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“You don't seem particularly concerned about all this,” you point out, gesturing vaguely back to the scene of the massacre, “How do you know that all this “blood and terror” isn't going to be coming for you next?”
“I don't, of course. I very well knew that there was a chance that it was MY blood and MY terror that the Emanations were talking about,” Juno answers, rising from her seat and stretching. “As far as I'm concerned, our family history is nothing BUT blood and terror. It's a legacy that I live with every single day,” she continues, “If that's my fate, then so be it. We're all acting in accordance with the natural order, isn't that what they say?”
“I thought your kind were supposed to fight against the natural order,” you point out, “Not play along like good little sheep.”
She laughs again, savouring your words – or perhaps the distaste in them. “Maybe I'm the black sheep of the Tomoe family, the disobedient child who rebels in the only way she can,” she taunts, reaching out to place a hand on your chest as if feeling for your heartbeat, “Or maybe I'm just lulling you all into a false sense of security. You'll never know for sure.”
“Or perhaps I don't care to know,” you reply curtly, turning away from her, “Goodnight, Miss Tomoe.”
“Isambard,” Juno calls out, her voice causing you to hesitate as you reach for the door. “Pay us a visit sometime, will you?” she offers, “You can consider this an invitation, since you're so concerned about those. We would welcome the pleasure of your company.”
You consider this poisonous invitation for what seems like a long moment, then let yourself out.
-
You stop by Dunblane's room on the way back to your own chambers, but the door is sealed tight by the time you arrive. The guard posted outside the door raises a hand to stop you, then produces a small package. “Master Pale, I'm afraid I can't let you in. The King has ordered this room sealed,” he explains, “But I was asked to give you these – Master Dunblane's personal effects.”
“I see,” you answer, taking the small bag. He packed light, it seems. Not even a change of clothes. Nodding your thanks to the guard, you take the parcel back to your room and spread the contents out on the desk. You doubt that you're going to get any more sleep tonight, so you might as well do something productive with your time.
What immediately strikes you is the sheer number of holy icons Dunblane had been carrying with him – icons of all the Emanations, along with a talisman that you don't recognise. It has an archaic, even primitive, look to it, like a knot of steel with jagged points. Running your fingers across it, it feels sharp enough to draw blood.
Certainly not the sort of thing that you'd expect a respectable gentleman to be carrying.
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