Returning to the family, Irene started to pick at her food on the lunch table much slower than usual, catching the curious glance of both of her parents. "If you don't mind me asking, darling," Irene's dad Chris spoke up with some curious and seriously sounding tone. "Irene, you are not eating your lunch. You are always the first one to finish eating. Everything is fine with you, right? You are not feeling sick, are you?"
Irene looked up, her face taking on a thoughtful expression. "No, I'm not sick," she said, the tone of her voice returning to him, "just thought about some things, that's all."
Chris had to answer back with a sardonic reply, "Pondering, huh? That's the first. I've never seen you just sit and think—overthink, perhaps."
At this, Irene only let out a light chuckle, appreciating her father for trying to lighten things up. But his voice mellowed at the next line. "You're not still mad at me about what we fought about the other day, are you?"
"No, that's okay, Dad. I do get what you are trying to say," Irene quickly said and waived off bits of their past argument.
The conversation went in a whole new direction, and it was Olivia, ever the perceptive mother, who quietly asked, "So, what's on your mind, dear? You seemed miles away."
Irene hesitated before admitting, "It's just. I miss Ela. It feels so empty not being able to see her."
At that, something in the way of concern passed between Olivia and Chris, an unspoken worry if ever there was. "She's just grounded, but she's perfectly fine," Olivia was quick to say, though there had been a tinge of nervousness to her voice—one that someone else couldn't make light of.
Feeling how uneasy her parents were getting, Irene didn't feel this was the time to press on. She was now even more curious to know about Ela's predicament, but really trying to wheel answers out at this point was just going to make her parents draw back and dodge more.
Seeking to shift the atmosphere, Olivia mentioned, "I will be with Leo this afternoon for his study session."
"Why the private lessons for him?" Irene inquired, a genuine question tinted with intrigue. "Leo is a pretty special case," Olivia tried explaining. "His father—well, his father was the Grandmaster of Order of the country. It carried with it heavy responsibilities, most of all with the safeguarding of our nobles and officials, but still one of the most difficult jobs to do."
The reference to the Grandmaster of Order pricked Irene's interest; finally, it dawned on her the gravity of Leo's family ties and probably what type of insight he would offer, more so towards the demise of Adelia.
"So, he might know more," she muttered to herself, the first weak thread of a plan starting to weave together in her mind.
The new lead had rejuvenated the appetite in Irene. She started eating again with the earlier gusto. "If you get finished with Leo early, do you think I could spend some time with him, maybe show him around or something?" she ventured, a hint of strategy in her voice.
Olivia hesitated but finally relented, "You can, though I should warn you: Leo can be quite a handful with his behavior, and he's much younger than you. "That's all right." Irene waved the warning off with a sweep of her hand. "I'm really only trying to kill time. Who knows, I might find it fun." And once lunch was over, all Irene's thoughts were might-have-beens, and her earlier qualms were taking flight at the strategic curiosity for Leo and the secrets he might unawares possess.
Finishing her meal, she pushed back from the table, making the legs of her chair grate softly on the floor. The steps led through the garden, which, to her, had been a silent sanctum many times. The evening air was cool, brushing against her skin, as if urging her to think clearer, think smarter.
Her steps were slowing as she approached the place where Olivia was teaching Leo, a little boy who had helped her a bit before.
Watching them from afar, Irene couldn't help but think of her one encounter with Leo—a brat in her books but probably her only key to get to Ela without making her folks suspicious. Leo—Olivia's student—seemed like everything in life had been given to him on a silver platter. His attitude, even his posture, the way he responded to Olivia's instructions—everything—called out like someone who never had to raise a finger, to toil for a day in his life. "Spoiled," Irene thought, watching him throw a minor tantrum over a corrected mistake, "But maybe, just maybe, useful."
As she watched Olivia attempt to calm Leo's ruffled feathers, Irene contemplated her approach. The last time I saw him, I was less than kind. That was how she remembered to herself their last parting: filled with her impatience and his haughty indignant. Desperate times, desperate measures. "I guess I have to swallow my pride this time," she decided, looking at Leo. Perhaps this man would actually have been her best chance at getting help for Ela and her mom or, at least, on being swayed to help her cause. "But how shall I convince a man that he has everything on his side, and that by helping me he is really working for his own benefit?" she thought, watching the sunset.
Resolved to try, Irene decided to approach Leo later, when Olivia wasn't around to oversee their conversation. "It'll be risky, but worth a try. For Ela," she was reminded even more determinedly by each step that took her back towards the mansion. Tonight, she would draft her appeal to Leo, spoiled brat or not, he was now a crucial piece in the puzzle to reach Ela.
From a distance, Irene watched as her mother, Olivia, tried to drill a few things to last inside Leo's head. By the second, visibly, she was losing patience. "But I thought maybe my way is better. Why can't we do it like that?" Leo insisted with all the stubbornness in the world.
"Because, Leo, the method I teach you seems to work through generations. Believe me, I know what I am talking about," said Olivia in a trying-to-sound-calm-but-firm voice.
Irene had to stifle a chuckle. Seldom could anyone be treated to the display of her mother, who was always so self-possessed and almost authoritarian, barely managing to keep the little spoiled brat in check.
With a few more sulky whines from Leo and the thinning of Olivia's patience, the lesson came to a conclusion. Olivia had really had enough. "Alright, Leo. That does it for today. We'll try again next time," said with a tone of finality, as if she would rather wash her hands with him for the day.
Irene seized the chance to be close to her mother. "Hey, Mom, since you will be done early, can I stay over with Leo until his parents come to pick him up?"
Olivia looked at her, surprised and relieved if the look on her face was any indication. "Yeah, I really should be going. We actually did finish ahead of schedule," she agreed, then added with a flick of her eyes aimed at Olivia, "Just. try to keep a cool head with him, all right? I don't need more trouble with his parents."
A flash of irritation went through Irene at the comment, but she bit her tongue. She knew her mom was under loads of pressure at this time. "Sure, Mom. I'll be the picture of patience," she said, her tone light, belying the irritation beneath.
As Olivia moved off—no doubt very glad of the respite after that punishing lesson—Irene turned her attention to Leo, who seemed to be looking very well pleased with himself for having cut the session short.
The green sanctuary of the garden is where Irene's eyes fell on Leo, his figure sprawling with casual arrogance under the sheltering boughs of an oak. His book, a present she recognized and knew was a gift, lay open but ignored, rather like the subtle art of humility.
Coming over with the self-assured grace of a huntress who had done it a million times, she came up to him, her voice clearly showing a honeyed tone. "What a bright day, Leo, especially for enjoying a book that brings me so many dear recollections."
Leo flicked a bored glance at her, his words clipped and haughty. "How quaint for you."
Unperturbed, Irene came closer, an almost natural ease in her manner blending perfectly with cojsoness. "You will excuse me if I was rather sharp before," she said, with well-acted impatience. "Not myself, really—women's troubles, you know."
His eyes, wide, carriage stiffening; an animal caught in the headlights of her unexpected candor. "You speak of such. personal matters? With me?" he sputtered, his sarcasm failing him now.
She chuckled slightly and put a comforting hand over his. "Well, Leo, one time or another we all are slaves of Mother Nature, right? No big deal saying that."
His cheeks flushed with a telltale pink, and he shifted uncomfortably under her touch that brought such unfamiliar sensations to him. "You're. rather forward, aren't you?" he muttered, feeling both irked and appalled.
"She leaned in, her voice a whisper, her breath caressing against his ear. 'I rather think candor would be a breath of fresh air, wouldn't you? In an endless waltz with niceties we are so used to,' would you say?"
Standing up abruptly, Leo straightened to at least get some look of composure. "I'm not used to such. forwardness," he admitted, trying to sound scornful but unbelievably disarmed by her presence.
Irene looked at him teasingly, with a twinkle in her eye. "But you can take it, can't you? I mean, a man of your calibre should not be afraid of a little bit of honesty."
His reply came in a gruff huff, the weight of her gaze pressing on him like a physical force. "Your apology is unneeded," he replied, pride fighting the stirring of something deeper.
She smiled knowingly. "Yet here you are, accepting it. Maybe there's hope for you yet, Leo."
The corners of his mouth twitched in an involuntary smile; her charm slowly chiseling the defense away. "You're not like other women I've met," he had to allow, his voice grudging respect to her against his will.
Having accomplished this mission, Irene gave a graceful cursy. "I do my best," she answered, adding with a wink, "but remember, an apology is a sign of strong character, not a weak one."
As Irene backed away, the silhouette of her laughter and the echo of her shadow left, so that Leo was left to ponder what could have been meant with a curiosity that outflanked any book.