Steelhands - Jaida Jones [230]
“How kind of Lady Antoinette to lend us her driver to take Balfour out to the house,” Luvander commented, hefting another heavy box to pass it to Ghislain, groaning under its weight. “I wonder why she agreed to do that? Perhaps a personal interest in our well-being …? We are eligible bachelors, after all.”
“If she was interested, it wouldn’t be in you,” Ghislain said, taking the first box, then waiting around for a second. “I’ve got a free arm if anyone else’s got their shit packed.”
“Be very careful with these,” Raphael said, hopping down off his chair and holding out the crate that held my mismatched tea service. “These teacups made it past Balfour Steelhands. They deserve to be treated with some respect.”
I glanced around the apartment—which looked less like a storm had hit and more like no one had ever lived in it at all. It reminded me of when we vacated the Airman, but since I had fewer fond memories of this place, I wasn’t nearly as sad to be leaving it behind, without a trace of myself left.
“Ah-ah,” Luvander chided, pulling a fountain pen out of some hidden pocket. “Before we go, we must make our mark.”
“The landlady was very specific about not scuffing the floors or walls,” I warned, knowing Luvander wouldn’t listen to me. He was already crouching by the kitchen window, scratching something under the ledge of the sill. “It’s a little habit I have,” he explained, after he’d finished. “I left one in the Airman, as well. It said, ‘Niall lost, Luvander won.’ ”
“No,” Raphael said. “My money was on Niall.”
“That’s what you get for being a traitor,” Luvander replied.
I had no memory of the game Luvander and Raphael were referring to, but of course, knowing them as I did, it might just as easily have been made up. With Adamo down by the carriage, and Ghislain rocking the very foundations of the building, it was only the three of us. They were lingering, so I could tell there was something on their minds, but Luvander was right—they weren’t dealing with the old Balfour, and I wasn’t going to be the one to cave first.
“Well,” I said, “I suppose that’s everything. Thank you so much for the help.”
“It was our pleasure,” Luvander said.
“Yes,” Raphael agreed. “I love doing menial tasks for other people without any promise of reward.”
“Of course, there is one reward we might be granted,” Luvander added slyly.
“No, we couldn’t ask,” Raphael replied. “He’s bound to think we’re rude.”
“He thinks that already,” Luvander said. “We won’t have to worry about his opinion changing for the worse.”
“But still,” Raphael concluded, “it won’t improve our image any.”
“You might as well come right out with it,” I said, though I had to admit, the routine was very well scripted. They might well have a future in the Amazement, if Luvander ever got tired of the haberdashery.
“You haven’t named her yet,” Luvander explained. “And the anticipation might kill Raphael a second time.”
“Luvander’s the one it’s really been bothering,” Raphael confided in me. “He won’t shut up about it. Though I suppose that doesn’t make it much different from any other topic that interests Luvander.”
“It’s only that I have a few suggestions,” Luvander said. “I’m afraid you’ll do something uncomfortable for everyone—like name her ‘Steelballs.’ ”
“You can’t very well do that,” Raphael added. “She lacks the proper anatomy, and it will only make her feel inadequate among the other dragons.”
“Shh,” I said, in case my landlady was eavesdropping on us. Then, because I was going to have to tell them sooner or later—and because, even though it was technically none of their business, I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t choose a name everyone approved of—I relented. They had come to help me, and I could only imagine how deeply they resented me, the only one of the older order to be given a second chance at what had made us who we were.
That they weren’t letting on just proved their character, and I was grateful to them—more grateful than I would ever be able to show.
“I was thinking ‘Steelhands,