Steelhands - Jaida Jones [116]
“I suppose you’ve heard about the little incident, and that’s why you’re here?” Balfour asked, sinking down into one of the wooden chairs by the table. “Troius said it wasn’t as humiliating as I seemed to believe, but I take it he was lying to spare my feelings?”
“Who’s Troius?” Luvander asked from the window. I glanced over to see that he’d managed to get himself tangled in the curtains, and I had to wonder if he was acting like a clown on purpose, so that Balfour would crack a smile or something. If that was his intent, then it wasn’t working.
Even though it wasn’t my style, I had a moment of appreciating Luvander’s intentions. Not the way he wouldn’t shut up when everyone was sick of hearing him talking, but his heart was in the right place, even if his head was up in the clouds.
“One of my … friends, another diplomat,” Balfour replied. He hesitated before the word “friends,” then looked guilty after he used it, like he didn’t believe he even had friends.
Well, that was where he was wrong, for starters.
“So we’re not the first to visit you?” Luvander asked, finally managing to pull one of the drapes aside. Balfour shied away from the shaft of sunlight that flooded the room, shielding his eyes. Bright light glinted off metal, even blinding me for a moment.
I cleared my throat and looked away so he’d feel more comfortable. “Wanted to hear what happened, in your own words,” I said, keeping it businesslike. “But before that, wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m all right,” Balfour replied, like a physician’d tapped his knee with a little mallet and the response was pure reflex. “Thank you for coming. It’s very kind.”
“Of course we’d come,” Luvander huffed, stalking over to the other window. “Do you think we’re criminals? Ivory might have been,” he added, “but we certainly weren’t.”
“Sit down, Luvander,” I said.
“Just trying to liven up the place,” Luvander protested.
If I’d been at the top of my game, he wouldn’t’ve had the balls to protest at all. I tried again. “Luvander, sit down.”
“Oh, all right,” Luvander acquiesced, pulling up the third chair and draping himself into it backward.
“Now you’re gonna stop talking,” I explained, “and Balfour here’s gonna start. Whenever he’s ready, though; he can take his time.”
“Well …” Balfour said. “There isn’t much to say, really. I’m sure that whatever you’ve heard, it was right. ‘Mad Airman Ruins Diplomatic Proceedings; Runs Wild through Bastion Hallways.’ Does that sound about right?”
“There was some fainting in there somewhere, too,” Luvander said lightly. “Was that also a part of it?”
“Oh, yes,” Balfour replied. “How could I forget?”
I didn’t like his entire demeanor, I thought; it was pale, like his face, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look like a ghost. He needed a mother of some kind to bring him soup and blankets, in my professional opinion, but the last thing he needed was me telling him that.
“I believe what Adamo is trying to ask, in his own way,” Luvander said, gentling as he leaned forward across the table, “is what exactly happened on your end of things.”
“Like if I had some kind of reason, or if I just went mad?” Balfour asked.
“Exactly,” Luvander agreed.
Balfour folded his hands onto his lap, hiding them under the table. It still seemed like the sunlight was bothering him, and every now and then I caught him twitching, head jerking around like he thought he heard something. “I …” he began, licking his lips.
“You want something to drink?” I asked.
“No, it’s all right,” Balfour said. “I’m merely trying to see if there is a way to say this without seeming as if I did just go mad that day. It’s quite possible there isn’t any, because I might well have … And yet it does seem embarrassing to admit to it, doesn’t it?”
“Saying it helps,” I said. “Makes you feel better.”
“People’ve called me mad before, not to mention,” Luvander added,