He knew Ravagiu wouldn’t hesitate to harm Céline’s guests.
Why doesn’t Latrec get here with the guards? There’s still a slim chance we can subdue him without violence.
He quickened his pace, darting between people and causing several to turn and stare as he skirted the crowd. He brushed against a minor duc, jostling his arm and making him spill his punch, hurried on with a murmured apology.
“Where is le Marquis hurrying to? I vow, he nearly knocked me down. Such rudeness.”
Ravagiu didn’t move, simply stood there, waiting for him...smiling...a look on his face such as Marek had always imagined the demons in the Inferno might wear. Eager for violence... demanding it.
Where are the guards? Why don’t they hurry? Too late he remembered Latrec had to exit the town house and go to each entrance to summon them.
By now, others noticed his hurried pace as it turned into headlong flight. All thought of attracting attention gone, Marek pulled off his evening jacket, flinging it to the floor. On the stairs, Ravagiu continued smiling as he copied the gesture, holding the garment at arm’s-length and carelessly dropping it.
As if throwing down a gauntlet, but one barely worth the bother.
Behind him, Dan seized the girl, pulling her backward and beside him. She struggled slightly, then stood still. There was another buzz of conversation, rising to exclamations of concern as others turned to watch Marek. Jostled, someone dropped a punch cup. It struck the marble floor and shattered.
“What is it? What’s happening?”
A nobleman saw the man on the stairs, looked back at Marek heading toward him and stepped aside. As if by a signal, others copied him. A way parted among them, making an avenue between him and Ravagiu. It became deathly quiet as they stared at the two noblemen, now bereft of their evening coats, ruffled shirts gleaming.
Ravagiu took another step...and stopped. Waiting.
“The guards have been called.” Marek was only a few feet away. “You won’t get away this time.”
“What makes you think I intend to?” His words were just short of a snarl.
Latrec appeared at the top of the stairs, Céline’s eight house guards behind him, their wings bared through slits in their uniforms. The domestique pointed downward.
Wrapping a hand in the neck of his shirt, Marek ripped it away. His wings burst free.
“Gods,” a matron screamed. “He’s releasing his wings.”
In a gleaming white curve, Marek’s fangs dropped their full length. There was an answering growl from Ravagiu as he did the same.
“It’s a duel. Oracle save us!”
Most of the Frenchmen had never seen an aventurieri duel as fought in Carpathius, but descriptions were legendary and horrendous, the mere thought making them scramble out of the way, dragging their wives with them. Balancing their trays, servants dodged into the crowd. There was a crash as one dropped his burden, sending half a dozen champagne-filled goblets to the floor, spattering it with glass and foaming liquid.
“Stop him!” Latrec’s call swept over the confusion.
The guards dashed down the stairs. Two unfurled their wings, leaping into the air.
“Kill them all!” Ravagiu’s shout rose above the clamor.
Why did we think he’d come here alone? Came Marek’s horrified thought.
A winged body burst through the double doors of the terrace, knocking Andrei down the stairs. He staggered, clinging to the mahogany railing and righted himself, reaching upward to stop Ravagiu’s soldat. The man evaded his grasp and sped toward one of Céline’s approaching guards who sailed over the guests, his lance raised. Another swooped over Dan’s head, aiming for the entrance on that side.
Others followed, weapons raised, diving at the now-winged guards fighting back. Andrei started stripping off his jacket and neckcloth.
“Andri! Stay at the door!”
At Marek’s order, the twin ran back up the stairs and slammed the double doors, locking them. Arms around Céline, Vlad pulled her into the safety of an alcove, placing himself in front of her.
Two struggling figures fell to the floor, wings tangled. Céline’s guard raised his sword, brought it down, then pushed away from the body. Spinning, he launched himself at another of Ravagiu’s men.
In the center of the mélée, Marek and Ravagiu collided, the impact of their bodies echoing across the ballroom. Seizing Marek’s shoulders, Ravagiu rose into the air, carrying his opponent with him. There was a brief mid-air struggle as they locked in a deadly embrace.
The movement of frantic wings stirred the women’s skirts, blew the men’s hair back from their shoulders as they watched, dodging the guards fighting around them.
Ravagiu’s hands wrapped in Marek’s hair, forcing his head backward, his own throat encircled by tightening fingers. His own head darted forward, mouth gaping, teeth raking Marek’s cheek, carving twin furrows.
Blood spurted.
One of the women screamed and dodged as they were spattered with raining blood-drops.
Another of Ravagiu’s men fell.
The terrace doors smashed inward, glass flying as the remaining soldati appeared. They flung themselves on the guests, attacking indiscriminately. A woman’s cries cut off in mid-scream as her throat was torn away, a noble springing fangs to protect the wife cowering behind him. Hampered as they were by clothing, none of the nobles could release their wings so they had to rely on fangs and claws, ripping and biting as the soldati descended upon them.
A table collapsed, dumping its contents onto the floor, cakes and dishes trampled underfoot. Feet slipped in the mess of champagne and icing, bodies falling, unable to rise, helpless as soldati fangs struck. Above them, claws slashing, Marek sank his teeth into Ravagiu’s arm. He wrenched backward, spat out pale, torn flesh. Blood spurted onto his face, running down Ravagiu’s wrist as he screamed.
“Mircea!” From the terrace came Diana’s cry.
With a shriek, Ravagiu pulled free, driving his fangs into Marek’s shoulder. Spinning, they dipped lower, landing. On the stairs, a guard pounced on a soldati’s back as he drove his lance through another guard’s chest, pinning him to the floor. With the aid of a few aventurieri managing to divest themselves of their upper clothing, Céline’s servants drove the rest of Ravagiu’s men onto the balcony and away from the surviving guests where they were quickly dispatched.
Panting, Marek backed away from Ravagiu, one hand going to the jagged teeth-cuts in his shoulder. Scraping away the blood seeping out of the wound, he wiped his hand on a trouser-leg. Ravagiu’s eyes darted to the terrace doorway where Dan stood with the girl.
Marek lunged, catching Ravagiu by the shoulders and burying his fangs in his neck. The renegade struggled against him, writhing in pain and surprise. Teeth sinking deeper, he forced Ravagiu to his knees.
Three guards hurried into the hall, leaping over corpses and swarming toward the two combatants. With startling swiftness, Ravagiu was subdued, nearly buried beneath their bodies. Marek freed himself and stepped back as they dragged their captive to his feet.
The assembled aventurieri relaxed in relief.
“This is Mircea Ravagiu, murderer of my famil,” Marek declared.
With a bellow of rage, Ravagiu lunged, wrenching an arm free of a guard’s grasp. Another still clinging to him, he whirled, seized the man’s arm and twisted it. There was a brittle snap! as he sent him spinning across the floor, striking an upended table. Driving fangs into the third guard’s throat, he let the body fall to the floor, dodging the spouting blood.
The guests again sprang into action. Several nobles rushed to seize the renegade but they were no match for Ravagiu’s frenzied defense. Bodies were slung across the floor, hurled into the air and smashed against walls. Marek flung himself forward, only to skid to a halt as the renegade whirled and darted up the stairs.
Until that moment, Diana had been still, kept from the danger in the room by Dan’s grip on her shoulders. Now she wrenched herself
free and ran to meet Ravagiu. He spun her around, holding her small body tightly against his, one claw pressing into the soft flesh of her throat, ready to rip upward.
Dan started toward them, stopping as Marek raised a hand.
“You’ll hide behind that child?” he taunted. “I suppose that’s to be expected, coward that you are. Women and children, that’s the shield a weakling chooses.”
“Mircea?” Looking up at him, Diana whispered, “What are you doing?”
“Quiet, sweet,” his answer was as quiet. “If we wish to get out of here alive, this is the only way.”
“Let the girl go, Ravagiu, and surrender.”
“And have you kill me where I stand? I think not.”
Diana took a deep ragged breath.
Believing it a sound of terror, Marek called, “Don’t be afraid, child. He won't dare harm you.”
It was a lie to keep her from panicking. He knew Ravagiu wouldn’t hesitate to tear out her throat. She looked from her captor to him and he mistook the furious glitter in her eyes for fear.
“Perhaps I should introduce you to my little captive.” Ravagiu’s voice became conversational, dropping lower so only Marek could here. He kissed Diana’s cheek and she leaned against him. “My dear, this is Marek Strigoi, the Prince’s former Shadow Lord. Murderer of many innocents in the Domnitor’s name.”
What’s he saying?” There were murmurs behind Marek as the others attempted to hear.
“And this little lady, you Strigoi bastard, is your dear Ruxanda.” He paused to laugh. “I believe you’ve thought her dead all these years?”
“You’re lying.” Marek’s voice became quieter, also. “You killed Ruxanda when you took her from the dungeon. My men found her burned bones.”
“Some deomi brat, I don’t doubt.” Ravagiu shrugged. “I’m afraid this is Ruxanda, though I prefer to call her Diana.”
“Mircea, what are you saying?” The girl looked up at him.
“Hush, just trust me.” As he looked down at her and smiled, she relaxed again. “I’m afraid I’ve some bad news, however. You see, Diana’s now my wife.” He turned an expression of exaggerated surprise on Marek. “Oh, my. That makes us in-laws, doesn’t it? How awkward.”
Behind them, the nobles stirred impatiently, ears straining to hear their muted conversation.
What are they saying? What?
“Oh, she’s so sweet.” Ravagiu pressed his mouth against Diana’s throat, tongue licking a damp trail. “As sweet as her mother. Pity my soldat killed Anike, so I only enjoyed her blood.”
“You bastard!” Marek’s leap covered the short space between.
Slinging Diana away, Ravagiu meet his attack but he hadn’t counted on the resurging fury behind it. Marek bore him to the floor, holding him there until the guards once more seized him. Diana scrambled up the stairs, only to be again caught by Dan who blocked her path.
“Hold him tightly,” Marek ordered, “so he won’t get away this time.” He ran after Diana.
Trapped between him and Dan, she whirled to faced him. He held out a hand.
“Ruxanda?”
“Marek, what did you say?” Dan stared at him.
She slapped away his hand. “Don’t touch me, you murderer.”
Marek put his hands on her shoulders. She screamed. There was a sound behind them as several nobles ran to the stairs. Putting his arms around Diana, Marek launched himself upward.
They landed on the balcony of the little room Céline allotted to Sabine as an office. Marek could see the doctor at his desk, reading. He pushed open the balcony door.
As a blood-spattered Marek staggered inside, dragging Diane with him, the doctor looked up, leaping to his feet.
“Marek, what’s the matter? What’s Ruxanda…” Dropping the book on the desk, he peered at Diana. “Damn, it isn’t Ruxanda, is it?”
“Yes,” Marek shouted, “it is. I’ve found her, Sabine. It’s the real Ruxanda.”
“My God.” The doctor stared at the girl. “How can this be?”
“There’s no time for that. Ravagiu’s here. We’ve—”
“Please,” Diana stopped struggling to look at Sabine. “Tell him I’m not his sister.”
“Sabine was there when you were born, Diana.” Marek spoke quickly. “He delivered you. If my brothers were here, or Sandor, our servant, they’d verify what I’m saying, and tell you what happened to your parents. How they were killed, how you disappeared, and how we’ve been searching for Ravagiu all these years.” Releasing her, he went on frantically, “Please, please, believe me. I swear by everything I hold sacred, you are my little sister.”
“You’re insane.” She backed away from him, voice rising. “Just as Mircea said.”
“Damn it!” Seizing her wrist, he struck his malachite-embedded knuckles against the bangle. The coverings on the opals shattered, falling to the floor to reveal malachite in their places. “See? Your clan-gems.”
“No, no!” She covered her eyes, refusing to look at the destroyed bracelet. “I’m Diana…Diana de Ravage…and you’re the man who murdered my parents and my dear Mircea’s family. Murderer!”
Raising both fists, she rushed at him, arms swinging, striking Marek’s chest.
Thankful she wasn’t old enough to have an adult female’s strength, Marek caught her wrists, easily subduing her.
“Sabine, I have to get back to Céline and the others. Stay with her. Make her understand.”
“If you wish, Master, but quite frankly I don’t understand it myself.”
“There’s nothing to understand,” Diana spoke up. She was making an effort not to burst into tears. “You’re a murderer and a madman, and you’re not going to get away with it again. This time a roomful of witnesses saw you attack Mircea.”
Marek released her, pushing her into a chair. “After this is over, when it’s explained to you, you’ll understand, and see how you’ve been duped.”
She stared at him. The door to Sabine's office flew open. Vlad rushed in, followed by Andrei.
“Sabine, they need you in the reception hall. Céline’s already called for her physician, but there… Marek! Gods, I wondered where you went.” He looked at Diana. “Why did you bring the girl with you?”
The twins stared at her. Andrei immediately saw the bracelet on Diana’s arm.
“Those are our clan-gems.”
“It’s Ruxanda, Vlad. He didn’t kill her. She’s been alive and with that monster all this time.”
“This needs more time than we now have for explanations. You’d best get as far from here as possible.” Vlad said.
“Why should I do that? I need to get downstairs.”
“Ravagiu’s busy screaming how you killed his family and his wife’s. Everyone’s confused by what’s happened. I think about two dozen guests have been killed or injured. Marek, he’s sobbing like a child. Says you provoked this attack, and they’re beginning to believe him.”
“The fools! Surely they can’t… They saw...”
“It happened so fast most of them don’t know what they saw,” Vlad spoke up. “They only know there was a fight. They think Latrec brought the guards after you. Your disappearing with the girl like that didn’t help. Ravagiu claims he was trying to protect her from you and after he fell and you ran up the stairs to her…” He stopped, shaking his head. “I told Céline we’d fetch Sabine. Dan’s with her. She’s told them to search the house for you.”
“They’re right behind us,” Andrei put in, looking in the direction of the staircase. “You have to get out of here.”
“I hope they catch you, you bastard.” From her chair, Diana spoke up. She was composed now, her pale face set in a mask of hatred. “Catch you and stake you for the sunrise.”
“Get going.” Andrei pushed Marek through the door just as three of Céline’s surviving guards appeared in the corridor, Zoltan with them.
“Seize him!”
Marek stopped, not believing what he heard his former captain
say.
Chapter 48
They marched him down the stairs to the second story, through the corridor past the room he shared with Céline to one at the far end of the hallway. The Sectiune’s surviving guests lined the hall, all wearing expressions of shock. Bloodied men, only days before speaking to him in polite conversation, now clutched their wives tightly as if expecting him to attack. The women pressed torn gowns to their breasts and watched him fearfully, while others looked away, afraid to meet his gaze.
Marek didn’t look at any of them, just kept his eyes on that one door seeming so very far away, the door beside which Céline stood, Latrec at her side.
“I’m sorry, master.” Zoltan caught the handle, letting the door swing open revealing a guest suite.
As Marek started inside, Céline blocked his path. He forced himself to look at her.
“You know I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he whispered.
Catching his face in her hands, she pulled his head down and pressed her mouth to his. There was a long, collective gasp from the onlookers.
I mustn’t touch her. In spite of that thought, his arms moved of their own accord, wrapping around her.
Releasing him, Céline stepped back. For a moment longer they stared at each other. Then she looked around at the others.
“Le Marquis Strigoi and I were married tonight.” Her voice was a challenge in the shocked silence. “He’s my lawful mate and I trust him and do not believe him guilty as that man claims.”
“Come, Madame.” Arm across her shoulders, Latrec led her away. He gave Marek a backward glance of surprising sympathy.
Someone placed a hand between his shoulder blades and shoved him into the room. While a dismayed Zoltan watched, they wrapped chains around his wrists and ankles, a fifth around his neck, another across his shoulders, all connecting so he couldn’t unleash his wings, so heavy he wouldn’t be able to fly if he did.
The door was pulled shut, the lock’s click like a thunderclap.
* * *
Shackled though he was, Marek clumsily paced the floor, wondering what was taking place, and how his arrest would affect his family and Céline’s status as Sectiune.
Strigoi Page 38