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Beat your own and others will fear you
2010-02-19 01:23 pm (UTC)
"I'll keep it for now, thanks."
The chill from outside clung to him with slowly loosening fingers, though it was pleasantly warm inside the house. He imagined there must be one or more fires going in the various rooms of the grand estate, perhaps in the sitting room and elsewhere.
He didn't need his coat, but he still had things in the pockets, after all, and the heavy wool concealed some of the more uncivilized tools of his trade. It was fortunate he did not venture into polite company more often, where people thought to ask such things.
They walked past the staircase and down the main hall to the kitchens.
"Da, I know Ilarion, of course."
The very image of his father, that one, in both appearance and manner. Cheslav knew Aleksandr was proud.
He glanced at the young man as they walked.
There had been a telltale pause as the Ministry boy had spoken of Aleksandr, as if he'd been compelled to add the slightest concession about his condition to a friend of the family. It was not all stiffly polite formality, as he would have expected.
"How is he holding up?" he asked, then paused. "Ilarion, that is."
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