by Jane Godman
Silence hung thick and heavy in the vast room. It was like a child’s staring contest to see who would break it. Mildly amused by a situation that felt as if it was happening to someone else, Stella took the opportunity to gaze around the room. There was a definite swan theme going on. The middle, and larger, of the three stained glass windows depicted the story of the god Zeus seducing Leda in the guise of a swan. The window panels on each side were pictures of goddesses with female forms adorned with the white wings of a swan. Some of the murals featured chariots drawn through the skies by swans in flight. Beautiful, but a little obsessive.
Tired of the game, Stella spoke first. “Well, this has been nice and I’d love to stay and chat for longer. But I’d like to go to my room now, please.”
“I will take her.” Tanzi spoke for the first time, moving swift and sylphlike to Stella’s side before Moncoya or Vashti could move. “Which room?”
“The queen’s chambers, of course.”
“No, not my mother’s rooms.” The venom was back on Vashti’s face.
“Since she is to be my wife, where else would she go?” Moncoya was beginning to sound bored.
“Anywhere else. She—” the look she threw at Stella could have stripped the gold paint from the walls “—is not worthy to occupy my mother’s rooms.”
“You do not make the decisions here, Vashti.” Moncoya turned his frown from her to Tanzi. “Take Stella to the queen’s chambers.”
“Look, if it’s a big deal I can just as easily have another room...” Stella broke off as the thread of Moncoya’s temper snapped.
“I will not be questioned!”
Tanzi gestured for Stella to follow her. “It is wise to do as my father wishes,” she said as they followed a long, scarlet-carpeted corridor.
“What happens when you don’t?”
Although Tanzi’s eyes were blue they were so dark that, at times, they appeared black. She turned their full magnetic force on Stella now. “Bad things,” she said quietly and, without elaborating further, continued along the passage.
Throughout the building Moncoya had intertwined his nostalgia for the medieval with his knowledge of the very latest technology so that the whole palace was a combination of ancient and modern. Tanzi led Stella up a flight of stairs and past sleeping quarters that showed a strong Gothic influence and through more corridors embellished with paintings and frescoes of Otherworld women. Valkyries, sidhes, nymphs and vampires in various states of undress gazed down at them from pale pastel walls.
The queen’s chambers occupied one of the turrets and were decorated in a style that made Stella wonder what sort of woman Moncoya’s first queen had been. She clearly was not one who compromised when it came to her own comfort. In addition to a bedroom bigger than Stella’s entire studio back in London, there was a sitting room, dressing room and bathroom. Stella waded across a carpet so rich and thick it seemed to swallow her feet up to her ankles to place her bags near a mirrored wardrobe that lined one wall. She would have to be careful not to lose her belongings inside it.
The room had a swan-shaped dressing table and the tiles in the luxurious bathroom formed a swan mosaic. A beautiful robe made of white silk edged with white feathers was draped over the end of a bed so vast it could have easily accommodated five people.
“Swans seem to be a popular motif around here. Is there a reason for that?”
“Our mother, mine and Vashti’s, was a Valkyrie.”
Stella dredged up what little she knew of Valkyries from her limited knowledge of Norse legends. The fabled Viking goddesses were not only famous for their fighting skills, they could also transform themselves into swans. A tough act to follow. It seemed to be yet another reason for Stella to be glad she wasn’t sticking around for the actual ceremony. She touched the swan-feather robe and wondered if Moncoya liked his sexual partners to dress up. The thought made her shudder and she quickly withdrew her touch.
“You must miss her very much. How old were you when she died?”
Tanzi’s laugh sounded like a silver bell ringing in an empty room. “She is not dead. Vashti and I were babies when she left because she could stand to live with my father no longer. Does that sound like a warning? It should.”
It did. Stella stared at the closed door after Tanzi had gone. The highly polished wood looked expensive, like something out of a glossy home-decor magazine. It also looked a lot like a prison door.
Going out onto the balcony, she gazed down onto a grotto, where little waterfalls and colored lighting created the impression of a mysterious cave. Her chest tightened at the memory of Cal’s cave. The only place she had ever thought of as home. It wasn’t that she liked living like a Neanderthal enough to make her miss the cave. It had felt like home because of Cal. She wondered where he was and if she would see him before Moncoya captured him. There could be no doubt about his ability to escape a prison cell. But Moncoya would know that. If he had Cal in his power, would he allow him to live? The thought of Cal putting himself in danger for her was unbearably painful.
* * *
What did you wear for your own betrothal feast when you didn’t really want to be there? Wardrobe decisions didn’t get much tougher than this. Stella suspected that between them, Moncoya and Tanzi would raise the glamour stakes of the occasion through the roof. And who knew what the other guests would wear? None of it mattered, of course. But if she turned up in the shorts, black tights, ballet pumps and striped jumper she had been wearing when she arrived, Moncoya would smell a rat. A bigger rat. The faerie king already had the scent of rodent in his perfectly carved nostrils.
Stella flipped a hand through the items she had purchased the day before in the Plaҫa de Catalunya. The only reason for the shopping trip had been to provide an excuse for delaying her arrival at La Casa Oscura. Limited time and funds meant she had selected a few random items that were within her price range. She gave the results a final despairing look. There was only one item that was remotely suitable. It was a simple, black shift dress that hugged her slim figure and came to rest just above her knee. Viewing herself in this garment in the mirror, Stella had to admit that it looked good. She suspected that “good” was likely to be a long way from dressy enough on this occasion.
Her shoe choices were even more limited. The well-worn ballet pumps or her trusty Doc Martens. Neither said “bride-to-be hoping to make a good impression on the groom’s family and friends.” In fairness, she had never envisioned a situation in which she planned to kill her fiancé. Who knew getting the wardrobe details right in advance would matter so much? If the situation arose again, she would be forewarned. In desperation, Stella opened the mirrored doors. There was an eye-watering array of shoes inside, but weren’t the Valkyries of Amazonian build? It seemed not. To her surprise, she found a pair of understated black heels that fitted her perfectly. Having helped herself to these, Stella also selected a crimson cashmere wrap to lighten the funereal tone of her outfit.
A final glance in the mirror told her that her hair, which had grown and was slightly longer than her usual style, was behaving itself. On the outside she looked okay. On the inside she knew how the Christian slaves felt just before they were thrown to the lions. She had never needed Cal as badly as she did now.
Moncoya was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. He wore a white silk suit—the jacket of which had red-and-black embroidery in a Japanese design over one shoulder—and his trademark frilled shirt. Diamonds glittered in his ears and on his fingers. His makeup was flawless, his mane of hair wilder than ever.
He smiled appreciatively at Stella’s own understated outfit. “We complement each other perfectly.”
She resisted the impulse to run upstairs and change back into her shorts. A familiar, and very welcome, voice stiffened her resolve.
“Sure, me darlin’ girl, why did you not send me the dress code? I knew
nothing about the black, white and red theme.”
Lorcan strode through the castle doors with all his usual nonchalance. It took every ounce of Stella’s resolve not to hurl herself at him and demand that he should get her out of there right now and take her straight to Cal. His blue eyes quizzed her face as he approached, and she guessed he knew exactly what she was thinking. His eyelid drooped into a quick wink before he turned to Moncoya.
“Your Majesty.” Moncoya inclined his head, acknowledging the deferential greeting. “I am honored to be invited to this gathering and delighted to be able to support my friend at her wedding. As her supporter, it will be my pleasure to be at Stella’s left hand throughout this feast.”
Stella could see Moncoya mentally reviewing the seating arrangements. “I am happy to welcome you into my home.” He didn’t look happy. With a nod, he walked away.
“His hairdresser earns every penny, don’t you think? You bearing up okay?” Lorcan asked as they prepared to follow Moncoya into the banquet hall.
“I’ve been better.”
“You’ll be just fine.” He lowered his voice. “The big feller is on his way.”
Those words acted like a shot of steel injected straight into Stella’s backbone. Gripping Lorcan’s arm tightly, she walked with him into the banquet hall. The room was full and the party chatter that had filled it prior to their entrance ceased instantly as they walked through the double doors. Stella felt the force of every single eye as she made her way into the center of the room.
“Have we just walked into the party scene from The Great Gatsby?” Stella murmured, taking in the old-fashioned glitz and glamour of the assembled company. Her attention was caught by the orchestra, who were seated on a podium at the far end of the room.
Lorcan followed her gaze. “The greatest musicians of the past five centuries. All dead, of course.”
“Ghosts?” Stella whispered.
“Yes, you could say they play a haunting tune.”
She groaned in response. The conversations around the room had started up again. She no longer felt as though she was being assessed from every angle. Although to say she was relaxed would have been an exaggeration. “So whom should we be looking out for? Who are Moncoya’s allies?”
“It’s difficult to tell just yet. There are a few leaders here I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of, but that doesn’t mean they have thrown in their lot with Moncoya. I hope not for all our sakes. There are some alliances no one wants to see.”
Before Stella could ask what he meant, her attention was claimed by a man who was so good-looking she decided he could only be a model. Then she remembered they were in Otherworld, a place where physical beauty was almost obligatory. Even so, this man was striking. There was no trace of a fiery ring around his unusual ice-blue irises so she assumed he was not a sidhe. Yet there was definitely something otherworldly about him. His features seemed to have been hewn from granite, resulting in razor-sharp cheekbones and a square, sculpted jaw. His white-blond hair had been shaved so that the stubble on his head was the same length as that framing his surprisingly full lips and, in contrast to his Scandinavian coloring, his skin was lightly tanned. Add in a lean, hard body in a perfectly fitting dark suit, and it was no wonder every woman in the room was casting envious glances in Stella’s direction. Lorcan, on the other hand, was frowning slightly as he moved closer to Stella.
“It is a great honor to meet the necromancer star of whom we have all heard so much.” His accent was unusual and he bowed low with old-fashioned courtesy, raising Stella’s hand to his lips. He was accompanied by another man who appeared to be a bodyguard. It didn’t seem odd that he should have such protection. In addition to his looks and impeccable manners, there was something imperial or presidential about the man, who was stroking her hand with his mouth. It was an oddly sensual caress. Stella got the distinct impression that he wanted to taste her flesh.
“Stella, allow me to introduce Prince Tibor.” From his expression, Lorcan might have been a disapproving parent greeting his daughter’s unsuitable prom date. Did he think she was going to forget Cal over a pretty face? Surely Lorcan knew her feelings for his friend went deeper than that.
Prince Tibor bowed again and made his way over to Moncoya. Side by side, Moncoya and the newcomer certainly made a striking pair.
“Well, he seemed nice,” Stella said.
“Don’t be fooled by those old-school manners. You were lucky to get that hand back intact. Let’s just say, in Tibor’s case, it’s safe to say his bite is worse than his bark.”
Stella actually heard the gulping noise her throat made as she swallowed. “I take it he is the vampire prince Cal warned me about?”
“Yes, and that—” he nodded to where Moncoya and Prince Tibor were deep in conversation “—is exactly what I meant when I said there are some alliances none of us want.”
“He doesn’t have fangs.” As soon as the statement left her lips it seemed an inane comment. What she meant was that Prince Tibor did not look like the vampires she had read about in books or seen in films. But then Moncoya bore no resemblance to the faeries who were supposed to dwell at the bottom of the garden and Cal was nothing like the white-bearded, robed wizard of Arthurian legend. So she didn’t know why she should be surprised that Tibor didn’t fit the vampire stereotype.
“Be thankful for that. When he does you will need every ounce of your power to keep him under control. And don’t ever turn your back on Dimitar, his human servant.” He nodded in the direction of the bodyguard.
“I might be getting a bit ahead of myself here, but surely we don’t need to worry about vampires. They are undead. We can control them.”
“True, but just as Prince Tibor has Dimitar, every other vampire also has a human servant. We can exert absolute control over the vampires, and nothing over the human servants. They will obey their master’s orders no matter what we do.”
“So they have a substitute army in place?” Lorcan nodded, his face grim. “This just gets better. Now, he is more my idea of what a real vampire should look like. Tall, dark and dangerous.” Stella nodded to a man who had paused just inside the door. His height allowed him to scan to room. Lorcan followed her gaze and groaned, his expression clouding further. “Who is he?”
“Trouble. That is Jethro de Loix, one of the few bad necromancers I’ve met.”
Stella looked again. With his swept-back wavy hair and hawk-like profile, Jethro had a look that belonged to another era. He should have been a riverboat gambler, a smuggler or at the helm of his own pirate ship. He looked like a man who thrived on danger. “And he’s the one who has offered to fight me for money?”
“The very same.”
“This day just keeps getting better. What about the werewolf leader—what’s his name? Nevan? Is he here as well just waiting for a chance to tear out my heart?” Stella cast a fearful glance around for anyone who looked—or perhaps didn’t look—like a werewolf.
“I can’t see him, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Moncoya still had a few tricks up his sleeve.”
Chapter 20
The guests began to make their way to the tables and Moncoya returned to Stella’s side to offer her his arm with an old-fashioned bow. The scene became a bustle of activity as the first course was served and wine was poured. Stella was conscious that she was once again the object of considerable scrutiny and gossip. The glances sent her way ranged from the speculative to the frankly incredulous. She hid a smile. I’m not what they expected. Good. Let’s hope I can surprise them some more.
Moncoya made a great performance of taking a sip of wine from his own goblet and then offering it to Stella to drink from. It seemed to symbolize something important to him. When, to humor him, she took a sip, a ripple of applause went around the room.
“We have shared food. In the faerie tradition that
is a commitment even greater than the marriage ceremony.” Moncoya’s eyes blazed fire into Stella’s.
Stella thought of all the times she and Cal had companionably eaten from the same bowl or drunk from the same cup back at the cave. Somehow, it comforted her that, even though she had known nothing of the tradition until this moment, Moncoya’s attempt to ensnare her had been thwarted by her prior attachment to Cal.
Her status as the main attraction didn’t last long. Even above the noise within the banquet hall, it was impossible to ignore the fact that there was a commotion taking place in the corridor outside. Heads began to turn away from Stella and toward whatever was going on.
Lorcan paused in the act of devouring an elegant fish dish. “Sounds like the big feller has arrived.”
Stella’s heart began to pound wildly. Her appetite had deserted her anyway, even though the food looked delicious. Placing her knife and fork down, she clasped her hands together beneath the table. Pressing her nails into her palms until it hurt seemed to be the only way to stop the desperate trembling that had seized her limbs.
“I don’t care what’s going on. I have to speak to her...now!” The door burst open and Cal erupted into the room just ahead of a group of pursuing sidhes. He halted, glancing swiftly around. Seeing Stella, he launched himself across the space between them. It cost Stella every ounce of self-control she possessed not to meet him halfway and hurl herself into his arms. Instead, she remained stock-still, conscious of Moncoya’s gaze burning into her profile. Play your part, she reminded herself.
“I’m afraid you are mistaken. Admittance to this party is by invitation only,” Moncoya said when Cal was mere inches away.
Cal ignored him. “Stella, this is madness. Don’t do this.”
He reached across the table for her hand, but before their fingers could connect there was a flash of movement and Vashti had pounced upon him, her broadsword poised between his shoulder blades. Stella sprang to her feet, aware of Lorcan doing the same at her side. Dozens of sidhes poured into the room and surrounded Cal, who now lay sprawled facedown on the floor. This is what he planned, Stella told herself. He can get away from Vashti anytime he wants. Even so, she wished he didn’t have to make it look quite so convincing.