Heroes of Veritas: Necromantic Inclinations (Book 3)

Chapter Five: Ill Advised

The slam of the door in Harmon’s face reverberated a bit through the hollow of his chest, like the way his rapidly thudding heartbeat presently was. He’d never encountered anyone who spoke their mind so plainly before. Zircyn culture encouraged layered speech full of innuendo; one should never speak directly to something that could otherwise be implied. He had a feeling that the shock of Lydia’s brashness might never wear off.

Strangely, he didn’t want it to.

Harmon blinked a few times in rapid succession as he mastered himself.  Lydia’s insistence that he wouldn’t want to know her had an adverse effect on him; it only cultivated in him a desire to know her better. He was already a little curious after seeing her Beast - which was a very interesting adaptation of an older Zircyn design - but she brought out something else in him.

For the first time in his very structured, sheltered life as the first born son of a diplomat, Harmon was feeling...truly rebellious. He knew full well that he was supposed to escort Lydia to his father’s study once she was ready so that she could contact her distraught family back in the Dynasty. Any other day, he would have done just as he’d been asked before retreating to his room in order to avoid any further interaction with a woman who had such appalling manners. Instead, as he leaned his lanky frame against the wall she’d basically shoved him against and waited, his mind formulated a new plan of action.

After a few minutes, Lydia re-emerged from the room wearing his bed clothes. He tried to disguise his sudden intake of breath by coughing lightly, as if trying to get her attention. Something about the way she’d tied the excess length of the sweater in a knot to one side, and cuffed the bottoms of the overlong pants at the bottom, had an effect on him. He thought he was old enough now to not have this sort of reaction, but well...he was only eighteen and the only woman he was in regular proximity to was his mother. Harmon shifted uncomfortably, trying his best not to draw attention to his condition. At least it shouldn’t be too obvious with the loose fit of his clothing.

“I was thinking...if you want to avoid what I am sure will be a very awkward conversation with your parents, or my parents, or both...perhaps I could take you to get some clothes?” Harmon tried not to make his interest in her too obvious, but was prepared to fail spectacularly - since he usually did. “I doubt you’ll be able to avoid that conversation forever, but a little while longer is doable…”

He really was awful with women. Somehow they always thought he was hitting on them when he wasn’t, and never seemed to notice when he actually was trying to make a move - the few times he’d even bothered trying. Most women, most people really, he found completely insufferable. 

While people gravitated to Echo, even when he didn’t say a word, they sometimes forgot Harmon existed altogether - and not in the cool rogue stealth sense of the word either. This had always suited Harmon just fine, for the most part. But, his distinct lack of ‘coolness’ and innate dislike of people had, unsurprisingly, left him mostly bereft of female attention. 

His father had occasionally wondered aloud if his mother had an affair with the postman, because while Harmon did look like his father, the young man apparently hadn’t inherited any of Echo’s legendary edgy charisma. 

Echo never wondered this aloud within his wife’s hearing though, because a comment like that would most certainly have gotten him thrashed. Echo was an excellent rogue in his day, specializing in stealth, but his wife had been an assassin. Cadence could, and would, whoop her husband’s ass any day.

Harmon had never understood why, but his father insisted that strong women were more attractive than the sweet, ladylike sort his mother was always pushing him toward. Looking at Lydia, who was quite adorable in his clothes, but somehow even more adorable when she gave him the evil eye, Echo found himself having a belated realization that perhaps his father was onto something after all. Or, maybe, the loneliness that he’d become so accustomed to had finally worn thin and even uncouth women were now appealing.

Taking an interest in a woman like Lydia, in the full knowledge of the difficult situation she’d only just removed herself from was... well, it was ill advised. Even Harmon could see that pursuing any kind of relationship, even a friendship, with a woman in such a volatile state was a bad idea. Still, he couldn’t seem to help himself. She was fascinating.

“Fine.” Lydia said, her voice flat and expression stern. She must have calmed down enough while changing to see his offer for the olive branch that it was.

“Perhaps we could take your Beast? I’d love to see you open her up a bit.” Harmon pushed a bit, wording himself carefully. He desperately wanted to take the Beast out for a longer ride, but he’d take whatever he could get. 

“If not, I do have a hovercraft…” Harmon hedged after seeing the hesitation spark in Lydia’s bright blue eyes.

“A hovercraft?” Lydia’s expression changed. The flicker of hesitation gave way to a bright flame of excitement that lit her face up like a lantern. “Is it like a miniaturized version of an airship? I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one in person before.”

“More or less, and that is something we can easily fix. Come.” Harmon walked at his usual sedate pace, with Lydia nipping at his heels. “I am always glad to show off a little for someone who actually knows what they are looking at.”

Harmon considered himself to be a fair judge of people, which is why he disliked most of them. In spite of her rough around the edges persona, it was obvious - to Harmon anyway - that Lydia had a much kinder disposition than she let on. She was a bit like a puppy, really. One of those small yappy kinds that was all bark and no bite. Maybe that’s why he found her so appealing. Everyone loves puppies, even Harmon - though he didn’t want to keep one himself, as they were rather messy.

Or, you know, it might have something to do with her plush pink lips, or the way that even his loose fitting clothing seemed to hug her tantalizing curves. Curves! No women around here had curves, and half of them hardly seemed to eat. Lydia looked like she could eat. He’d like to see her mouth wrapped around-

Ah, zut! He really needed to think about something else or this was going to be a very uncomfortable ride to the market.

“You don’t strike me as the showy sort.” Lydia said, displaying her own skill at judgement.

“Mmm, peut-être." Harmon said, lifting a hand up to tilt it one way then the other. “Most artificers can be showy when it comes to their creations.”

Lydia had pegged him, rightfully so, as a poncy rich boy. Yes, he was certainly a bit ‘poncy’, and his family was quite wealthy - including Harmon himself - but he liked to think that he was not quite the idle rich boy that the forthright young woman believed him to be.

Perhaps if he proved it, they could become friends. Maybe with time, more than friends - though Harmon wasn’t going to hold his breath. With his luck in the realm of romance, he would probably ruin any chance with her before the night was out - and most likely without even meaning to. Besides, she was probably not in the right frame of mind to consider him as anything more than a friend right now. He reminded himself again that, despite her spirited front, Lydia was a heart broken runaway bride.

“You built the hovercraft yourself?” Lydia said, her raspy voice sounding a little breathless.

Harmon blinked a few times, and looked down at Lydia as he held the front door open for her to pass. “I did. Though, it is maybe not as impressive as your beast.”

He was being humble, of course, but she didn’t need to know that. If Harmon was being perfectly honest, his hovercraft was one of the best in the city. He even took it to races from time to time, though no one in his family knew about that. It was the guilty pleasure of a prodigy who should be working on projects better deserving of his time, or on his class work for the Academie. But, Harmon didn’t count this as true rebellion, as racing was perfectly legal. It just wasn’t a typical sport for the nobility. He only kept it a secret because it felt good to have something that belonged just to him.

Well, that and if his mother knew of the dive bars he had frequented after the races, she most certainly would have put a stop to that part of it - but, well, as Lydia said, sometimes it was better to ask forgiveness.

The way Lydia looked up at him and bit her bottom lip as she passed made his stomach twist in a funny way, but he didn’t let it show on his face. Harmon had seen that expression on women’s faces before, but rarely directed at himself. It was a kind of hunger, and Lydia looked like she could eat him right up.

Well, perhaps more than friends wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility.