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Lynette stared at the pipes crawling along the ceiling, listening to the creaking sounds of the Fortress of Meropide and the deep, slow breaths of her brothers’ sleep.
She was restless, her skin itching and her body feeling not her own even days after Lyney’s confrontation with Wriothesley. Her brothers felt similarly.
Freminet still struggled with mild symptoms of Primordial Seawater, and Lyney was wound so tight Lynette was half surprised he didn’t snap. There was still time for that before the end of their sentence, though, so she didn’t discount the possibility.
As for her, well, Lyney needed her strong and stoic, the rock to his waves, and so she was. She was well practiced at it even if it left her unsettled, like nightmares waiting beneath the surface of a pristine lake, hungry and haunting.
She turned to her side and could see Lyney across the room, his chest rising and falling evenly. If she kept tossing and turning, he’d wake. He had a sixth sense for that sort of thing, a light sleeper in tune with her restlessness. It didn’t make for a conducive pair. If he woke, it would take hours before he went back to sleep—if he did at all—and chances were they’d end up waking Freminet, too.
Her boots were tucked safely under her bed; her Vision kept under her pillow. Those were all she needed, so Lynette took a deep breath as she slowly pushed herself up, distributing her weight evenly on the mattress. The bed creaked a little, but she avoided the worst of it. She slipped on her boots and tied the laces tight, uncaring that she was still in her nightdress. It wasn’t proper, but Lynette hardly cared for propriety as she snuck from her bed, taking her Vision with her.
Her feet were silent as she made her way to the heavy door and opened it just enough to squeeze through. She glanced back, ensuring her brothers were still asleep before she slowly let the door shut. Then she waited, her sensitive ears pressed to the metal to listen for muffled movement. There was none.
They were still asleep. She hoped they would stay that way. Lyney would panic if he noticed she wasn’t in bed. Usually, Freminet would just go back to sleep, but she wasn’t sure he would do so now when they were all on high alert.
For most inmates, the prison guards were the greatest problem with sneaking around at night, but they posed little issue for Lynette. It wasn’t her first foray through the prison after curfew, and they were nothing like the watchful eyes of Father. She only needed to stick to the shadows and move with silence and care.
The pipes in the center portion of the Fortress of Meropide were tall, stretching through the central column of open air like a hand reaching towards the distant sky. There was enough space at the top of them for somebody to sit, as long as they avoided the pipes carrying hot water.
Climbing sheer pipes clad in only a white nightdress wasn’t the easiest feat, but the House had trained Lynette for far more arduous tasks. Besides, she at least had good shoes on. Doing something like this in a formal gown and heeled ballroom shoes was far more difficult.
Using her Vision was risky in Meropide, where the guards might notice any shifts in the air, so Lynette didn’t. Unlike most envisioned people, she and her siblings learned not to rely on their Visions. Any child of the House was just as deadly with one as without.
She made it to the top of the pipe. Below her, she could almost see the entire central section of the fortress. Guards paced the halls like ants, the human ones occasionally stopping to chat as the Gardemeks continued patrolling.
Being so high up made it easier to think. Lynette had always felt that way. Back home, she often sat on the roof of Hotel Bouffes d'ete to breathe in the cool night air and enjoy the peace of the wind.
There was no wind here, but she made do with what she had. She crossed her legs and leaned back against the wall. With her eyes closed, Lynette ran through problems and solutions in her head, questioning and wondering, planning and plotting. What did they do wrong? How could they have done it differently? What was their next step? She had no doubt Father would have the same questions, and Lynette wouldn’t leave her brother alone to answer them. Lyney might be their leader, but Lynette was his shadow, always half a step behind him, anticipating, always ready to move at the first sign of danger.
Heavy footsteps echoed on the metal floor below her. They were loud, uncaring of being heard. Lynette’s ears flattened back against her head.
The footsteps stopped just below her pipe. “You up there, kid?” the Duke of Meropide called.
Lynette froze, her body tensing. Even her breath stuttered in her chest, turning to ice.
There was a beat of silence, then a second.
Wriothesley sighed a long, suffering sound. “I know you’re there,” he said. “You aren’t in trouble; why don’t you come down here so we can chat? I don’t fancy shouting this entire time.”
Lynette shifted forward silently, just enough to peek over the edge of the pipe. As she expected, Wriothesley stood below her, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stared up at the pipe. Their eyes met.
He leaned against the rail behind him casually.
“Please don’t make me climb up there. I’m not sure my knees can take it, and Sigewinne would have a word with me if I tried.”
He sounded friendly, but there was an edge to his voice, an order. Lynette knew better than to ignore it. There would be consequences if she did, ones that might reflect on her brothers.
She cursed herself for her carelessness. She didn’t know how he had known she was there, but it didn’t matter. Carelessness like that could get her killed.
Climbing down was more difficult than climbing up. It was something she could do, of course, but it wasn’t worth it when the Duke already knew she was there. Instead, Lynette let herself fall. She soared downward, calling on her Vision before she hit the floor. Air gathered around her, lowering her until her feet touched the ground.
“Seven above,” Wriothesley cursed, “you near about gave me a heart attack, kid. I didn’t know you could do that.”
Lynette shrugged. She stayed quiet, standing before him.
Despite the late hour, he was still dressed for work. Did he ever sleep? Or did he change clothes just to come collect her?
“Come on,” Wriothesley told her, shaking his head. He didn’t wait for her to reply before starting off toward the elevator.
Lynette followed in silence. What else was there to do? She narrowed her eyes as they walked. Wriothesley glanced over his shoulder occasionally, but he was remarkably trusting to allow her at his back. There was a lot Lynette could do before he could turn around, if she was so willing.
Eventually, they arrived at his office. Lynette tensed, but if Wriothesley noticed, he said nothing. Instead, he guided her inside and up the stairs.
He’d left paperwork strewn across his desk, a wealth of information for prying eyes. Lynette tried to see what she could gleam without looking too closely, but it seemed Wriothesley didn’t care what she knew.
He sat down and motioned opposite for her to do the same. Only when she sat did Wriothesley gather his papers and shift them to the side.
The silence was heavy, like a physical weight in the room. It pressed against Lynette’s chest, making it harder to breathe. She never liked confrontations without Lyney present. He was far better at it.
“So,” Wriothesley finally said, sitting forward to clasp his hands in front of him. “How are you doing, Ms. Lynette?”
She stared at him. He raised an eyebrow.
“It’s a bit late to be out, isn’t it?” he asked. “I mean, sneaking out of bed is all well and good, but the night is half over. Have you been sleeping okay?”
“I… what?” Lynette asked, confused.
“Sigewinne is worried about you. All three of you, really, but Mr. Freminet is being taken care of, and Mr. Lyney is beginning to settle with time. You, however, are not.”
This was, what, an intervention from the Duke? Lynette was usually good at processing information logically. It made things easier. But this made no sense to her. It felt like a stuck gear keeping the rest of the machine from turning. She didn’t understand.
Wriothesley sighed. “Do you like tea?” he asked, standing.
Lynette pressed her lips into a thin line, but nodded.
She watched as Wriothesley placed a kettle over some sort of small heat source to boil. Then he opened a large cupboard. Inside was more tea than Lynette had ever seen. She spotted a few expensive types from Liyue, like their glaze lily tea. There weren’t enough glaze lilies to make large batches, so they only sold limited amounts a year. Lynette had yet to try it.
He took down a jar; Lynette couldn’t see the label. Finally, after several minutes, he brought over a teapot and two cups. She had no idea where he’d produced the cream from, but there were some already in the cups. It was warm, heating the delicate porcelain slowly so it wouldn’t crack from the heat of freshly boiled tea. He placed more cream and a small jar of sugar on the desk between them. It was all from the same tea set, the carefully crafted porcelain painted with delicate blue flowers and strips of gold surrounding a beautiful image of the Fountain of Lucine. It was expensive, worth hundreds of thousands of mora by Lynette’s estimate, and certainly the most valuable thing she saw in the room. The Duke of Meropide didn’t seem to care much for wealth beyond tea. As strange as it was, Lynette could relate.
“Padisarah tea,” Wriothesley said as he poured her a cup first, as was polite.
He didn’t mix anything into his own beyond the warm cream already in the cup. Lynette hesitantly added a cube of sugar to hers. She mixed it with a silver teaspoon and took a sip.
It was perfect. The tea leaves were of the highest quality and the temperature was perfect to release the flavour. It was a pleasant surprise. Most people didn’t brew tea half as well.
“I drink this when I can’t sleep,” Wriothesley said, drawing her attention. He stared at the cup in his hands. “People say padisarahs help with sweet dreams. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I figure it’s worth a shot.”
Lynette looked at him closely as the teacup warmed her hands. She didn’t even notice how cold they were.
Wriothesley looked tired; stressed. She understood. They were all balanced on a razor’s edge, keeping the secret of the Primordial Sea Water and trying to avert catastrophe.
She wasn’t good at expressing herself, but Lynette was a good listener. There was a lot one could learn when they were quiet.
“Are you alright, your Grace?” she asked, half to avoid answering his questions.
Wriothesley’s mouth twitched upward. “You know,” he said, “I think you and I have more in common than either of us originally believed.”
Lynette thought about the tea, about the way Wriothesley twisted the truth to paint the situation to his benefit, how he helped them as soon as his show finished. He had a lot in common with Lyney that way, but there was something cold to him, the part of him that had gained a cryo Vision.
She knew of his past before they came here, of his conviction for murdering the people who raised him, who would have sold him. She remembered a night from so long ago, a darkened carriage and a man she didn’t know, afraid until Father appeared like a light in the dark and painted that pretty garden in blood. The Lynette of now would have done it herself, just like Wriothesley did.
“I believe you might be right,” she said and sipped more of her tea.
They finished their drinks in a silence that was far more comfortable than it began. Neither spoke of the reasons they were awake so late, and neither spoke of the troubles they kept buried deep beneath their skin, but Lynette knew they both felt its existence haunting them. She wondered how much he knew of her own past.
“I’ll walk you back,” Wriothesley said as she prepared to return to bed, “and I’ll let the guards know that you’re free to come to my office any time. Perhaps we can share tea again. I’m sure I can source something sweet from somewhere. Do you have a preference?”
Lynette paused. “Madeleines,” she admitted. “I like madeleines.”
If Wriothesley knew what it meant for her to admit that, to show him something about her, something honest, he didn’t show it.
He nodded and stopped at the end of her hallway.
“Good night, Ms. Lynette.”
“Good night, your Grace.”
When she made it back to her room, her brothers were still asleep.