The coach rolled to a stop and she walked stiffly to the front door. Her stab wound twinged uncomfortably with each step, but the pain was tolerable.
A portly butler opened the door and, after reading her summons, welcomed her inside. A maid whisked away her cloak. The manor seemed subdued and quiet, more like a mausoleum than a house, and she noticed that all the servants wear wearing black. That sight left her unsettled; there must have been a death recently. She wondered who had passed.
A half-minute later, Ferran bounded easily down the wide staircase, taking three steps at a time. Lori sucked in a short breath when she saw him. He looked tall and dashing in his noble attire: a vest of gray and silver brocade fastened over a white tunic with billowing white sleeves. His brown hair fell across his brow in a slight wave. He looked younger, somehow, his face clear, his features less worn by living on the road.
Reaching her side with a wide grin, he looked unusually relieved to see her, took her hand and quickly kissed it. “My dear,” he said. “Welcome to the Ebonaire estate.”
The kiss took her aback. Lori wasn’t sure what to say.
“Why, she is the spitting image of Sora!” another voice interrupted. “Or rather, Sora is the spitting image of her mother. Hello, Lorianne.”
A dark-haired man entered the hall, dressed in a long black coat and green vest. He walked with an ramrod-straight, regal air. Lori thought the two brothers looked alike. Ferran’s younger brother Martin had a clean-cut, aristocratic look about him, where Ferran was decidedly more roguish. Still, their mouths and eyes both tilted when they smiled, and they both seemed to habitually thrust their hands into their pockets.
Ferran introduced them properly, and Lori curtsied before asking about Lady Danica. She would rather skip the First Tier formalities. “Thank you for the warm invitation,” she said, her tone polite and professional. “Is your daughter very sick? I should see her immediately.”
“Come this way,” Martin said. “She has been sick for almost a week. Her mother came down with the same illness several months ago….”
Lori looked at Martin gravely. “Did she survive?”
“No,” he replied shortly. Then, in a softer tone, “It has been difficult for us.”
That explained the somber attire of the staff, and the general sense of malaise in the house. Lori allowed Martin to lead her upstairs to Lady Danica’s grand bedroom on the second floor. She looked about the magnificent room with a bit of awe. It was large enough to encompass her entire house; the ceiling was so high, she couldn’t imagine how the maids dusted the corners.
She had never understood the nobility’s need for immense indoor space, which she had always found quite wasteful. Yet as a work of art, the room was immaculate, decorated in hand-woven tapestries, oil paintings, deep burgundy curtains and a polished dark wood floor. Plump sofas and large armchairs surrounded an ornate fireplace. The furniture and mantel were gilded in gold leaf; or perhaps it was truly made of gold, she couldn’t tell. Danica’s bed stood on the opposite side of the room near a row of tall windows. The bed was large enough for four people to lie there side-by-side.
Lady Danica rested silently and completely still, surrounded by a mountain of pillows. Two maids attended her with a bowl of warm water. One swept a damp cloth across the girl’s brow.
Lori immediately went to Lady Danica's side and dismissed the two maids. First, she checked the young girl’s vitals—the patient looked to be around fifteen years old. Her pulse was weak and fluttery. She forgot Ferran's and Martin’s presence in the room as she went to work.
Her first assessment of the patient was unexpectedly positive. Fever blisters, yes, and a heavy cough. But no blackened nails.
“She had chills,” one of the maids said, “so we heated the room as best we could….”
“You should move her to a smaller room,” Lori said absently as she listened to Danica’s breathing. “Less drafty, with a fireplace closer to the bed.”
The maid nodded.
“Is it the plague?” Ferran asked softly. She hadn’t noticed him by her side.
“No,” she said as she straightened. Her eyes traveled to Lord Martin, who hovered at the foot of the bed. “A very bad case of pneumonia.”
Ferran barely hid his surprise.
Martin stared at her. His hand clutched the bed frame. He seemed staggered by the news.
“Pneumonia?” he echoed. “The other Healers said it was incurable….”
Lori snorted. “They probably mistook it for the plague,” she said, “but I’ve seen both. She will recover with proper care.” Then her tone changed, becoming gentler. “Tell me, has your daughter always suffered from poor health? Fainting spells? Is she easily bruised?” She glanced at Danica’s sleeping form. The girl looked as white as the bedsheets.
“Yes,” Martin nodded, showing his surprise.
“She has a blood condition. Something she was born with. It makes her fragile,” Lori said. “I’ve seen this before. Red meat will help. And beets. And fresh honey each season for her allergies.”
Martin looked at Ferran with raised eyebrows. “She’s very good,” he said, referring to Lori.
“I’ve seen a lot of illness,” Lori replied with a smile.
Martin gave her a short bow, which Lori found quite unexpected, coming from an Ebonaire. He caught her eye when he raised his head again. “Thank you, sister. You are as intelligent as you are beautiful.” Then he turned to Ferran. “You’ve done well for yourself.”
Lori noticed Ferran’s flush of pride, then his silent bristle of annoyance. She wondered at his response. Was he jealous? Or perhaps simply embarrassed, as they weren’t truly married?
Martin looked satisfied. “I’ll leave you to your work, then,” he said. “I have business to attend to upstairs. Letters to write and ledgers to balance. Shall I see you at dinner?”
Lori remembered to curtsy again. “Yes. Until this evening, Lord Ebonaire,” she said.
He winced. “Please, just Martin. We’re family now.” He turned and left the room. The maids were behind him, carrying a basket of soiled towels.
Ferran waited until the door was shut. “That went well,” he said softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Martin has been very welcoming so far. I suppose we’re lucky.” His eyes lingered a bit too long on her. “How are you?” he asked.
Lori hesitated, wondering if he meant her dagger wound, or her overall reaction to being in the Ebonaire manor. “Fine,” she replied briefly. “And you?”
“As well as one can expect,” he said quietly.
Lori sensed he wanted to tell her something. He shifted his weight, but didn’t speak.
She cleared her throat. “Have you found any evidence of…?” She glanced cautiously at Danica’s sleeping figure.
“We’re looking,” he said.
“You should have asked me before deciding to come here,” Lori chided. “There must be an easier way to track them down; too much is at stake. And where is Sora?”
“She should be back soon. She went shopping for dresses,” Ferran explained.
Lori raised an eyebrow. “Shopping?” she asked. “That sounds very productive, Ferran.”
He shrugged. “She’s searching The Regency as well, looking for signs of the Shade. We just arrived here, Lori. We’ve barely had time to explore the house, let alone hunt down a cult—”
“Hush,” she murmured. Danica stirred. Lori waited until the girl’s breathing became deep and even and then continued, “We shouldn’t be here. It’s a distraction.”
“Caprion said the leader of the Shade is staying in The Regency. Now that they have the weapons—”
“Oh, you heard about that already?”
“Caprion arrived an hour ago, then went to find Sora.”
Lori sighed. She was shocked and dismayed that morning when she heard the news. She had spoken to Caprion at length about the weapons theft. He suspected Crash, but she didn’t know if she agreed. She was more con
cerned about her daughter.
“It seems we’ve delivered the weapons straight into the Shade’s hands,” she said grimly. “I think they planned this, Ferran. I have a sense they are biding their time, waiting for the ideal moment to strike. They know our faces, but we are still blind. We fell into a trap by coming to this city.”
Ferran looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps,” he said, “but what other choice did we have?”
Lori shrugged. "Not much choice at all. The Regency is a dangerous place for us,” she whispered. “I’m not welcome among the nobility. I have a past here. Did our encounter with Cedric at the seminary mean nothing to you?” She absently touched her bandaged ribs. “If he were to stumble across us again….”
Ferran frowned. “You have nothing to fear from Cedric Daniellian,” he said firmly. “That spoiled bastard will get what’s coming to him. Don’t worry about that.”
His tone of voice concerned her. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“Cedric deserves retribution,” he said with dark implication.
“Well, that explains part of it,” she mused, and fixed him with a discerning stare. “Is that why you were so ready to come here? To get another shot at Cedric? I won’t have it. We need to stay focused on our original quest. Cedric Daniellian is of no consequence.”
“To you, mayhap,” Ferran muttered.
“I won’t discuss it,” Lori said brusquely, and wiped her hands on a clean towel. “Seven years have passed. I’ve made my peace. I just want to avoid him, especially while I stay in this house. Can we manage that?”
Ferran nodded and passed her a jar of salve for the fever blisters on Danica’s lips.
“If he visits, I’ll make myself scarce,” she added, and applied the salve with a light touch, then pressed a damp cloth to Danica’s head. The girl’s fever seemed to be calming now that she wasn’t under so many blankets.
An uneasy silence fell between them. Ferran cracked the knuckles on his left hand. His Cat’s Eye gleamed at his wrist. She wondered what he was thinking.
“The Shade will show themselves eventually,” he finally said.
“Hopefully sooner rather than later,” she muttered.
He frowned. “I wouldn’t have returned to this house if I didn’t think our plan would work. I didn’t come here for Daniellian. I know what’s important, Lori. I’m not an ignorant pirate. I’m not some drunken fool.”
“You were when I met you.”
“For a stage of my life, yes. But that’s not who I am.”
Lori remained silent. She didn’t want to delve into this conversation. It was too late to argue about their predicament. They were staying at the Ebonaire house and she would have to put up with it. She wondered how her daughter was holding up, and hoped Sora would stay out of trouble.
“When you’re finished here, I want to show you something,” Ferran said abruptly.
Lori glanced up. “Oh?”
“Meet me in my room,” he said mysteriously. “It won’t take long. I found something of note.” He strode leisurely out the door.
Lori watched him go. She wondered what he was referring to. Perhaps old family memorabilia…or gold? Rumor had it the Ebonaires hid bags of gold in the walls of their estate. Silas had made several comments about that.
She wondered how Ferran felt, being in this house after so many years away. His brother Martin was not what she expected—better, in fact, than she had imagined. He seemed a good man, although still a businessman; he played his role well.
Unspoken tension was obvious between the two brothers. She wondered if Martin would invite Ferran to the upcoming winter festival. The Ebonaire family always hosted First Winter’s Ball. Would Ferran be allowed to make a public appearance? It would be quite the "coming-out." Despite twenty years having passed, many of the nobility would remember his exile, and his rumored double-life as the notorious Redhanded Ferran. Perhaps it was time for the truth to "come out."
For now, Ferran seemed surprisingly well-adjusted. But she still noticed his anxious passage through each room, and the way his eyes lingered on family portraits, particularly along the first-story hallway. He didn’t appear in any of them. In some ways, he stood out like a misplaced vase. He belonged in this house…but where, exactly? How did he fit?
Danica coughed. Lori lay a soothing hand on the girl’s chest. Only fifteen, she already looked like a young woman, with long, dark curls and porcelain skin. She could tell Danica’s height by her length on the bed. Tall, like the Ebonaires. Long-boned. Elegant. Their bloodline was strong, and Danica looked far more like Martin or Ferran than Sora did.
Perhaps Ferran had made a mistake. Perhaps Sora wasn’t his daughter. Perhaps he and Lori’s encounter meant nothing, and she could move past it.
Yes, Lori thought to herself. Nothing’s changed. Sora’s parentage was of no consequence. Lori had her daughter, and of their own relationship, she could be certain.
She patted Danica’s hand gently. “Your mother worries about you very much,” she said, thinking of her portrait downstairs. Lady Ebonaire had kind brown eyes and a sweet, dimpled smile. Lori felt certain her spirit sat in this very room, watching over her sick daughter. She could almost feel the woman’s imprint on the bed. This house seemed filled with ghosts.
The maids returned and set a simmering pot of water over the fire, then left again. Lori waited until the water boiled and released a cloud of minty steam into the room. It would clear the girl’s lungs and draw out the infection. Lori expected significant results by morning.
She stood up. Her back ached, and her wound pulled with each breath. She took a moment to gather herself. Thirty-six could not be called young, and her age was beginning to catch up with her.
She shut Danica’s bedroom door softly behind her, and headed for Ferran’s room.
Goddess! she thought, her footsteps faltering. Lord Ebonaire thought they were married, and had given them the same suite.
* * *
Sora said goodbye to Caprion outside the stables.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he told her. “I regret I cannot stay. I must return to the ship and make sure our prisoner has not escaped. The Dracians mean well…but they are easily distracted.”
Sora clasped his arm briefly. “Until next we meet,” she said.
Caprion hesitated. “I will try to return later tonight. I don’t like the thought of you here without protection. The Shade found you in The Regency, and they might know where you are staying.”
Sora grimaced. “I’m not afraid. Ferran and Lori are here, should I need help….”
Caprion ignored her. “I intend to return, if only for your peace of mind,” he said, and searched her face briefly. “If you see Viper again,” he cautioned, “don’t let your guard down.”
“If you insist,” she sighed. His warning left her uneasy. She still hoped to find Crash inside the manor, and discover that this whole ordeal was a misunderstanding. Their hands remained clasped for a moment; then Caprion released her and walked swiftly away toward a copse of trees, from which he would undoubtedly take to the skies.
Sora turned back to the stables and the sound of Lily’s voice, which rose and fell in apparent outrage. It sounded like an argument.
She entered the wide doorway to the stables and paused when her eyes landed on Olivia, who looked slightly haggard and very irritated, standing with her hands on her hips.
“Lord Martin asked me to escort her!” the maid exclaimed. “A noblewoman can’t walk the streets on her own, and would never keep such a common, tawdry friend! Now back to the docks with you! We are not hiring, and we have no love of thieves or riffraff!”
Sora cleared her throat.
Olivia glanced up and saw her. “Where have you been?” she asked accusingly, forgetting her place as a servant. “And who is this?” she thrust a finger at Lily.
Sora looked Lily up and down in her blue skirts. She looked like a serving girl or a cook’s assistant, far from a servant in a nobl
e’s house. “My handmaid,” she said curtly, and raised her chin. She felt a push of confidence—her noble upraising came to the surface. “Lily was delayed on our ship, but she found me in the Flower District.”
“Indeed,” Olivia said, and wrinkled her nose slightly. “She smells like seaweed. Hopefully she brought a change of clothes.”
“Watch your tone,” Sora said coldly.
Olivia came back to herself, and curtsied abruptly. “Milady,” she said. “My apologies. Your mother just arrived. She will be joining you in an hour for dinner. Perhaps you’d like a warm bath?” Then she turned on her heel without batting an eye and started toward the manor.
Sora wondered if Olivia meant her question to sound like an insult. The maid’s attitude was haughty enough. No more, she thought.
“Olivia,” Sora called, a sharp edge to her voice. The maid halted mid-step. “From here on, Lily will assist me as my handmaid. I relieve you of your duties.”
Olivia’s lips parted in shock.
“Please show Lily to her rooms. She will be staying with us in the manor.” Then Sora turned to catch Lily’s eyes. “I will need a dinner dress.”
“Yes, Milady.” Lily gave her a perfectly elegant curtsy. As she rose, a small smile played about her mouth. Then she followed Olivia to the house.
Sora trailed further behind, taking her time as she walked through the snow. Her eyes scanned the stables and the outside courtyard in search of Crash. She prayed for a sign of him…anything to prove he was safe in the Ebonaire manor, and not among the Shade…but she saw no one, save the cold marble statues in the garden.
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