“How did you know about my mask?” she asked.
“Am I not the omniscient eminence noire? ”
“Is that what you are? The costume?”
“Not precisely. I’m lord of the night. Literally and figuratively. I even have stars.” He raised his hands, and with astonished delight she saw that he wore a large, glittering jewel on every finger.
She thought of her own naked hands with regret, but before she could comment, he said, “Come, let us play the part of gods, and start the celebration.”
He sounded light in spirit, and there were those rings. Could she hope? She went with him, dizzy with anticipation, frustrated by uncertainty, then surprised when he turned behind a secret panel and ran lightly up some dark stairs to where musicians sat.
At his command, the winds ended their faerie music and an introduction to the minuet began. He drew her down the gallery away from the musicians and their candles, then parted a dark cloth so she could see the moon straight on, and the clever containers that gave the star effect. It didn’t steal the magic. As long as he was by her side, the magic could never end.
She could also see the dancers, as he’d implied, from a godlike eminence.
“It pleases you?” he asked.
She turned to him. “It pleases me.”
So tempting to say more, but he was still a mystery to her, and she would not throw away this moment. Instead, she dared to slide an arm around his waist then turned back to watch the merrymakers down below, him warm by her side, his arm around her now.
She’d never experienced this before, this comfortable twinning in the peaceful, private dark, unthreatened for the moment by urgent problems.
But then, as the first dance came to an end, she realized something, and had to speak. “Could de Couriac be here?”
“No. All the guests have had to unmask for a moment as they entered, and Stringle—the man who captured you—is there to check.”
“Didn’t people object?”
“They were told it was for the safety of the king. That’s him, by the way, in the Roman armor with the gilded helmet. And for this event, all other entrances are guarded. You are safe.”
It was his safety that worried her, but she did not say so. Instead, knowing him safe, she returned to happy thoughts. “I could stay up here forever, here with you.”
Dangerous thoughts. She wondered how he would react.
He held her a little closer. “Sometimes the gods are kind. I apologize for avoiding you today. We could have spent the day—”
“Don’t. Don’t put yourself always at my service.”
But did he mean it was the last day? That he’d let her leave tomorrow?
He turned to her. “I am always at your service. Are you not at mine?”
Breath caught. Where was that leading? “Of course. But sometimes I need to be alone. I would grant you that freedom, too.”
He raised her hand and kissed it, and at the look in his eyes, her heart burst into speed.
Surely that meant—
A trumpet blew.
Diana jumped with surprise and looked down to see that the Grecian temple was illuminated now, and the grassy sward held an adult and children sprawled around in sleep. They all wore wings. Cupids?
“What’s happening?” she asked.
He was laughing, perhaps a little wildly. “My special surprise for you,” he said unsteadily, “but come too soon. I must have lost track of time here with you, love.”
“Love?” she said, but he had taken her hand and was hurrying her to the stairs.
She pulled back. “Stop. What were you going to say?”
He pulled her close and kissed her quickly. “It will keep. Come. You will enjoy this.”
With a helpless laugh, Diana let him take her downstairs, back into the crowded ballroom, but once there, they were stuck. Everyone was pressing toward the temple, seeking the best view. Short of rude violence, they could not get close.
“You see,” he said, and she still heard laughter, “efficiency exploded to pieces. You were supposed to be in pride of place.” He moved backward instead, and swung her onto a gilded bench in a grotto. Then he leaped up beside her, and they had a wonderful view.
His lightness in movement and expression, the look in his eyes just before they were interrupted, all made her tremble with hope, made her long to demand that he complete what he’d been about to say. Now.
But she could wait. And perhaps this was all part of it, for Cupid was the god of love…
From somewhere came the pure voice of a castrate.
“The sun was now descended to the main,
When chaste Diana and her virgin train…“
A woman dressed exactly as Diana herself was walked out, accompanied by four handmaidens in Grecian dress, all wearing classical full-face masks.
“… Espied within the covers of a grove,
The little cupids, and the god of love,
All fast asleep, stretched on the mossy ground, “
The actress Diana took up the song in a rich contralto.
“Fell tyrants of each tender breast,
Sleep on, and let mankind have rest.
For oh, soon as your eyes unclose,
Adieu to all the world’s repose.“
Her attendants joined in harmony as they plotted to break Cupid’s bows and arrows, and carried out the deed. Then they joined hands and danced.
“Our victory’s great,
Our glory is compleat,
No longer shall we be alarmed.
Then sing and rejoice,
With one heart and voice
For Cupid at length is disarmed!“
Cheers started up in various parts of the ballroom, and the clever actors repeated their piece until people knew it well enough to join in.
At the front of the stage, the actress playing Diana encouraged her impromptu choir by calling out the next words ahead of the singers.
“Ye nymphs and ye swains,
Who dwell on these plains,
And have by fond passions been harmed.
Secure of your hearts,
Now laugh at his darts,
For Cupid at length is disarmed!“
As the ballroom rocked with the noise, Bey was shaking with laughter so the bench rocked beneath Diana’s feet. Laughing too, she grabbed a branch of an artificial tree, grateful to find it solid.
“Now what could anyone have against love?” he demanded. “But you’ll see,” he added with a brilliant glance at her, “love triumphs as it should.”
Diana gripped the branch harder, but if Bey looked at her like that, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be balanced again.
They were eye to eye, and moving toward a kiss when a male voice broke into the song. She looked and found that Cupid, perhaps feeling left out by the third repetition, had leaped to his feet. He, too, wore a full face mask, this time of a placid youth.
“Oh cruel goddess!” he sang, in a voice that was strong but not as skillful as the actress Diana’s. “But I scorn to moan. Revenge be mine!” He shook his gilded bow.
“Lud,” Diana remarked, “I think he’d play Mars better than Cupid, but then, this matter of love is a battle, I suppose.”
She glanced teasingly at Bey, but he was now intent on the stage.
“Still one unbroken dart remains.” Cupid seized it from the ground, and nocked it in his golden bow. “I lance it through…”—the unsettlingly blank mask scanned the audience—“what heart? Come then, my lords, my ladies,” he continued in a speaking voice, “who wants to feel the bite of love, to have more love in their heart?”
Unease crept across Diana’s shoulders, and suddenly Bey leaped down and moved forward. She tried to follow, but the crowd closed after him. In fact, everyone pushed forward trying to get closer to the god of love.
Some were cheering, some were jeering, but they all wanted to be part of this fun.
With a muttered curse she returned to the bench.
Trouble?
The whole room seemed to be inviting love or jeering at the thought, and the Cupid egged them on. The other actors stood back, letting him play the audience, his arrow of love still seeking a target.
Diana suddenly focused on the Cupid’s shouting voice. Foreign. She’d assumed Italian, like most opera singers, but could it be French? And his voice was not well trained.
De Couriac?
Bey was near the king now and she wanted to scream a warning. But of course he knew. That’s why he’d gone.
But de Couriac wanted to kill him.
She heard the king laughing and cheering with the rest. Heard him call, “Shoot me, god of love. I can’t have too much love for my queen, what, what?”
As people cheered, the Cupid obediently turned the arrow in the king’s direction.
Chapter 33
Diana instantly saw from the way it flexed, that the bow was real. That was when she remembered that she, too, had a real bow and arrow. Doubtless one of the few usable weapons in the room.
Bey had reached the king now. What would he do? Pull him to the ground and cover his body with his own?
Heart pounding fit to burst, she pulled off her bow and nocked one of her silver arrows, wishing she’d had some more training with it. Wishing she’d had more of Carr’s lessons in firing under stress.
Her hands were shaking and sweating enough to slip.
Perdition! She wiped them on her linen gown.
The king stood there, inviting the shot, and Cupid drew the string a little farther back. There was a moment of quiet, as if perhaps people suddenly wondered…
Then Bey stepped in front of the king, arms spread, light dancing on his starlight rings. “Your pardon, sire, but I think I have the greater need of love.”
A ripple of excited comment passed through the room, cut through with shock. Bey had his back firmly to the king.
“Though in fact,” Bey said in apparent good humor, “you are supposed to shoot the goddess Diana, are you not?”
“But you invited me to shoot you, my lord,” the Cupid said.
The mask altered sounds to some extent and Diana found herself horribly uncertain. It would be terrible to make a mistake.
With a pistol she might try to knock the weapon from his hands, but she wasn’t that good with a bow, and this was a scarcely tried weapon. She could hit a man somewhere with it, she was sure, but that was all.
It must be de Couriac, though. Why else would Bey be shielding the king?
Bey began to move forward, arms wide, inviting the shot, eclipsing the king even more. She silently berated him, but of course he could do nothing else. The king above all must be protected, and no innocent could be allowed to suffer.
By now, the whole room was quiet, as people sensed something strange, but were probably unsure whether it was part of the masque or not.
As Bey moved closer and closer to the dais, he spoke. “I think, perhaps, you are not the god of love, sir, but the god of destruction. Your arrow is intended for me, Monsieur de Couriac?”
The king exclaimed, and other people gasped and questioned. A panicked shift Diana dared not look at told her things were finally happening. But Cupid was drawing back the string of his bow the final few inches and Bey was so close he could not miss.
But not close enough to attack and stop the shot.
Now or never. After a second’s terrified hesitation, Diana pulled all the way back, sighted, and with a prayer to heaven, loosed her arrow. It thunked deep into de Couriac’s chest, and his arrow flew wildly to quiver in a wall. With a horrid cry, he crumpled upon the false grass beneath his feet.
The actress Diana fainted, and the little cupids ran away screaming, but then Bey was there, hiding the writhing body from the panicked guests. Diana, dazed, saw Bryght, Elf, Portia, and Fort trying to handle the shouting, swirling guests, but some illogically were rushing to escape the ballroom.
Someone was going to be hurt.
The king was behind a protective wall of men, but he suddenly pushed free, helmet and golden breastplate gleaming in the lights.
“See,” he called loudly, “it was a solitary madman, and all over now. Calm, calm, my good people. All is safe.”
And calm did settle, with everyone turning to face him.
“I am safe, as you see, thanks to Lord Rothgar’s courage…” He seemed to falter then, and Diana knew he’d suddenly questioned where the fatal arrow had come from.
She hastily jumped down from her bench, but she knew some people had spotted her.
She heard Bey’s voice. “Your Majesty, my deepest apologies for this incident. Supper is laid out below. Perhaps it would be best if everyone retired there now.”
The crowd, soothed, shifted, but then someone called out, “Who fired the arrow?”
“The real god Cupid, jealous of being supplanted?” Bey said, clearly attempting to pass it off, but it would never work.
Diana said, “I fired the shot.”
A way opened before her, but the guests exploded into chatter again. Enough gossip here to last a twelve-month.
She moved into the clear space near the king, and Bey immediately came to her side. The temple and the grass before it were empty once more, except for a bloodstain.
Blood she had spilled…
“You are skilled with a bow and arrow, Countess?” the king asked, seeming more startled than angry. Yet.
She gathered her composure. This time, she would not collapse. “It is an interest of mine, Your Majesty.”
“Perhaps you hit him by luck?” the king offered.
It was an opportunity to escape, but she would not take it. With only a slight glance at Bey, she said, “No, sire. I am quite skilled with a bow, though more so with a pistol. As these skills have twice saved the man I love, I cannot regret them.”
A new burst of exclamations from the crowd around.
Bey took her hand. “Lady Arradale and I have a debate ongoing about who should be protecting whom, sire, but I admit that I cannot regret it either. A strong, courageous wife, skilled in the defense of herself and others, is a pearl beyond price.”
Diana’s breath caught, in joy at the declaration, but in fear at the challenge he had just thrown down before the king. Few here would know that it went against the king’s beliefs, but the king recognized it, and his expression froze.
After a moment, he said, “I see, I see. Well, let each man choose his own meat, I say, and,” he said, turning his back, “let us all go and choose our meat from the marquess’s feast, what? What?”
He led the way out of the ballroom, the company streaming after, buzzing now with speculation that the great marquess might be out of royal favor. For seeking to marry the peculiar countess?
In moments, Diana and Bey were alone beneath the full, glowing moon.
She waited for him to speak, but then plunged in herself.
“Wife?” she asked.
He suddenly took both her hands. “Do I assume too much? There is still risk—”
“Life is risk!”
He laughed softly. “I think someone else said that to me recently. And,” he said, humor wiped away, “brought another dark thought to mind. You bearing my children.”
“Dark?” she queried, a sick feeling growing. Could he still not accept that possibility?
“Your mother did not bear children well.”
She sucked in a deep, relieved breath. “My mother bore me very well, apparently. She could not carry her other babes long enough, that is all.”
“That must be heartbreaking of its own.”
“So,” she said, “I carry a risk too. I’m willing to trust the wings and fly.”
He brought her hands slowly to his lips. “I am unaccustomed to allowing myself such wicked self-indulgence.”
She brought their joined h
ands to her lips and kissed his, holding them tightly. “I’m not. Surrender to Diana and the moon.”
Was heaven almost in her hands?
His eyes were dark and steady. “I have been lectured on the beauties of imperfection. I am, all imperfection, yours, if you do not mind.”
She stared at him in dazed disbelief. This was true? He was hers? If she did not mind?
“A full life,” he said, “with risks as a full life must have. But if the gods are kind, with love, joy, and fruitful labors.”
She wrapped her arms around and hugged him as tightly as she could. “Damn you, I’m going to cry.”
She felt him laugh, then his lips on her unmasked cheek, kissing away tears. He pulled off his own mask, then hers, then kissed her, questing at first, then settling.
Their kiss, with all the magic it had brought them from the first.
Entwined, they kissed beneath the glowing moon, a kiss unhindered this time by other things. They explored the different textures and tastes, blending souls through heat and moisture, assuring themselves that yes, the maze was conquered, the battle won, the wondrous flight begun.
After, she leaned against his chest, within his arms.
“Was that yes?” he asked, but a deep warm contentment in his voice told her he knew.
“I want to be alone,” she whispered. “Together, alone, for days. Weeks. Forever.”
She felt his head rub against hers. “In time, for a little time. Now, alas, we must deal with the aftermath. But first,” he added, “I have a star for you if you will take it, my lady.”
He slid the ring off his little finger, and held out his hand.
Trembling, she placed her left hand in his. “I feel as if I could truly fly. Shall we go up to the roof and try?”
He laughed. “Reckless wench. Even with a Malloren, all things are not possible.”
“Reckless,” she said, savoring it. “Are you a little reckless now, Bey?”
“I am what I am, love, and somewhat raw with newness, but like a newborn I need you as I need breath. Can you bear it?”
“Can I bear anything else?”
DEVILISH Page 35