And so it went, as each hour slipped away. By the afternoon of the final day they had gone so many hours without slumber that they were beginning to lose their composure. Malachi’s nerves had become so stretched that he was short-tempered, even with Sarah, who bore it patiently.
He was beginning to feel lost and, worse, powerless and desperate. Gone was his certainty that an answer would be given to him. He no longer believed that the Guardians would favor him with some greater explanation. A few more hours at best and he must go to Morcar Cadmaran with hat in hand, asking that they unite for the greater good. Morcar would be willing to make a bargain in order to stop Serafina, but Malachi feared the price of his agreement would be costly.
They had all gathered in Sir Alberic’s study by late afternoon, including Lady Tamony, and sat in gloomy silence. They had relentlessly pored over the list, arguing for and against each potential place, giving up and starting all over again. They were exhausted and dispirited and out of ideas.
“Well,” Malachi said at last, standing. “I must make my visit to Lord Llew.”
“I’ll go with you,” Niclas said wearily, rising as well.
“And I,” Dyfed put in.
“No,” Malachi said. “The task is mine alone, especially as I’ve failed to understand the clues given to me. I—”
He stopped and frowned, his eyebrows lowering in concentration. “Kian is coming,” he said, and the next moment strode to the study doors, flinging them open. Standing on the other side was a man who was clearly the twin of Dyfed Seymour, save that his long blond hair fell loose about his shoulders. He wore neither hat nor cloak but was dressed as casually as if he’d come straight out of his own dwelling. Everyone in the room rose, and Dyfed started forward, crying out gladly, “Fy geffel!”
Kian Seymour scarcely had the opportunity to draw in breath to speak before Malachi grabbed him by the front of his coat and dragged him into the room. “What the devil are you about, showing up in such a manner?” he demanded, the strain of the past hours tingeing his voice with a fearful sharpness. “The servants here aren’t our kind, or even sympathetics. Any one of them might have seen you appear out of thin air.”
“I apologize,” Kian said, gazing at the assembled with a pleasant smile. “I was told to come at once and assumed—well, clearly I should have taken a moment to think. But the matter sounded urgent, so I kissed Loris and the baby good-bye and came at once. By the rood, you do look the worse for wear, I must say. Hello, Dyfed!” Pushing free of Malachi’s grasp, Kian hugged his brother, then greeted Niclas and Professor Seabolt, whom he knew well. To the rest he said, “Pray forgive me for the intrusion. I am Kian Seymour, as you may have surmised. I believe some of you must be the Tamony family. And this, I would wager”—he bowed to Sarah—“is my future cousin, Miss Sarah Tamony. I had heard you were lovely, Miss Tamony, but I confess the reality is far more pleasant than expected.”
“Be silent a moment, cfender,” Malachi told him crossly, “and I’ll make introductions.” To the assembled he said, “This is my cousin Kian Seymour, the Baron of Tylluan. He is to be Dewin Mawr in my place, which, considering how ill we’ve done in discovering the arrival of the cythraul, may be soon. Kian, this is Lady Tamony and her husband, Sir Alberic …”
Kian Seymour’s bracing energy was a stark contrast to the dour exhaustion in the room. Sarah never knew how Malachi found the patience to make proper introductions, let alone address the younger man in so civil a manner.
“Explain yourself, Kian,” he said. “Who sent you here, and for what purpose?”
“The purpose I do not yet know,” Lord Tylluan replied, accepting the glass of wine Sir Alberic held out to him. “The Guardians sent me, through Steffan, who arrived and said that I must join you here at once. I went first to Mervaille, but Rhys sent me here. He’s terribly worried. I take it that you’ve not yet discovered where the cythraul is to arrive.”
“Why in the name of all that’s holy would the Guardians send you here?” Malachi demanded. “Do they think me so incapable of dealing with the demon myself that they must send lesser wizards to aid me?” Small objects in the room began to tremble. “You are not yet the Dewin Mawr, Kian Seymour,” he informed the younger man. “Your powers are nothing to mine.”
Sarah stood and set a hand on his shoulder.
“My lord, you are weary and overset,” she said gently.
“I am nothing of the sort,” he snapped, shaking off her hand and stepping away. He began to say something more but stopped and looked toward the study’s far wall. “Hellfire and damnation. Christophe is coming, as well, and he’s bringing Steffan with him. Make room, if you please, Harris.”
Professor Seabolt moved aside just as the two men appeared, causing Lady Tamony to remark, “Oh, my,” and Sir Alberic to say, “We had better move into the parlor. We’re running out of room in here.”
More introductions were made, with great impatience as Malachi forbore Christophe’s and Steffan’s determination to kiss the ladies’ hands and make grand bows to the gentlemen.
“Tell me why you’re here,” Malachi said. “If the spirits sent you because of the cythraul, then—”
“That is precisely why,” Steffan told him. “I received word this morning that we were to come at once and lend our aid. Desdemona should arrive soon.”
“God’s mercy,” Malachi murmured. Dyfed stood and left the room without a word. “How many more are to come?”
“I cannot say,” Steffan replied. “As many as are needed, for the spirits will make their wishes known to those who are chosen. We are to do your bidding. That is all I know.”
“Then you may leave,” Malachi stated. “Now. The cythraul is my burden, just as it was to those who came before me. It is a test in which to prove myself, and if I succeed, I succeed alone. If I fail, the fault will be mine as well.”
Sarah moved toward him. “Think a moment before you send them away, Malachi. Consider how unusual it has been this time. None of the clues has been given to you directly by the spirits, but to you through me. They have never before been given through another, have they?”
“No.” He looked more displeased than ever.
“And then there is that peculiar clue,” she said gently. “ ‘All become one or all will fail.’ You told me once, when you related the tale of the Donballa and Guidric of Maghera, that unity was not a lesson your kind has remembered.” She touched his hand and held his gaze. “This is a test, my lord. Perhaps part of it is whether you are willing to sacrifice your own pride for the good of all men. If the Guardians sent others to help you, then they must have known that you would need them.”
“There is sense in what she says, Cousin,” Niclas said. “The world has changed, and will keep changing. We must change as well if we’re to continue on in it. Perhaps the Guardians are showing you the way.”
“It is the same lesson I learned when I dealt with the monster at Tylluan,” Kian said. “Do you not remember, Malachi? I had to accept Loris’s aid to be rid of the thing, regardless what my pride told me. If I’d remained stubborn, the beast would have run wild and caused every manner of destruction.”
Malachi was quiet, his gaze held upon Sarah, who yet stood before him.
“There are a few hours remaining,” Lady Tamony spoke into the silence. “Let us at least spend them more comfortably. With your permission, Lord Graymar, I’ll order a light supper. I may require some … help in dealing with the servants, however.”
Malachi scarcely wished to think beyond what Sarah had said to him. Her touch alone had soothed and quieted his inner turmoil. “Kian,” he said, “go and enchant Lady Tamony’s servants to forget all that they have seen or heard in the past many hours, or will see and hear until sometime tomorrow. Christophe, will you be so good as to go to Mervaille and bring Rhys to me? He’ll be of help with all of us here. Have him bring a change of clothes, as well. Sir Alberic, may my family and I impose upon your hospitality a few hours longer? The numbe
r may grow shortly.”
“For as long as you desire, Lord Graymar,” Sir Alberic said. “We’ll be happy to play host to all your family if they should wish to come.”
Malachi laughed at that, as did Niclas. “Never say so, sir,” he advised. “You have no notion of what that would mean.”
Desdemona arrived before Christophe could return, pushing into the study with a very angry Dyfed at her back.
“No, I will not go home,” she insisted as Julius stood to make a place for her near the fire. She looked him up and down and said, “You look just as fine clothed. What a handsome fellow you are. But you’ll not remember me, I suppose, for we’ve not been formally introduced. I am Desdemona Seymour, and I am not leaving.” This last was said to her husband.
Julius flushed hotly as everyone in the room looked at him. Making a bow, he murmured his pleasure at the introduction.
“You will not endanger our daughter by this foolishness,” Dyfed said with ill-contained anger. “I’m taking you both home now. There is more than enough magic present to deal with the demon without you putting yourself into harm’s way.”
Desdemona merely made herself more comfortable. “If you think I’m going to sit at home while Serafina Daray gains the power of the cythraul, you are far mistaken, my husband. I’ll be dead before I let that woman have the means to destroy us all. Including our daughter. Now be still and introduce me to anyone I don’t already know. You British are so peculiar about such matters, after all.”
An hour later Malachi had changed into fresh clothes and allowed Rhys to shave him, all in preparation for approaching the Earl of Llew.
“Niclas will go with me,” he said once they had reassembled in one of the larger parlors, “and we will return as quickly as we can. There remains little time before the demon will arrive, and you must all be ready to travel the moment we return.”
“My lord?” It was Rhys. He stood at the parlor door, his face ashen. “Miss Philistia is no longer in her room. She is nowhere in the house. The upstairs maid found this.” He held out a folded piece of paper. Sarah hurried to take it from him.
“It’s from Lord Llew,” she murmured, scanning the missive quickly. Her mother peered over her shoulder. “Asking Philistia to meet him at his home.”
“It can’t be,” Malachi said.
“But it is,” Sarah insisted, holding the page out to him. “It bears both his signature and his seal. Do you not see?”
“I see what is here,” Malachi replied, “but I cannot believe it’s truly from Morcar Cadmaran.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s here. Now.” Malachi nodded in the direction of the street. “The Earl of Llew is standing at your front door. Without Philistia.”
The Earl of Llew had spent the past two days in hellish misery. From the moment Philistia walked out of his dwelling he’d been tormented by memories of the things he’d said to her, of her tears and the pain on her face, of her bowed head and the final words she’d spoken.
I don’t expect anything of you.
He had tried to push the words from his thoughts, to push her from his thoughts, but it was impossible. No amount of drink nor any of the potions he possessed had the power to give him relief. He’d not been able to sleep or think or do anything at all save suffer. Because he’d hurt her and sent her away. Because he’d been a fool.
There was only one cure for such suffering, and Morcar had at last accepted what it was. He must find Philistia and plead for her forgiveness, and then he must make everything right, no matter what the sacrifice. He would cease being head of the dark Families. He would give up any hope of gaining the cythraul and cede his title and his lands, even Castle Llew, to a worthier Cadmaran. He would go where Philistia desired, live where she wanted to live, do whatever she bade him do. He would do it all gladly, so long as she forgave him.
And so he had bathed and dressed with special care and gone out in search of her, praying that he would find her at one of the numerous parties or dinners to which he had been invited that evening. Whatever pride he yet possessed hoped for the chance to approach her away from the Tamony household, for to go to her family would prove a humiliating experience. But she was nowhere to be found out in Society, and he at last climbed into his coach and gave the driver directions to her dwelling.
The Guardians, Morcar decided when he at last stepped to the pavement again, had clearly decided that having to throw himself upon her family’s mercy wasn’t sufficient punishment for his sins. He felt the presence not merely of Malachi’s great powers within the elegant town house but also of many extraordinary magic mortals. Now Morcar’s disgrace would be complete, having to beg Philistia to forgive and take him back before such witnesses. But he deserved it, he thought morosely as he trod to the door. He should be shot for having made her weep.
The door opened and he found himself face-to-face with Rhys, Malachi’s most trusted servant, which was something Morcar had not expected.
“What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded crossly.
Rhys bowed and said, “You must ask His Lordship. Be so good as to follow me, please.”
“I don’t suppose you would tell me,” Morcar said as he entered the dwelling and handed Rhys his hat, “but is Miss Philistia at home? I have come to speak with her.”
“You must ask His Lordship,” Rhys repeated, and led Morcar to the parlor where he had twice before enjoyed tea with Philistia and Lady Tamony. He felt the increase of magic as they made their way and wondered just whom Malachi had brought to the Tamony household and why.
The doors opened and Morcar had his answer. It looked like a veritable reunion of Seymour cousins. They even outnumbered the Tamonys. As he moved into the room, following Rhys’s announcement, Morcar noted that the brother, Julius, appeared to have been released from the spell Serafina had placed him under. Morcar scanned the room hopefully, not caring overmuch that he was surrounded by enemies, but saw no sign of Philistia.
“Lady Tamony,” he said, bowing to that lady, who was scowling mightily at him. “Sir Alberic. Miss Tamony. Forgive me for the intrusion. I’ve come to ask permission to speak with Miss Philistia. I realize how unseemly such a request is, especially at this late hour, but please believe me when I tell you that it is of the greatest importance.”
It was Malachi who stepped forward to speak to him.
“You do not know where she is, Morcar?”
“She’s not here?” Morcar asked, the hope of seeing her fading to despair. “Has she gone out then?” He looked about the room. They were all staring at him intently. Even that damned gypsy lord Christophe Theriot was present. And Steffan Seymour. What was going on? “I’ve searched every drawing room with a gathering already,” Morcar said. “I didn’t see her in any of them, nor was she expected.”
Sarah Tamony came toward him, holding out a folded piece of paper. “This was just found in her room. She was here an hour ago, and now she’s gone.”
Morcar’s hands trembled as he took the page and unfolded it, reading the words there. His entire body shivered with unbidden fear.
“I never wrote this,” he said, finding it difficult to draw in breath. “My God … did she believe I wrote this?” He looked at Malachi. “She went out … you didn’t even feel her absence? You let her go out in the dark of night alone?”
Malachi’s expression was grim. “I accept that the fault is mine. We have been preoccupied with deciphering the clues of the cythraul, and I confess I paid no notice to those not present here.” He waved a hand at the assembled. For the first time Morcar saw that Kian Seymour was there, and Desdemona as well.
“Lord Llew,” Sir Alberic said tightly, “do you mean to say that you had nothing to do with my niece’s disappearance? She apparently left in order to seek you out. Surely she must have had cause to believe the note was from you.”
“Yes, she would have,” he said, unable to keep the agony he felt from his voice. “I cannot explain to you now why that
should be, save to tell you that I love Philistia. I love her, sir. I would not harm her. Never again.”
“Again?” Lady Tamony repeated fearfully.
Morcar shook his head. “I will confess all my sins to you gladly, my lady, once Philistia has been safely retrieved. Malachi, you must help me. All of you—” His gaze took in the entire room. “Not for my sake, of course, but for Philistia’s. She’s overset and not likely to be thinking clearly. If we work together, so many of us, we can easily find her.”
“We haven’t the time, Morcar,” Malachi said. “The cythraul comes tonight, very shortly. Or did you not realize it?”
Morcar didn’t care about the cythraul any longer. He didn’t care about anything or anyone save Philistia, out in the dark, alone, because she believed he had sent for her. And she had gone. After all he’d said and done to her, she had yet been willing to go to him.
“I’ll go alone, then,” he muttered, turning to leave. “I have to find her. God knows who wanted to lure her out, making her believe it was me—”
“That’s exactly right, Morcar.” Malachi put a hand on his arm to stop him, roughly pulling him back. “Only stop and think a moment about who would have cause to do such a thing. Who would know that Philistia would answer your call to come?”
Morcar accepted the fact that he wasn’t a particularly clever or quick-witted fellow, but knowing that didn’t help. He gazed at Malachi with a mixture of impatience and bafflement.
“The cythraul is about to arrive,” Malachi stated more calmly. “It requires a mere mortal’s body for its occupation else it cannot remain on earth. Serafina has gained enough of the clues that she’s discovered when and where the cythraul will arrive. Do you not see that Julius, who she had planned to use as a vessel for the demon, is here among us?”
Morcar shook his head, utterly confused. “But surely she’d not use Philistia. Her body is so slight and powerless—the cythraul would reject the use of it.”
“It will take what’s been prepared,” Malachi told him, “and I have good cause to believe Serafina lured Philistia out as a way of revenge. I forced her to set Julius free two days ago. Unless you can think of some reason why any other member of Society would wish to draw Philistia out into the darkness by the use of your name, I believe we must assume that Serafina not only has her, but has already taken her to the place where the cythraul will shortly arrive.”
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