“Honorable Ophelia, I always seem to miss your visits.” Johannes leaned towards her.

Behind him a servant kept their head low. Although their eyes never met Johannes, his every action, though slow and fluid, caused them to jump.

“You’re always studying.”

“Yes.” He nodded, slowly, methodically. “Mathematics today. I do hope for your help in Biology.”

“What can I do?”

“Life cycles are just so fascinating. Frogs. Butterflies.” He smiled as his gaze drifted. His hair fell into his eyes. “So magical.”

“It can be.” She tensed.

“I would like to learn more about--ah,” Johannes’ head turned on an angle to the approaching oldest brother, “Mavus, you join us.”

Mavus stood between Ophelia and his youngest brother. “Back to your lesson.” He threw an arm in the air and pointed him away.

But Johannes furrowed his brows and put his hands on the banister. “You and Baccus get to talk to Ophelia, why can’t I?”

“Ophelia is a guest of this house. You will treat her with respect.”

“I am.” He waved a hand out to Ophelia, who swore it moved in slow-motion. “Is it not to greet her and engage in conversation?”

Mavus stood his ground. “Johannes.”

“Oh, fine, if you insist. Though know that Baccus has drugged his tutor,” he sneered.

“I know.” Mavus growled, “back to--”

Johannes waved and ascended the second course of stairs, his servant following carefully behind. Before he was out of sight, Johannes peaked down through the railing. He locked intense hazel-green eyes on Ophelia. A slow smile bloomed on his lips.

“Till next time, Honorable Ophelia.”

Then he was gone, and the cold, stone house felt ever so slightly warmer.

Mavus exhaled his anger before turning back to Ophelia. “Please don’t take this as not being happy to see you, but I am concerned that I’ve seen you so soon.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can handle him.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“I am completely aware.”

Mavus narrowed his eyes as the edges turned downward. “You may be capable, but I’d rather you not have to exercise those capabilities.”

Ophelia crossed her arms. “Has anyone ever told you, you worry too much?”

“All the time,” he answered without a clue to her jest.

“That was a joke.”

“Oh?” He sat on the thought of it for a moment. “Oh, ha-ha, I suppose it was.”

“I’m still not convinced the three of you are related.”

Mavus cocked his head. “How so?”

Ophelia shook her head. “Never mind, far more than I care to get into today.”

She plopped her hat on top of her head and shoved a hand into her pocket. She could still feel the chill of Johannes on her skin. The hair was still on end.

“Were your plans ruined today,” he asked.

"Work in my garden. Slugs have invaded.”

“How unfortunate. If you could spare a moment from battle, I’d love to share some tea. Catch up.”

“You ask me every time, why?”

“Despite the circumstances, I think of you as a friend of the family. A friend of mine and Baccus.”

“But, we’re not friends, I work for your family,” she corrected

I bury your brother’s victims, she thought.

Mavus put his hands to the edge of his fine coat to pull it smooth. “I would share tea with you all the same, Ophelia. You are pleasant company. If you will not join me as a friend, will you as a citizen of Vissereth, so a representative may come to better understand Low?”

She narrowed her eyes to him, but didn’t retort. He pointed towards the grand staircase. They ascended and went the opposite direction of Johannes.

Mavus huffed under his breath with a smile, “…pulling teeth with you.”

She turned over her shoulder. “I heard that.”

“Good.”

They moved down another hallway to a door. Mavus pushed it open.

The smell of books and plants filled her nose. His study, like his father’s, had bookcases and curios galore. Though his room was far brighter. Giant windows let in bright blocks of sun.

Ophelia squinted. Too bright.

Mavus moved to the curtains and drew them across the windows. He motioned to the collection of couches and table before a silent and cold fireplace. On the table, a set of cups and saucers. The kettle was missing.

When he offered her to sit, she plopped straight down, hat and bag still on. He shook his head, then moved to a smaller door. After a quick exchange, he strolled back to sit. In a chair across from her, his leg moved over his own, his hand to his forehead. Though he looked more like his mother, it was in the gestures like this that Ophelia could see the father. That and how he wore his clothes. Pristine. Tasteful. Sedated. Down to even the buckles on his shoes. There was restraint in everything that he did. How he moved. How he spoke. How he even fluffed the curls of lace on his shirt.

“Something wrong,” she asked.

“Each day I grow closer to understanding my brother a little more.”

“Understanding what?” She assumed he meant Baccus. The two had been close when they were younger, before Johannes had his….

“Never mind.” He sat up. “How are things? I like the new hat.”

“Thank you,” she shifted uncomfortably. “Is this really the best time to talk, Mavus? Considering.”

“We must make the best of situations. Yes, it is terrible why you were called here, but now that you are here--,” he trailed off and sighed. “I apologize. I don’t mean for this to sound intrusive or rude. It saddens me that you don’t think we’re friends.”

“How could you think that we’re friends?”

“I was hoping that over the years and the visits, all the times we chatted over tea had some sliver of meaning for you.”

Ophelia took a deep breath. “It is difficult.” Her hands wrapped around the strap still over her shoulder. Her gaze drifted towards the floor.

“I imagine having to confront the worst of people makes it hard to want to be around them.” He leaned into the arm rest.

“It does.”

“I’m sorry that you have to face that. How terrible it must be to have to know all those things and not share. I at least have the luxury of talking with other representatives when it comes to matters of the city. It must be so lonely for you, Ophelia.”

The side-door eased open and a servant brought the kettle to the table. Mavus slid forward in his chair to pour. He was quiet as he did so. He spooned a cube of sugar into his own and gave it a stir. With hers, he squeezed a slice of lemon.

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. It was lonely. When she sat in her garden with nothing but the circulating breeze, she often wondered if the whistling of it through the cracks of her house would be the only voice she heard that day.

“Ophelia?” He turned up to her. The porcelain tea cup rattled softly on the saucer he held out to her.