“Even worse is the knowledge that she has been spotted in the forest with a large buck in weeks past, and he would do great devastation,” he intoned.
Her hands balled into fists at her sides, toes curling as a chill caught her spine. Sarah sensed an underlying meaning to his words and resisted the urge to glance back at Damien. Swallowing, she asked, barely above a whisper, “How is that?”
Cadius stroked his short beard. “Usually, the deer tend to keep to the thicket—more foliage and the like—but this doe discovered a way into the garden and seemed to take a liking to the ease of the meal. Naturally, the buck followed.” His hand dropped to his side, and his beard twitched in dark humor. Voice amused, he added, “And like any male, he would continue to risk exposure to please her. We cannot have that.”
Sarah felt some of the color drain from her face. Her neck tingled with the instinctive desire to see if Damien had spotted them yet, and she forced her eyes to the sagging body of the doe to keep from being so obvious. Now she was sure Cadius was threatening not only her, but Damien too. He had been right when he told her to not mess with a man in power. And Sarah had practically thrown the king’s death in Cadius’ face last night! She had been too overt in her questioning, and now he was suspicious. His conversational nonchalance as he watched her with the same poorly masked, cold intensity as he did the doe had her pulse jumping.
Swallowing her fear, she replied, “Why not just build a trap as a warning? I’m sure it would back off. It seems like a waste to kill it.” It felt strange to pretend they were still speaking of the animal, but if she could convince Cadius that she wasn’t a threat . . .
“On the contrary, it is far more useful dead than it is alive.”
A knot of dread formed in her middle. “Because you can use it for food,” she managed past a tight throat.
His cold eyes met hers, and she thought his thin lips might have curved, like a cat having caught a mouse. “Because it is no longer a nuisance, and the smell of its blood will serve as a warning to the buck.” He sighed, as if greatly troubled, murmuring, “If only it had been a little wiser and kept out of the garden. Such a shame.”
His words dropped into Sarah’s gut with a dull thud, and her jaw spasmed in panic when he picked up her hand with his ice-cold glove and dipped his head over it, pausing mid-bow. “What an interesting mark,” he murmured, eyes on her scar. His short lashes twitched as something caught his eye to the left, and Sarah turned wide, frightened eyes on Damien.
He had just spotted them, and his own gaze registered alarm as he froze for a split second. The stable boy was still speaking with him, but without any excuses, Damien moved toward Sarah with his concerned gaze flickering between her and the older man. Cadius released her hand with painful slowness, and Sarah nearly sighed aloud.
Damien pasted on a smile, and she couldn’t ever remember seeing it look so cracked. “I should escort you inside, my lady, before the hour becomes too late.” His voice was strained, and his eyes were worried, looking like they wanted to drag over her features to make sure she was all right.
Sarah couldn’t even manage to nod in agreement as he took her arm. Cadius looked pointedly at him before turning his smile on her, and that tight pulling of his lips into a thin light made her skin crawl. “I look forward to the time when we meet again, milady.” Then Damien was dragging her back into the castle, his face ashen.
Sarah swallowed at the man’s tone, what she felt was a mixture of twisted pleasure and menace, though she hoped she was reading into it. But no matter how she imagined it, it seemed that Cadius truly was looking forward to watching her suffer.
~Chapter 35~
Golden light spilled across the floor from the open window as the girls readied her for the ball, and Sarah shivered in the cool air. A chill had settled in her bones after her disturbing encounter with Cadius, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.
Thank you, God, for Damien coming when he did. He seemed to save her from trauma often, as of late, and she couldn’t be more grateful that he had arrived when he did.
She felt her skin crawl when she remembered the way Cadius’ stormy eyes had watched her as he spoke of the doe serving as a warning. Would he punish Damien, too, if he decided to make an example of her? Sarah still felt his arms around her as he pulled her inside, away from Cadius and his threats. No admonishments, no assurances. He just held her, as if he needed to be assured of her presence as much as she needed his comfort. She couldn’t bear the thought of him being punished for her brashness, something that Will had encouraged her to keep in check while she was at the castle.
Her shoulders sagged as she thought of Will. Even in the wake of her unsettling afternoon, the reminder of him was always just under the surface, accompanying every thought. When little Sevrine had gone to close the window as evening faded, Sarah asked that it be left open. The sun was falling quickly as night approached, bringing with it a cold breeze that made her feel awake and refreshed, though it did cause her to shiver every now and then. But she welcomed the cool against her skin after forty-eight hours of ups and downs; if she could feel, then it meant she was still alive. And if she was alive, then maybe there was a chance that Will was, too.
Wishful thinking, she thought before she could stop herself.
Closing her eyes, she pretended that the tense silence in the room was filled with Leah and her mother’s chatter. They were giggling and laughing as they helped her into her ball gown, which wasn’t wrapped around her like a vice—no corset-like structure constricted her breathing. And for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine the way Will had guided her across the dance floor and smiled at her for the first time—
The servant girl gave the ties a swift yank to cinch the back of her dress. Sarah gasped and grabbed hold of the closest bed support to keep from being pulled backward. “Does it have to be . . . so tight?” She pressed a hand to her ribs where the fabric was stretched taut.
“Yes.” Beatrice was laying jewelry selections out on the desk and spoke without really acknowledging her. Sarah wasn’t so sure she believed the girl.
She had asked the name of the younger sibling, Jenna, in an effort to get off on the right foot and maybe even make things more amiable between them. No such luck, but now she did know that Beatrice was the evil older sister and Jenna was just quiet, though she seemed to resent Sarah as much as her elder sibling did. Out of the entire castle staff, she had to get stuck with these two.
Then there was Sevrine. The little curly-haired angel stood by the window, hands clenched obediently in front of her, as she watched with rapt attention as Jenna cinched the back of the dress. Candles were scattered about the room in preparation for nightfall, and the light cast a golden halo over the French girl’s bouncing curls. She caught Sarah watching her and ducked her head shyly. Sevrine didn’t speak much English and rarely said more than a simple “Yes” or “No,” and sometimes all they received was a nod. Sarah wanted to draw the girl out of her shell, but didn’t know how.
Now that she was strapped into the dress and felt more like a slab of tightly wrapped salami than a girl headed off to a grand masquerade, Jenna guided her over to the desk to start weighing her down with accessories. Beatrice selected a loud, jewel-crusted number from the table and clasped it behind Sarah’s neck. She grimaced as the weight of the oversized, jeweled layers fell against her chest. The thing was enormous!
She glanced up and saw that Sevrine had fixed the necklace with a grimace of displeasure. Feeling eyes on her, the little girl met Sarah’s gaze. With both sisters behind her fussing over securing the gaudy thing, Sarah discreetly pointed at it and quickly stuck her tongue out, pantomiming gagging. Sevrine started and quickly averted her eyes, though a small smile began to make its way over her lips.
Grinning, Sarah asked, “Is there something, uh, smaller?”
She could almost feel their looks of displeasure. Beatrice spoke first. “I’m sure we could find something th
at better suits you.” It didn’t sound like a compliment.
Together they removed the clasp, and Sarah gently replaced it on the table. “I can find something myself.” They didn’t seem pleased about her decision, but Sevrine had edged a little closer to see what she would pick.
Sarah perused the selections laid out before her, but they all looked as garish as the first. Then she sifted through the chest and eventually found something she liked enough to pull out for a better look. She held it up for Sevrine. “Do you like it?”
The little girl inched closer and then timidly nodded her consent. The neckline was made up of several layers of thin gold chains that twisted into an intricate knot at the base of her throat, and a cascade of golden chains and small turquoise jewels spilled from the knot. It was elegant but wouldn’t weigh her down like the other had.
Sarah smiled. “Should I?”
Sevrine’s large eyes surveyed the dressing table, and she poked her nose out as something caught her eye. Small fingers pointed at the table. “That one.”
Her gaze landed on Will’s necklace. She had removed it last night when she went to bed, and in her haste to find his body, she had forgotten to put it on again.
Swallowing, Sarah laid the golden necklace on the table and hesitantly picked up the pendant. Forcing her tight lips into a small smile, she asked, “This?”
Sevrine nodded her head emphatically, encouraging her to try it on.
Neck muscles tightening, Sarah reached behind her and did the clasp with shaking fingers. The lightweight pendant fell against her chest, its delicate bulk so familiar that she nearly sighed aloud. It wasn’t extravagant or eye-catching like the others, but wearing it made her feel whole.
“Beautiful,” Sevrine whispered in heavily accented English. She was smiling up at her angelically, and Sarah felt her dead heart flip.
“I think it’s perfect,” she agreed, returning the girl’s smile. Sarah tried to avoid the other maids’ looks of displeasure as they adjusted the skirt of her royal purple dress. The scooped neckline hung off her shoulders and was a little more daring than she would have picked out for herself, but she had to admit that it was spectacular with the small white scroll detailing against the darker fabric.
They applied some cosmetics to her face and lips, which was energy wasted, as most of her face would be covered the entire night. Sarah fingered the mask she would wear as the girls put unnecessary effort into dolling her up. Her finger lazily followed the sparkling white-gray swirls that had been painted onto the ivory mask, moving to trace the row of tiny silver beads that outlined its delicate face and trailed along the pointed edges that would reach her temples. It was lovely, and she was grateful that she could hide her feelings behind it tonight.
Beatrice lifted the mask up over her eyes, and Sarah took a deep breath as the maid tied the silken ribbon behind her head. “You are presentable,” she declared in a monotone voice, taking a step back.
“Thanks,” Sarah said, sounding more sarcastic than she’d intended as she wiggled her nose, trying to get used to the light weight of the mask, though it fit her like a second skin. Before she left, she shot a secretive wink to the little angel and received a genuine smile from Sevrine in return.
Downstairs, it was a bustle of activity. Guests were pouring through the front door into the great hall, keeping the doormen constantly occupied and servants busy as they darted to and fro, collecting cloaks and furs and then depositing them in a small room before rushing back for the next drove of guests to throw their coats at them.
There were a few families, obviously well to-do, but most of the new arrivals appeared to be noble couples. Though from the looks of things, some of these “unions” were just for show: No one wanted to attend a ball solo, and it seemed anyone would do, no matter that their unconcealed dislike of one another—visible even beneath their elaborate masks covered in beads and feathers—destroyed any illusion of happiness.
Realizing she was just standing at the top of the stairs, Sarah gripped the banister to steady herself and forced her feet to move, her heeled shoes making the trip slow and difficult. As she neared the landing, she suddenly became aware of the way her eyes scanned the masks below, searching for one face in particular. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining the way Will’s face would light up when he saw her descending toward him, his smile pulling slowly across his lips. It only made it hurt more when she returned to reality and couldn’t spot him anywhere in the small crowd gathered in the hall.
Of course he isn’t here, she reminded herself bleakly as she followed the other guests into the noisy ballroom. She knew there was a chance that she might never see him again, but her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own, searching the gathering of guests and nobles the instant she stepped inside the great room. Her fingers brushed the circular pendant, as though the mere touch could conjure him from the shadows.
She was one of the tallest women there in her heels, but she still stood on tiptoe to better see over the heads of the other attendees, her hope-filled gaze moving swiftly from guest to guest even as she reprimanded herself for thinking that he might be present. A servant offered her a goblet from the tray he held, but Sarah barely noticed him as she lowered herself onto her heels, deflated. He wasn’t there. She had allowed herself to hope before, let herself think that there might be a chance he was still alive, but now . . .
“You look ravishing tonight.” She jumped at the words spoken close to her ear, stupidly allowing herself to believe that it had been Will’s voice. Heart catching in her throat, she turned around slowly, not wanting to destroy the illusion.
Damien smiled appreciatively as he took in her appearance, and Sarah felt her neck warm beneath her hair. He had carefully re-sculpted the line of hair along his jaw and had dressed for the occasion, reminding her of the polished man she had first met, though the two-sided mask—painted green on one side and white on the other—hinted at the mischievous nature she knew was there.
Grinning unapologetically, he lifted the disguise from his eyes and set it on top of his head. “Did I surprise you?”
Swallowing her disappointment, Sarah offered him a wavering smile. They were nearly at eye-level with the height advantage of her heels, and his eyes were sparkling, more alive than they’d been earlier. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Who were you expecting?” Damien was still smiling and appeared oblivious to the way he controlled the room, specifically the women around them. Despite the golden eyes that lent him a cheeky edge in this austere crowd and the fact that he preferred his unique scruff to the thick beards noblemen commonly wore, he clearly belonged here with these people—he worked the crowd without even trying.
Sarah shook her head. “No one.” She tried to convince herself of this truth, but it felt like a betrayal to be here without Will. Unable to resist, she asked, “How did everything go this afternoon? I didn’t get to ask you, you know, earlier.”
Some of the joy left his eyes, revealing the weariness it had masked. “As well as can be expected.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice, the chatter of the crowd nearly drowning out his words. “I ordered that the bodies be moved tonight, using the ball as a distraction. We don’t need any of the guests thinking that we keep spare corpses lying about he castle.” Shaking his head, Damien added, “It never gets easier.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. And she was, for so many reasons.
Straightening, Damien gave her a faint smile. “As am I.” He hesitated, then tipped his head to the side inquisitively. Eyes softening, he whispered, “How are you?”
She knew what he was referring to, and Sarah felt the first stirrings of warmth in her stomach since yesterday. She ducked her head, uncharacteristically bashful. “Better, thanks to you. You really rescued me earlier.”
He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Did he . . . insult you in any way?” They had been interrupted by Sarah’s scuttling maids nearly the instant he pulled her inside the cas
tle, and they hadn’t had a chance to discuss Cadius and his storyboard threats.
Rubbing her thumb over the palm Cadius had touched, she wondered how much to tell Damien. Then she sighed, knowing it wasn’t fair to keep secrets when they involved him. Lowering her voice, she answered, “He was just talking, although it was really creepy how he explained why they killed that deer, like it was all her fault. But it was like he was implying something else entirely.”
“What do you mean?” But his wary expression said he already knew.
Sarah swallowed, trying to mask how uncomfortable she had been, but a shiver snaked up her spine when she remembered the cold look in Cadius’ eyes. “When he talked about how the animal should have been smarter, I’m almost positive he wasn’t referring to it at all.”
Body stiffening, Damien filled in, “He was warning you off.”
She nodded grimly. “I don’t know why he suspects me.” She stopped, remembering what Damien had said about Cadius having eyes everywhere. Her shoulders stooped. “No, I guess I do, since you told me not to mess with him.” She swallowed, hating to admit she had involved Damien when all he had done was try to protect her.
“Then what?” he prodded, sensing more.
Through the slits in her mask, her eyes shifted warily over the closest guests, and she leaned in. “I think Cadius was threatening you too.” His brows lifted, and she felt a tad embarrassed admitting the rest of her story. “He kept talking about how the buck she was with would follow her anywhere, and that he would either be caught and killed because of the doe, or her body would warn him to stay away.”
Damien’s hands had turned to fists at his sides, and a vein was pulsing on his neck. She wanted to say that maybe Cadius wasn’t serious, or perhaps she had read into the whole unsettling diatribe. But the look in his eyes, the icy, calculated way he spoke, told her he meant every word and would follow through if she didn’t back off.
Chasing Shadows Page 39