men. But Nicholas had heard that rough burr, almost a cur’s
growl once before, at a time so deeply etched in his memory
that he would have recognized that particular voice anywhere.
Dawson! His blood froze in his veins.
“Open the door,” he said to the soldier nearest him.
Dawson pulled a pistol and shouted a warning. The other
two drew their own weapons. Dawson aimed and pulled the
trigger. A soldier’s arm shoved Nicholas to the side. The shot
whizzed past Nicholas’s head, just as a knife sailed through the
air and sliced through Dawson’s throat. Dawson, gagging,
clutched at the knife and dropped to the ground. Nicholas’s pistol
smoked in his hand, as did Andre’s. The other two men lay
dead at Dawson’s side.
Nicholas looked to his left for the man who had saved his
life. Carlsohnn’s hand, the one that had shoved him and then
thrown the knife, was shaking, but his mouth was curved in a
beatific grin.
“It’s all right,” Carlsohnn said. “It’s all right.” The lieutenant
let out a gusty sigh of relief.
Nicholas’s heart was going like a trip hammer. He
dismounted at a run and flung open the carriage door. He tore
the blanket from the small, limp bundle on the floor.
“Sera,” he said. His hands were clammy, and his stomach
clenched. But she was breathing, and even as he pulled her
against his chest, her eyelids began to flutter.
“Ooh,” she moaned.
“Sweetheart, hold still,” he said, working at the ropes tying
her hands and feet. “I’ll have you up in a moment.”
“I think I am going to be sick.”
“Hold on just a moment. There. Lean on me and let it go.”
He held her head until the nausea passed and then wiped
her face with a handkerchief. “Be a good girl and lie down for a
moment, here, up on the seat.”
She curled up and moaned again, her head on his lap. A
soldier came with water, and Nicholas gave her a sip.
“Better? Good. That must have been nasty stuff they
drugged you with.”
”Awful. Nicholas.” She tugged his sleeve, pressing against
him. “I didn’t run away. There was a young soldier who rode
with me. He has a mother and ten brothers and sisters. They
shot him. You have to help him.”
He signaled two of the men, and they galloped ahead to
look for the soldier. “Of course you didn’t run away. You gave
me your word. No, give it a few moments until you get your
head on straight. Then I want to hear what happened. You can
tell me on the way home. We’ll travel in the coach, together.”
Sera was still so pale. It made him sick with worry. Had
Dawson—but no, he couldn’t think about that, or he’d go mad.
But had they given her too much of the drug? People died from
chloroform in the hospital.
“I want to get out of here,” she said. “It’s awful. It smells of
that stuff.”
“All right. Tell me when you can stand, and I’ll take you up
before me on the horse.”
“Now.”
“Slowly. That’s right, down to the ground. I’ll mount first.
No, let Andre lift you up to me. Captain! Another cloak. There,
nice and snug.” He tucked it around her, pulled her back against
him, and gave the signal. As they moved forward on the road
home, he found he was shaking all over.
***
“It is well. He has found her!” To the shock and
consternation of the guests seated around a small room in the
Mage’s palace, Jacob Augustus threw open the doors with a
crash. The sound echoed off the entryway and down the broad
halls of marble. He stopped, ashamed of his outburst. In his
relief, he’d raced downstairs from the watchtower wherein lay
the scrying glass and burst into a feast his grandfather gave in
honor of the festival of Hermes. Even a child of ten knew one
did not dishonor the god with such a careless loss of dignity.
“How good of you to come, Jacob,” his grandfather said
smoothly, indicating the couch beside him. “My grandson had
pressing personal business elsewhere,” he told the notables in
the dining chamber, “but we shall not pause from our discussion
to talk about it.” A servant appeared from nowhere. Reaching
up, he carefully placed a myrtle wreath on Jacob’s hair.
Emmanuel’s face was serene, but Jacob, looking closely,
saw joy light it, like a lamp in early evening before the sun has
set. “Please, dine with us and tell us what you think. Myron has
suggested that we add Euripides to the program of plays for the
Dionysia this Spring.”
Jacob composed himself and reclined against the pillows
at the head of the couch. A servant silently poured a cup of
wine mixed with water and handed it to him. Another
unobtrusively placed a plate of roasted lamb and a bowl of
yogurt and honey on the small enameled table by the couch. He
sipped the wine and took that instant to calm himself.
“My apologies, sir,” he said to his grandfather, “and to all
our guests. In this year of Outlander turmoil, I should think The
Trojan Women most instructive. Long ago, the fate of those
women brought tears to the eyes of hardened soldiers. Today,”
he added with a meaningful look at Emmanuel, “it will remind
us of why we were sent to Arkadia, why we were instructed to
remain separate, and what we have learned since.”
Emmanuel took the dig with a forbearance that made Jacob
ashamed of himself. Who was he to instruct his grandfather?
The talk of the festival went on around the room. “Jacob,
give us the tale of the Delian Twins,” his grandfather said. Jacob
wondered if Emmanuel could see into his mind and knew his
failing, or that he simply wished to make Jacob happier and,
therefore, calm within himself. He rose and took the harp from
the bard sitting in the corner of the banquet room. After a few
moments of tuning, he began the old song of the twins coming
into their strength, Artemis the Huntress, and Phoebus Apollo,
golden, far-shooting lord of the bow, all truth and light.
He loved this story. First, because he was dedicated to
Apollo and never tired of stories about the god. Secondly,
because the music was sweeter than most of the bard songs that
tradition allowed, and thus, he could raise his voice and revel
in the lyrical beauty of the notes.
It confused and humbled him that this secret temptation
should so overwhelm him. He would be Mage someday and
responsible for carrying out all the laws of Arkadia. They, of
course, included the ban on music that only aroused the senses
without uplifting the soul. Indeed, he’d so lost himself in the
hunger for music that he had learned to read the classical scores
of the Outlanders, turning to them with a desperation like that
of a man enslaved to drink or women. He’d felt an undeniable
longing to hear their instruments. In secret, he memorized their
notes and their harmo
nies.
Worse yet, when alone on the practice field with javelin or
discus, he would silently imagine himself singing the notes of
their composers and throw to the rhythm. It seemed that in this
temptation only, his soul was capable of duplicity and evil. Even
now, lost in the spell of the old music that he was permitted to
sing and play, he held the last notes too long, surely a sin of
pride. In spite of the appreciative murmurs from the diners, he
could look at no one as he gave the lyre back to the bard.
As he returned to his couch, the talk turned to the Dionysia,
the games and the plays, and the hope that this year’s prizes
would go to playwrights worthy of the old masters.
Drusus Antiocus, making a small motion to Jacob, spoke
quietly from the couch to his left. “It has come to my attention
that Thalia, the daughter of Leonides Palos, has come of age.
My son Lysander is in need of a bride. He had been set to ask
for your sister Seraphina some time back, before this regrettable
business regarding the Heart of Fire. It would have been a good
match—the Aestron Gift combined with our skill at mathematics
and telepathy.”
He gave Jacob a questioning look. “Shall I speak to
Leonides or shall I wait?”
Jacob nodded, signaling his understanding. He’d grown up
with Lysander Antiocus, respected his friend for the strong, kind
man he’d become, and admired Lysander’s calm demeanor and
good sense. The women considered him handsome, as well. He
would make a worthy bridegroom for Sera. He wondered if
Drusus came to him because he sensed that Jacob wanted his
sister back now. Whereas Grandfather would insist that she
remain in that hellhole they called the rest of the world.
It would not go on much longer. Jacob would see to that.
“Sera will return soon. My sister would bring honor to your
family, Drusus. And I would be honored to give her to my friend
Lysander. I shall tell him so, myself.”
***
After meeting with his council, Nicholas sent word to
Katherine that he wished to see her before luncheon.
She took one look at his face and said, “Do quit fretting.
Sera’s fine. And no, Dawson didn’t touch her other than to hold
her still while the others drugged her. She has a headache, of
course, but the doctor promises she’ll be fine by tomorrow.
When Wind Rider came back to the stables alone, I think we all
went a bit mad with worry. Thank the good God that you came
home early enough to catch them.”
“We have to discuss something else, Katherine.” He threw
the miniature of Galerien down on a small table before her. She
grew white as a ghost and turned toward the window.
“Is this to be my husband?” she asked.
“No. I would sooner marry you to a stoat. But Katherine, I
need time to rid Laurentia of the Brotherhood’s threat. I won’t
bother you with all the details, but for the meantime, please,
accept this betrothal, knowing that I shall break it as soon as I
can.”
She looked at him, her smile tremulous. “Am I to send a
shy but pleasing letter to Galerien, thanking him for this honor?”
He nodded, feeling like the lowest worm on the face of the
earth. “Just for a little while, Katya. If you could play him,
t’would make a difference, I think.”
“I shall compose something fitting by this evening. Do you
not think that he will be satisfied to receive it by return
messenger?”
“I do. I should like to propose a meeting between you and
Galerien here, for a month or two from now. That will keep him
quiet, I believe.” He couldn’t look at her.
“Nikki. The British—will they help us against Napoleon?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Nicholas didn’t even hear Katherine’s approach. Her
footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet. It was only when he
felt her take his hand that he raised his head.
She gave him such a look. He wanted to shout to her to hit
him, or to run away, but not to fix her dark eyes on him with
such love and trust when he couldn’t give her any comfort or
reassurance.
“You have done all you can do, Nikki. Don’t waste this
time in guilt. Take what you can from it. I certainly plan to do
so. And if the angels are with us—who knows? Maybe both of
us will be happy for the rest of our lives, no?”
When had his little sister grown up? She was right, Nicholas
thought. His troops, posted now at the border with Beaureve,
would repel Galerien’s army. Plans to attack the Brotherhood
base were well under way. There was nothing left to do but
wait, and hope.
He felt an odd lightening of spirit. For the first time, he was
no longer fighting shadows. He might be dead this time next
year, but in the interim, he would take what he wanted and give
back as much of himself as he could.
Nicholas left his sister and strolled the long hallway to his
chamber. A footman’s normally impassive gaze whipped to
Nicholas’s face. It was only then that Nicholas realized he was
whistling a rather bawdy tune he had learned at a tavern on the
docks of London when he was a student.
***
In the few days since he had rescued her from Dawson,
Sera found herself once again totally confused by Nicholas’s
behavior toward her. On the first morning, he appeared at her
chamber door several times, inquiring after her health to the
most minute details—how much of her breakfast she’d eaten,
how well rested she was, if she’d risen from her bed.
Not completely satisfied with the answers, he’d come into
the room to see for himself, bringing Katherine and Andre along.
“An unfortunate necessity, for propriety’s sake,” he’d told
her with a charmingly wicked grin—the reprobate. She’d steeled
herself then and managed a cool, impersonal mien. He hadn’t
seemed to notice. Instead, he’d questioned her closely about
the headache, a lingering result of the drug, insisted that she
not get up again that day, and checked what food Cook prepared
for her. A few days ago, she would have melted at his fussing,
but she was on her guard with him now, too. Perhaps guilt
motivated his actions.
She waited for the announcement of his betrothal to the
false princess, but it did not come. And she wondered what
unfortunate young woman Galerien had placed in that role.
Today, fully recovered from the effects of her abduction,
Sera faced the trial of her final ball gown fittings. She realized
immediately that Madame Sophie’s propensity for outrageous
gossip remained the same, and Sera took advantage of it. “Tell
me, Madame Sophie, what do you know about the princess
Catherine Elizabeth Galerien?”
“Oh, my dear child, you have nothing to fear. She is very
sick—some say she is a little fou, you understand. Her uncle
has sequestered her for so many years that th
ere must be
something very grave about her problems. No, you will not be
usurped by that poor little thing.”
“Where is she? Does anyone visit her? Do some of the lords
of Laurentia carry messages from the king to this princess?”
“No, no. She never receives anyone.”
Perhaps there isn’t a sham princess, at all, Sera thought
as the modiste prattled on.
“Once the marriage is consummated, and the heir assured,
I believe the king will return to you with the eagerness of a new
lover.”
“Kindly say no more.” Sera went hot with indignation at
Madame Sophie’s insinuation.
“Ah, my dear, you are such an innocent.” The modiste shook
her head and patted Sera’s shoulder. “You must look at your
situation as the way of the world. Mistresses have a power over
men that wives only rarely possess. And you already have that
power over the king. All the people watched you return to town,
myself among them. We worried, you see. You were half-
conscious at the time and so pale.
“But it was the king who surprised us, nay, shocked us that
day. For he rode with you in his arms, my dear. And he held
you as though he would never let you go. Did you not realize?”
she asked.
Sera grew hot with confusion and a thrill that sent her
perfidious heart soaring. “That day is rather blank in most
places.”
“Ah. Understandable. But so it was. You have nothing to
worry about from the little sickly princess. You will have no
rivals for this king’s love.”
Sera felt worse, really, than she had when Dawson drugged
her. The tawdriness of it all—a mistress waiting alone while the
man she loved bedded his wife for a child! And then, apparently,
they all expected that she would take him back to her bed, as
though nothing had happened.
Annette knocked at the door and entered holding a blue
gown across her forearm. “I hope you are almost done, here,
Madame. I have orders to ready Lady Sera for the afternoon.”
“Ah oui, I am finished.” The modiste dropped a curtsey to
Sera. “My dear lady, it is always a pleasure to serve you. Be
aware that we Laurentians have a great fondness for you.”
“You must hurry, my lady.” Annette laid the dress across
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