It had heartened him when Christophe had offered that gift to Maddie on the way to Brunskar. However, as things were as they were, he had since reneged.

Still, Apollo took this as an invitation and entered the room.

Christophe didn’t move from his chair so Apollo came to a stop several feet in front of his desk.

“I’ve been told,” he started cautiously, not sharing who told him even knowing his son would know, “that you’ve overhead some servants gossiping.”

Red crept into Christophe’s cheeks as he looked down to the quill he was still holding, a quill he was twirling in his fingers.

Apollo waited the time it took Christophe to speak.

Finally, he did.

“They said some things about Grandpapa.”

“I know,” Apollo told him and gained his son’s eyes. “This is unfortunate, Chris. Although unfortunate, I wish you to know that I had intended to share this with you when you were older.”

A stubborn firmness starting setting in Christophe’s face, that same firmness Apollo had seen often whenever it was mentioned he was too young for anything, so Apollo continued.