Chapter 4: The Problem with Family
Morning came slow and gray.
Ian sat at the kitchen table with a cup of weak tea while Marta moved around the hearth. She was frying eggs. Actual eggs. Sera had brought coin with her ledgers. Not much, but enough to buy food that wasn't bread and cheese.
Gnasher was in the stable. Grip was in the stable. They were not happy about sharing.
Every few minutes, a thud would shake the walls. Then a chittering screech. Then silence. Then another thud.
"They're going to kill each other," Marta said without turning around.
"They're siblings. Siblings fight."
"My brother and I fought over a doll when we were six. We didn't shake the house."
Ian sipped his tea. "Different kind of siblings."
Sera walked in. She was wearing one of Ian's old shirts and a pair of trousers she'd found in a forgotten chest. Her hair was loose. She looked less severe without the spectacles and the tight bun. Still sharp. But less like she was calculating your tax debt.
"Your monsters woke me up," she said. "Three times."
"They're not monsters. They're Titans. And they're yours too now."
Sera sat down across from Ian. Marta placed a plate of eggs in front of her without a word. Sera looked at the food. Then at Marta. Then at Ian.
"Does she speak? Or just cook and glare?"
"I speak," Marta said. She sat down with her own plate. "I just don't have much to say to the woman who showed up last night and screamed at my new pet."
"Your pet. You mean the giant gray thing with too many fingers that tried to touch my face?"
"He's curious. He likes textures."
"He can texture someone else."
Ian set down his cup. "Enough. Both of you."
The women looked at him. Marta's eyes were hurt. Sera's were challenging. Different kinds of fire.
"You're both here now," Ian said. "You both know what I'm building. You both agreed to be part of it. So figure out how to exist in the same room without cutting each other."
Sera picked up her fork. "Fine. Marta. The eggs are good. Thank you."
Marta blinked. "You're welcome."
Silence. Eating. Another thud from the stable. Gnasher's whine followed by Grip's kettle-hiss.
"They really do sound like brothers," Marta muttered.
Sera actually smiled. A tiny one. Gone fast. "I was an only child. Always wondered what it was like."
"Loud," Marta said. "And you never get the last biscuit."
---
After breakfast, Ian went to the stable.
The scene was not as bad as he expected. Gnasher was in one corner, hunched up with his knees to his chest, vertical mouth closed tight, beady eyes watching Grip with open suspicion. Grip was on the opposite side, running his long gray fingers over the wooden wall planks, one by one, feeling the grain.
When Ian entered, both Titans looked at him like children caught fighting.
"Sit," Ian said.
Gnasher sat immediately. Grip took a moment, then slowly lowered himself to the straw-covered floor. His long arms folded in his lap.
Ian walked between them. "I don't care who started it. I'm finishing it. You're not enemies. You're not rivals. You're mine. Both of you. And you're going to work together."
Gnasher chittered something. Pointed at Grip. Made a biting motion.
"Yes, I saw the bite mark on Grip's hand. It's already healing. Grip, don't touch Gnasher's face without asking."
Grip tilted his smooth head. Made the kettle-hiss sound. Then very slowly, very deliberately, he reached out and touched the wall again. Like he was proving a point.
"He's got attitude," Sera said from the stable door. She was leaning against the frame, arms crossed.
"He's yours. Your conquest spawned him."
Sera's face flickered. "Conquest. Is that what we're calling it?"
"That's what it is."
She walked into the stable. Stopped a few feet from Grip. The Titan turned his featureless face toward her. His fingers stopped tracing the wall. He reached out. Slowly. Carefully. Hand open. Palm up. Like he was offering something.
Sera didn't scream this time. She stood very still.
"What does he want?"
"He wants you to touch him. He's obsessed with textures. You're new."
Sera hesitated. Then she reached out and placed her palm against one of Grip's massive fingers. The skin was cool. Smooth. Like polished stone.
Grip made a soft sound. Not a hiss. Something gentler. Almost a hum.
"He likes you," Ian said.
"I can tell." Sera pulled her hand back. Wiped it on her trousers. "I don't know how I feel about that."
"He's loyal. He'll die for you. Probably kill for you too."
"That's a lot of pressure for a one-night stand."
Ian looked at her. "Was it just one night?"
Sera met his eyes. Something passed between them. Not love. Not even affection. But understanding. They were both users. Both survivors. Both willing to do ugly things to climb out of the mud.
"Ask me again after we rob the Duke," she said.
---
Marta found Ian in the study an hour later. He was going over the ledgers Sera had brought. Numbers and names and locations. His father's desk felt wrong under his hands. Too big. Too heavy with history.
She set a fresh cup of tea beside him. Didn't leave.
"You're planning something dangerous," she said.
"Yes."
"With her."
"Yes."
Marta sat in the chair across from him. The same chair Sera had sat in last night. She looked small in it.
"I'm not stupid, Ian. I know I'm the first. The foundation, you called it. And she's... something else. Eyes and ears. I heard you say it."
Ian set down the quill. "You were listening."
"The walls are thin. And I wanted to know what I signed up for."
"And?"
Marta looked at her hands. "And I don't know. I don't know what I feel. I don't hate her. She's cold but she's not cruel. Not to me. She said my eggs were good."
"She meant it. Sera doesn't waste words."
"She's educated. I can barely read. My father taught me letters but not enough for ledgers and plans. What happens when you don't need a foundation anymore? When you have walls and a roof and whatever else you're building?"
Ian leaned back. The chair creaked. He looked at Marta. Really looked. She was pretty. Soft where Sera was sharp. Warm where Sera was cold. And she was scared. Not of him. Of being left behind.
"Marta. I told you the first night. I don't throw away the foundation. I build on it."
"Pretty words."
"I'm not a pretty man. I don't say things I don't mean. You cook. You keep the house. You keep me human when I forget how. That's not small. That's not temporary."
Marta's eyes glistened. "And in your bed? When there are others?"
"Then you're still in my bed. I don't share. I told you that too. I'm not asking you to share me. I'm asking you to share the house."
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she laughed. A wet, shaky laugh.
"You're a bastard, Ian Voss."
"I know."
"I think I'm starting to like it."
She stood. Walked around the desk. Kissed him on the forehead. It was such a gentle, normal thing. Ian couldn't remember the last time someone had done that.
"Don't die robbing the Duke," she said. "I just got comfortable."
---
That evening, Sera laid out the plan.
"The Duke's niece arrives in three days. Her name is Lira Valdris. She's eighteen. Sheltered. Raised in the capital by tutors and nuns. Her uncle is the only family she has left. He dotes on her. She's his weakness."
Ian studied the rough sketch Sera had made. A girl's face. Soft features. Wide eyes.
"What's her value?"
Sera raised an eyebrow. "Value?"
"To the Duke. How much does he care?"
"Enough that if someone threatened her, he'd pay anything. Give up anything. Including those secret accounts."
Ian nodded slowly. "So we don't rob the Duke directly. We use the niece as leverage."
"We use her as a key. She doesn't have to get hurt. She just has to be scared enough that the Duke opens his vault to make the problem go away."
"And who does the scaring?"
Sera smiled. Cold. Precise. "I was thinking your new pets could use some exercise."
From the stable, another thud. Then Gnasher's chittering laugh. Grip must have done something funny.
"They're not ready," Ian said. "Gnasher's afraid of the dark. Grip won't stop touching things. If we send them after a noble girl, they'll either scare her to death or try to feel her dress."
"Then we train them. Three days. Enough to follow simple commands."
Ian thought about it. Then he stood. Walked to the window. Looked out at the dark fields. Somewhere out there was a Duke who had laughed at his family's ruin. A system of nobles who thought a broke lord was nothing but dirt under their boots.
"Three days," he said. "Then we move."
---
Later that night, Ian went to the stable alone.
Both Titans were awake. Gnasher was in his corner, knees up, watching. Grip was touching the floorboards. Over and over. Feeling every knot and groove.
Ian sat down on a bale of hay between them.
"Listen," he said. "I need you to do something important. Something that matters."
Gnasher's beady eyes widened. Grip stopped touching the floor and turned his smooth face toward Ian.
"There's a girl coming. A noble. She's not the enemy. But her uncle is. We need her to send a message. You two are that message. But you can't hurt her. Understand? Scare. Not hurt."
Gnasher chittered. Made a biting motion.
"No biting."
Gnasher whined.
Grip reached out slowly. Touched Ian's shoulder with one massive finger. Gentle. Questioning.
"Yes, Grip. You can touch things. Just not her face. Not her skin. Her clothes. Her hair maybe. But careful."
Grip hummed. It sounded like approval.
Ian sat there for a long time. Just breathing. Just being with them. They were monsters. Creations of a system he didn't fully understand. But they were his monsters. And somehow, in the dark of the stable, with Gnasher's anxious breathing and Grip's curious fingers, he felt less alone than he had in years.
"Three days," he said again. "Then we show them what a broke lord can do."