Suppressing a smile, the Hunter returned his attention to the gardens around him.
Ah, Maiden's Fields, you truly are beautiful. He stopped to smell a flower—something I expect an empty-headed noble like Lord Anglion would do—before resuming his stroll.
The Snowblossom trees were in full bloom at this time of year. Delicate white and pink blossoms drifted slowly to the floor like a lazy velvet snowfall, their sweet scent filling Maiden's Fields with a heady aroma.
Every flower, bush, and tree came into bloom during the Season of Plenty, nature's final farewell to the summer. Winter would soon descend upon the city, but not before the people of Voramis celebrated life with feasts and festivals in honor of the gods. It was the last hurrah before the harsh winter winds and snows caused the temperature to plummet.
From his vantage point on the hills of Maiden's Fields, he stared out over the sprawling city below. The skyline sloped sharply downwards from Upper Voramis, and few of the buildings in Lower Voramis rose higher than two or three stories. Only the massive structures of the Temple District rose to the level of the mansions of Upper Voramis. Indeed, the obelisk that honored the Swordsman stood nearly as tall as the imposing Palace of Justice itself.
His destination lay beyond Maiden's Field, but he had hours before night fell and the festivities began.
I think it is time Lord Anglion is seen in public. Perhaps eating a fine lunch at Volieri's.
The Hunter hated to leave the park and the beautiful Snowblossom trees behind, but he had a mission to complete. Part of it was playing the role of Lord Anglion.
Time to act like a spoiled lord of Praamis.
Chapter Six
A crescent moon stared down on the busy avenues of Upper Voramis, but the myriad lamps and torches casting a soft glow on the streets outshone the stars twinkling above.
Truly, thought the Hunter, staring out the window of his carriage, nightfall transforms Upper Voramis into a magical place.
Upper Voramis was home to only the richest nobles of the city. Their opulent mansions towered high, offering peerless, breathtaking views of the city below and the plains beyond. With the Season of Plenty in full swing, every manor sported festive decorations, colored lamps casting multi-hued light, and garlands made from aromatic blossoms. Only the Palace of Justice transcended the houses of Voramis' wealthiest.
Tonight—and every night for the coming week—parties, balls, and gala events distracted the lords and ladies of Voramis. This evening's festivities celebrated the Illusionist, the god of coin, success, and madness.
Carriages clattered through the cobbled streets, the rattling of their wheels echoing in time with the gentle clopping of hooves. Teams of horses clattered in and out of the mansion of Lord Geddellan Dannaros, host to the gala soiree that was the envy of the city. Friends of Lord Dannaros counted themselves fortunate to receive an invitation, as only the most affluent members of the peerage attended this event on Illusionist's Night.
Heresiarchs—the guardians of the city—strolled the streets in crimson dress uniforms reserved for formal occasions. A few of the wealthier guards sported lace and ruffles at their wrists and neck, an attempt at opulence complemented by gilt-worked scabbards—though the swords within were plain, utilitarian things. The uniforms were a pale imitation of the garments worn by the nobles, but those fortunate few felt pride at being a part of the festivities, even if only as spectators. Only Heresiarchs with the right family connections received a posting to the wealthy district.
The bright red uniforms of the Heresiarchs looked almost threadbare compared to the elegant gowns and tunics worn by the nobility of Voramis. Gold and silver jewelry adorned noble necks, wrists, and fingers, and precious stones glittered in the light of torches and lamps.
The Hunter's carriage slowed as it neared the entrance to the House of Dannaros, and pulled to a halt at the magnificent marble walkway leading to the main doors of the mansion.
As he dismounted, the Hunter tried not to stare at the men and women emerging from the carriages around him. They wore bright clothing cut to the latest fashion, and he guessed many of the outfits cost more than a working man earned in half a year of hard labor.
The Hunter couldn't help but marvel at the breathtaking opulence of the Dannaros mansion as he walked through the huge double doors. He stared at the room around him, struggling to keep his mouth from hanging open.
Light flooded the hall, shining with such brilliance that the torches burning on the wall were as candles by comparison. An enormous gold-worked chandelier hung from the ceiling, adorned with hundreds of sparkling crystals. Music floated up from the enormous ballroom below, where elaborately dressed aristocrats whirled around the dance floor.
Some whispered that Lord Dannaros' wealth exceeded the king's. Judging by the sheer elegance of the man's home, the Hunter guessed the rumors might not be far off.
It seems the flesh trade is highly lucrative. Disgust filled him, but he took care to keep it from his face—the face of Lord Anglion.
The bright, lace-festooned garment popular in Voramis this season chafed, rubbed, and constricted in all the wrong places. The pompous, pretentious nobles around him looked all too comfortable in their lace and tight outfits, but sweat drenched the Hunter’s undergarments.
"Presenting the Lord and Lady of Brightkeep," the Dannaros' herald bellowed. "The Lady Muniset of Heredos, and Lord Anglion of Praamis."
The Hunter descended the stairs, his senses reeling from the display of wealth. The plush carpet covering the marble staircase made the Hunter feel as if he walked on a cloud, and he knew the bloodwood railing beneath his hand was worth a fortune.
Gods how I hate this disguise, the Hunter thought. He fought to restrain himself from tugging and adjusting the stuffy, intolerable wrappings. Unfortunately, Lord Anglion's face had to remain a mask of utter delight. He was a guest at the gala event of the year, and his hosts awaited him at the foot of the staircase.
"My Lord Anglion," Lady Dannaros purred, "how good it is to see you again!"
Lady Dannaros was considered one of Voramis' great beauties, and the Hunter found the reputation well deserved. Dazzling green eyes sparkled above a perfectly shaped nose, and her luscious lips spoke a word of greeting that was drowned out by the noise of the crowd around him. Her platinum hair hung in tight ringlets, adorned tastefully with golden pins set with jewels.
Perfect dress indeed, the Hunter thought. Master Aramon spoke the truth.
The woman's gown plunged at the neckline, revealing her ample curves in a display that would have tempted the Hunter's imagination had she been any other woman. Lady Dannaros had a reputation for being fiercely loyal to her husband, and Lord Dannaros' defense of his wife's honor had sent dozens of men to early graves. Out of respect for his hosts, the Hunter kept his eyes on the lady's face.
"My Lady Dannaros." The Hunter bowed low and kissed her hand with reverence, inhaling the heady floral scent of her perfume. "It does my heart good to gaze upon your beauty once more. How long has it been since my last visit?"
"Almost a year to the day," Lord Dannaros said from the stair below his wife. Reaching up, he grasped the forearm of the man he knew as Lord Anglion. "You had me worried, Harrenth. We thought you might not arrive in time for the festivities. I know the Windy Plains are rough at this time of year."
The Hunter could only think of the word “strong” to describe Lord Dannaros. Piercing eyes stared out from beneath heavy brows, and the man had a handsome nose, a well-defined jaw, and a masculine chin. The Hunter felt tight sinews on Dannaros' forearms, and there was power in the noble's firm grip and callused hands.
Soulhunger whispered to the Hunter as he stared at the man he had been hired to kill.
Later. He pushed the blade's voice to the back of his mind.
"Ahh, good Lord Dannaros," the Hunter said, with a forced smile he hoped appeared genuine, "you know nothing could stop me from celebrating the Season of Plenty in Voramis. Praamis is s
uch a dull city at this time of year, and I absolutely had to see the Snowblossom trees in bloom. Besides, when I heard that my friend Lord Dannaros had planned a gala event, the matter was immediately decided."
"Good, good. I am glad you have joined us, my Lord Anglion." Something behind the Hunter caught Lord Dannaros' eye. "If you will excuse me, my friend, I see that Lord Ravell has arrived."
"Of course," the Hunter replied.
He and Lord Dannaros exchanged bows, and the Hunter watched the noble stride off in the direction of an aging lord approaching from across the ballroom floor.
"My Lord Anglion," said Lady Dannaros, drawing the Hunter's attention once more. "I notice you have not brought a companion along with you. I take it this means you are still one of the most eligible bachelors in Praamis?"
"Yes, my lady," replied the Hunter. "Curse my ill luck, but I have yet to meet the lady who can match your charm and grace." This elicited a dazzling smile from Lady Dannaros. "Had the good Lord Dannaros not laid eyes on you first, I believe I might very well be wed this day."
Lady Dannaros' laughter rang out, turning the heads of those around her. "Ever the golden tongue on you, my lord." She laid a slim hand on his arm. "Now, if you will excuse me, my lord husband calls."
She motioned for a passing servant, who handed the Hunter a glass filled with bubbling wine.
"Drink this down, Anglion, and we'll see if one of the ladies of Voramis can't spark your interest tonight. Until later, my lord." With a smile and a nod for the Hunter, Lady Dannaros minced away in a flurry of ribbon, lace, silk, and soft curves.
The chilled wine had a light, airy flavor reminiscent of spring berries, with a scent mimicking the fragrance of Snowblossom trees.
Damn, that's good. I must get more of that wine.
He scanned the ballroom until he found a tray-laden servant. The attendant slid through the crowd toward the Hunter, who nodded his thanks as he took a fresh goblet.
Drink in hand, the Hunter surveyed the party. Hundreds of guests whirled around the dance floor, and those along the walls had already found their way into various stages of inebriation. One florid-faced man clung to a marble column for support, struggling to stay upright as he emptied the flagon clutched in his sausage fingers.
A miasma of perfume-laden scents hung heavy in the air, flooding his nostrils and overpowering his senses. He hugged the wall in an attempt to escape the smell, preferring to be alone in the pretentious elegance of the mansion.
The Hunter felt disgusted by those around him. He had no desire to join the figures moving around the massive ballroom. In fact, the longer he remained, the stronger his repugnance grew. He found himself wishing for the simpler company of Old Nan, Jak the Thumb, and even the perpetually screaming, eternally snot-producing Arlo.
How can I be so morose when surrounded by the wealthiest lords and ladies of Einan? I should be happy, enjoying myself. Why am I even here?
Truth be told, he knew he could have carried out his mission of killing Lord Dannaros without attending the soiree. Something had compelled him to attend—perhaps to find his place among the people around him.
Here, the persona of Lord Anglion would fit in among the noble and wealthy of Voramis. The Hunter beneath, however, felt as alone as ever.
The ache within his chest had not diminished since his arrival, even though he stood surrounded by a sea of people.
I know none of these people, and not one of them knows me beyond the occasional exchange of words.
He was as isolated as he had been in The Iron Arms, except here the scent of perfume filled his nostrils instead of the smells of vomit, piss, and cheap ale. His eyes drank in the opulence around him, as well as the men and women floating through the room.
Smug, arrogant bastards, each with their secrets.
He saw men who had paid him to kill, and the family members of those he had killed.
I may be the only one in disguise, but all wear masks this night.
Soulhunger's pounding intensified beyond his ability to ignore. The blade sensed the presence of so many victims dancing around him.
An intoxicating scent wafted toward him, accompanied a moment later by a voice he recognized.
"I see my lord is singularly unaccompanied this evening."
The Hunter felt a delicate touch on his arm. A tingle ran through him as the hand traced his muscles toward his shoulder.
Disdain or no, I find myself ever drawn to creatures like this. The frailties of being a man.
"My Lady Damuria," he said, turning to the woman and giving her a deep bow. "You look absolutely ravishing." He kissed her hand, lingering for a suggestive moment. "Your dress is truly a masterpiece."
"This old thing? Do you like it?" She blushed at his compliment and gave him a demure smile.
Lady Damuria wore a dress cut far lower than was common in the fashion of the season. The material was a thread away from being sheer, though small pieces of cloth covered the more intimate parts of her ravishing form. He might have found the dress repulsive, but his knowledge of what lay beneath the gauzy fabric inflamed his imagination.
And yet, she is married.
He forced his eyes upwards, taking in the full lips, the button nose, the long black lashes curled to perfection, and the deep blue eyes staring back at him with a hint of amusement. For one moment—this moment—the ache in his chest was all but forgotten in the presence of the creature before him.
Was married, he corrected himself.
"Forgive me, my lady," the Hunter managed to stammer out. "I must admit, the beauty of that dress has boggled my mind and rendered me an ill-mannered boor."
"Then it has served its purpose, Lord Anglion." She gave him a smile filled with innuendo and temptation.
"I can say, without a doubt, it is a garment quite unlike any of the others in this ballroom."
"I knew you would like it, my lord. When Lord Dannaros invited me to his party, I had hoped you would be here. It felt like the perfect dress for the occasion."
"It truly does your beauty justice, my lady. I see your hand is empty, a situation I must immediately remedy."
The Hunter motioned for a passing servant, retrieving two glasses and handing one to Lady Damuria.
"My thanks, Lord Anglion. Ever the gentleman." She took a delicate sip from her glass.
"And your lord husband, my lady?"
Lady Damuria's face registered a flash of annoyance, but her features softened quickly.
"My lord was called away from the city on business of an urgent nature. He is due to return any day."
Of course he is, the Hunter thought. Do you even know where he is? Do you know that he lies rotting at the foot of Dead Man's Cliff?
Aloud, he said, "It is his misfortune that he is not here, but I consider it my own good fortune to see you otherwise unaccompanied this evening."
"Lord Anglion, you are too kind," she replied with a provocative smile.
The Hunter held out a hand. "My lady, in lieu of your husband, I would be honored to take a turn around the dance floor with you."
"Of course, my lord."
Her hand felt soft and warm in his as he led her into the center of the ballroom. He marveled at the sensuality of her movements, the way her hips swayed with every step. She turned to face him as they began to dance, her eyes teasing him.
The Hunter was fully conscious of his hand nestled in the soft hollow of her back, and she pressed against him as they moved in time to the music. He fought to keep his body from responding to the sensations flooding him. A sly smile flitted across Lady Damuria's lips as he lost the struggle.
"My lord," she said in mock surprise, her voice breathy and seductive.
Damn it, he thought. Like a schoolboy peeking into a bathhouse.
He whirled her around the ballroom, fighting to control his desire. The trilling music, the flurry of elaborate, colorful dresses, the intoxicating effect of the wine, and the feeling of warm flesh in his hands set the Hunter's h
ead spinning. He found enjoyment dancing with this beautiful creature in his arms, who responded so well to his every touch.
It felt like an eternity passed before the song ended and the sound of applause filled the room.
An insistent pounding in the back of his mind brought him back to reality.
Feed me, Soulhunger whispered, hidden in its sheath beneath his clothing.
I'm not here to dance, he reminded himself. Can't let myself get distracted.
Lady Damuria clung to the Hunter's arm as they walked to a nearby table. He deposited her in a chair but remained standing.
"I apologize for leaving you, my lady, but business beckons. I must speak with Lord Argenes before he gets too far into his cup of wine. My father's interests must be attended to."
A look of mock anger flashed across her face. "You men! You can't stop doing business even when trying to enjoy a bit of pleasure." The Hunter heard the emphasis placed on the last word.
"My lady, it pains me to leave your side even for a moment, but I must." He pointed to Lord Argenes, a sinewy white-haired noble with flushed cheeks and a glassy stare. "As you can see, that good gentleman is one drink away from losing his battle with gravity."
"Very well, Lord Anglion. I will grant you this indulgence."
"My thanks, my lady." The Hunter kissed her proffered hand. "If I am able and you are willing, I must have another dance with you before the evening is through."
She graced him with a teasing smile. "I make no promises that I will be free throughout the rest of the soiree, my lord."
Before he could respond, she pulled him close, pressing her warm body into his. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered, "But I will be free once it is done. Tonight, in my tower."
The Hunter was keenly aware of the swell of her breasts and hips pressing into him. Her hot breath on his ear sent a shiver of anticipation coursing through his body. His nostrils filled with the scent of her desire. For a moment, his temptation warred with disgust at his own needs, but the outcome was inevitable.
Darkblade Assassin_An Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 6