“He got cut in a fight. Then we talked about the concert. He was more interested in that.” Which was true, as far as it went. She knew he’d killed the fetch and had taken his wallet, but so far Ambrose hadn’t asked that directly. She’d found it hard to lie to him, but she didn’t have a problem withholding information.
“Did your friend find Princess Amelie’s wedding band?” Ambrose asked, just as he’d asked twice before. “Look at me when you answer.”
She opened her eyes reluctantly. It sounded as if the fetch had retrieved the blasted ring from the hotel and never passed it on. “There was no mention of the wedding band.”
The fey’s face grew dark with anger. He flushed until he appeared almost purple, his brown eyes flaring to a deep, coal-hot orange. “Tell me the truth!” he roared. “Tell me the truth or I will suck it from the marrow of your bones!”
Lexie stared. After Justin, it took a lot for a threat to impress her, but glowing eyes did the job. Ambrose grabbed her chains, pulling the huge iron staples from the walls with his bare hands. They fell to the floor with a crash and clatter. Then he dragged her to her feet, gripping her by the upper arms. “Tell me!”
At that, he tossed her across the room, chains and all. Superhuman strength sent her sailing. Lexie’s limbs thrashed, desperate to catch herself. The only thing that saved her from smashing against the wall was the weight of all that iron. It dragged her to the ground in a painful, clanking heap.
“I don’t know where the ring is!” She squeezed her eyes shut, closing him out again. Her voice had gone tiny. “Honestly, I don’t.”
“Do you think to hold out until your white knight rescues you?” Ambrose prowled from one side of the room to the other.
Lexie didn’t respond. Nothing she could say would make a difference. Instead, she tried to gather her legs under her, grateful that she could still move.
“I wouldn’t count on rescue. After all, you’ve walked away from him before. Allergic to dogs, are you?”
That made her look up, a chill sliding down her insides.
“Oh, yes, I know what Mr. Kenyon is and who he works for. The supernatural community isn’t all that large, no matter what side you’re on.” Ambrose’s smile was real, but it was malicious. “I cleaned everything out of your rooms. As far as he knows, you’ve run away, just like you did before.”
“You can’t do that!” she said before she could stop herself.
“I can and I did, Ms. Haven. If you want anything to change, you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
She was suddenly afraid—not of the usual things like death or pain, but of leaving that loose end dangling. She’d seen the pain that caused the first time, the complete breach of trust. Don’t let him think I left because of who he is.
But she didn’t know anything about the ring. “I can’t help you.”
Ambrose reached down, using her collar to haul her up. Cloth cut into her throat, choking off her air, but he kept going until she was dangling with her toes just brushing the floor. “I could kill him, you know. A silver bullet is all it would take. I could build a fetch with your face to do it.”
Lexie clawed for air, fighting the heavy chains to scrabble at her throat.
But Ambrose just kept talking. “That’s how Leopold meant to be rid of the princess and his brother. By Marcari law, not even Prince Kyle could escape execution once he’s seen murdering his bride-to-be. No thanks to your lover, we have to start over on that one.”
The fey hurled her to the floor. She cried out as she hit the ground, but the noise was drowned by the cascade of chains. Tears sprang to her eyes, part pain and part grief. Faran! She would save him any way she could, but she was trapped here, in cold iron, and she had no information to bargain with. Frustration welled up in her, a clawed, squirming savage thing. She began to sob, a deep racking wail of helpless rage.
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know!” she shrieked. It rang against the tiles like a curse.
This was the man who had destroyed her brother. Who had made her childhood a living hell. Lexie looped the chain on her right wrist around her hand, a primitive corner of her mind planning to beat Ambrose to death with her shackles.
His nostrils flared as if she smelled foul. “You know, I’m starting to believe you. Your brother never withstood me this long.”
“He was a child!” Lexie screamed, and swung the chain with all her fury.
But physics were against her. The long chain made a savage clank against the floor, but she could barely scoot it across the ground. Ambrose sidestepped her attack with a look of distaste.
“Useless creature. I’ll give you some time to think of an answer that might save your life.” With that, he slammed out of the room as abruptly as he’d come.
Lexie roared her wrath at the blank, motionless door.
* * *
When Sam and Faran reached the palace grounds, it became hard to think about anything but the crowds of people cramming the lawns. The pyrotechnic display being held tonight was an old tradition, dating back to a time when men wore curly wigs and women’s skirts were as wide as sofas. And while the good old days might have seen Handel, Vivaldi and their contemporaries providing the entertainment, tonight’s stage was graced by a series of acts, ending with a set by Maurice.
Although open to the public, the number of people admitted to the palace grounds was limited by lottery. Those who got in showed a token just like the one Faran had found in the anti-Kyle’s wallet. And, not all of the grounds were open. The water garden and the maze were roped off for safety reasons.
Taking advantage of the growing darkness, Sam and Faran found their way past the security ropes to the maze. Sam motioned him to silence. Another figure was drifting through the darkness. Faran recognized the silhouette and felt his spirits lift a notch. It was Dr. Mark Winspear, the Horsemen they called Plague.
Never one for pleasantries, the doctor gave a curt nod. “I’ve been busy while you two have been buffing your nails. The plainclothes Company members are in place throughout the grounds.”
They were standing on the west side of the maze, in the deep shadow formed by the great wall of yew and a boxwood topiary of an enormous lion. The two vampires seemed to merge into the darkness and, even though werewolves weren’t on their grocery list, Faran couldn’t help a primitive prickle of wariness. On nights like tonight, he was very glad to be on their side.
“So what about inside the maze?” Sam asked. “Have we eyes in there?”
“That will be us,” said Mark. “I was looking at the red dots marked on the map Faran found. There are, not surprisingly, five of them. I believe those are the positions around the central sundial where the participants in this ritual are supposed to stand. They were the original positions of some ancient standing stones.”
“They need the blood of the Haven line,” Faran said, swallowing hard to keep his voice even. “They’ll bring Lexie here.”
“We think so,” Mark replied. “But even with your information and what the Company has found out, we’re guessing at a lot right now. We need to wait and watch.”
Not what Faran felt like right then, but this was still his best chance at a rescue. Half levitating, half climbing, Mark and Sam melted into the shadowy treetops. Leaving his clothes under the yew hedge, Faran took wolf form and slunk through the trees, hunching beneath the bushes to watch the bare mosaic with its sundial in the middle of the maze.
Barely a minute later, a pair of security guards came through, walking quickly so they could leave the spooky paths again. As Faran heard their footfalls recede, the first band took the stage at the other end of the grounds. In the distance, the crowd roared approval.
Another handful of minutes passed, bringing his impatience to search for Lexie to a boil. There was little to see from his position under the dense
branches. A tiny moth fluttered past his nose. And then he saw feet. Two men and a woman, by the shoes.
“Where is the fetch of the prince?” said a female voice Faran didn’t know. They were in the middle of a conversation that didn’t sound friendly.
“Lost,” the man said in a sulky tone. “The fetch was chased just before that fool Maurice’s charity concert.”
“Chased by whom?” asked the woman. From his hiding place, Faran couldn’t make out her whole figure, but he saw she was carrying a basket. She dipped her hand into it and pulled out a tiny glass dish with a candle inside. She set it on the edge of the circle of mosaic tiles.
“The man sleeping with Haven’s daughter. Kenyon. He bears watching,” the man replied. “He is one of the Company.”
So the fey know who I am. That was bad enough, and the reference to Lexie stung like hot silver.
The woman took out another candle and set it a few feet from the first, then repeated the gesture, working her way around the circle in quick, efficient movements. She’d clearly done this before.
“Ambrose believes this lover killed the fetch.” This time it was the other man who spoke, and the voice turned Faran cold. There was no anger or urgency in it, but just the opposite. Cold. Inhuman. It was like listening to a glacier speak.
“Hello, hello.” A fourth voice sang out.
Faran’s ears pricked forward in surprise. Maurice?
“You’re late,” said the woman. She’d set candles all around the circle. Faran could see her fully now, a figure in a pale cloak. She snapped her fingers. The magic surged, making Faran twitch, and the candles lit in a single flare of flame. The tiny glass squares of the mosaic glistened like water, catching the candlelight and throwing it back to the night. The woman set the candle basket down and picked up a second, laying out implements in the middle of the circle. A scythe, a bowl, delicate silver manacles and a long-bladed knife.
Maurice was watching the woman’s every move, but if the contents of the basket bothered him, he gave no sign. He clapped his hands, nail polish glittering. “Got the ring? Got the girl? Where’s Leo? Let’s keep this snappy. My set’s at midnight.”
Faran’s ears went back. A crawling disbelief raised the hair of his ruff. He’d truly believed Maurice was on their side, but tonight was the night for disappointments. He thrust his nose forward a notch to see better. Maurice was pacing back and forth, his stage costume glimmering in the glow of the candles.
“You can be late. We are freeing a kingdom, fool,” said the ice-voiced man.
“Tell that to my manager,” said Maurice, the tiniest bit of ice in his own tone. “So, did you find the ring?”
Faran’s head hurt. Maurice was the one who’d told him about the tourists finding the ring after Leo dropped it on the croquet lawn. Clearly he was playing both sides. Or neither side. Or his own side.
The sulky man answered. “We think the Haven girl knows where the ring is. Ambrose is questioning her.”
Faran’s limbs lost all feeling. Images flashed through his brain in rapid sequence—Lexie in chains, torture, dungeons. He barely stifled a snarl.
“Tell Ambrose to bring the girl and that fool Leopold,” said the ice-voiced man. “My queen awaits, locked behind the iron gates of treachery. Let us do this thing and set the Dark Lady free.”
“The Haven girl will not speak.”
“I can make her talk,” said the ice-voiced man. “Go tell Ambrose to bring her here, and be quick about it. We don’t have much time.”
Faran heard a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”
With that, the first man left at a walk, as if refusing to be cowed. Faran ghosted after him on silent paws, retribution in his heart.
Chapter 27
Lexie swore she’d never eat marmalade again. At some point during her violent encounter with Ambrose, several jars had fallen and smashed, permeating the air with the sticky-sweet smell. It clung to the back of her throat, making her cough.
She hurt all over, but at least nothing was broken. One good thing about Ambrose’s temper tantrum was that he’d freed her chains from the wall. When she’d finally gathered her limbs and tried to move, she had been able to search the prison-pantry for a way out. It became immediately clear that the first step to freedom was getting out of the chains. They were insanely heavy.
The next twenty minutes she’d spent trying to pick the locks on the iron cuffs. So far she’d tried improvising a pick from an earring, and then the smashed-up lid of a marmalade jar. If she possessed any magic that could have helped, it was effectively blocked. The chains were pure cast iron, apparently forged for someone Faran’s size, by the size and weight of the cuffs.
Lexie paused. I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. She knocked the wax out of the marmalade jar and scooped out a glob of the gooey orange stuff. If the room had smelled of Seville oranges before, now she choked on it. She slathered it over her hand, praying her idea would work. Soap or hand lotion worked to get rings off. Why not marmalade?
She folded her hand as small as it would go and tucked the cuff under her opposite arm. And then she pulled. The cuff slid down over her knuckles and then jammed, cramping her thumb. With a curse, she jerked and hauled. She felt skin scraping off her knuckles and hoped bitter orange was a good disinfectant. She pulled and pulled, eyes streaming with the pain, but she thought of facing Ambrose again. Anger helped. Then she thought of Faran walking into their rooms and finding her gone. The look on his face. It shrank the pain to a pinprick.
Her hand finally wriggled free. Lexie dropped the sticky, bloody cuff to the floor with a gasp, stuck her wounded hand in the marmalade jar, and started on the other side.
By the time she was free, she was exhausted and bruised, her eyes streaming from tears of pain. But she’d just taken the first step. The door was the next challenge. She picked up her collection of improvised lock picks and started to work, but it was hopeless. Nothing she had was strong enough to manipulate the ancient iron hardware.
Frustration got the better of her. Lexie slumped against the door, swearing under her breath. Her gaze roved over the room again, looking for an easier solution. And then it caught on a shadow she hadn’t seen before.
She rose to investigate, running her hands along the wall. This side of the room was wallpaper rather than tile, decorated in a faded geometric print. She could feel a bump just next to the shelving and about five feet off the ground. A panel. The print had all but hidden it.
Lexie knocked on the wall, ignoring the sticky feel of her hands. The panel sounded hollow. She knew they were somewhere in the palace, and the palace had secret passages. A flicker of excitement revived her. If this was a way out, it was worth a try.
She used the broken jar lid to cut the paper around the panel, and then pushed, hoping the wood was rotten enough to give way. To her surprise, a catch clicked and the panel swung open an inch. But only an inch. The hinges were rusted.
Lexie had to pull hard to make an opening big enough to crawl through, which was barely enough to admit any light from the pantry. Maybe that was a blessing. What she could see was a mass of cobwebs and dust that roiled her stomach. A shudder rolled over her as she ducked and plunged into the disgusting mess. But then—there was light far ahead. Light meant a way out.
She crept into the passage, not letting herself stop until the tiny passage merged with another. Here, her way was cleaner and not so cramped. The light ahead grew brighter. Soon enough, though, she saw what the light was. A lantern sat on the hard stone floor, and next to it sat Prince Leo, bound hand and foot and gagged with a piece of tape.
Shock surged through Lexie, and she froze in her tracks. She and Leo were in the same predicament, and whatever stupid things Leo had done, she was instantly on his side.
She crouched next to him. His eyes flared, telegraphing hope
and a plea. Gone was the haughty, temperamental prince. He was scared out of his wits.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll get you out of here.” And she reached for the tape to free his mouth.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” came a familiar voice.
Lexie spun around. It was her stranger from the concert hall, but this time he was facing her. She knew the body, the way he carried himself, but he was wearing a mask. Nothing fancy, just a black silk affair that covered his face from forehead to chin. A hooded sweatshirt covered his hair and neck. Whoever he was, he liked his privacy. The disguise did nothing for Lexie’s nerves.
“What happened to you?” the man asked, sounding genuinely curious.
She ignored that and pointed at Leo. “Why is he here, like this?”
“He was Ambrose’s prisoner. Now he’s mine. What are you doing here?” He said it conversationally, as if they’d met at the grocery store. She’d seen just enough of the Company to know that was their way. Rescuing prisoners was just another day at the office—but was the stranger really a Company man? Was that something she dared question to his masked face?
She opted to play it safe. “Ambrose had me, too.”
The stranger sucked in air with a hiss. “Thank God you got away.”
“Yeah. It was exactly like you said. He wanted me for their ritual.” She looked at Leo. “But why him?”
Leo’s eyes tracked from Lexie to the man. They were wide enough to see white all around the iris.
“Prince Leopold was their dupe. They made him one of the Five long enough to get what they needed, and now they mean to use him as their puppet on the throne. I’ve been tempted to leave this idiot at their mercy.” The masked figure reached down, slashing the ropes that bound Leo’s ankles with one slice of a wicked-looking knife. “I didn’t realize they’d caught you or I would have rescued you first.”
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