Kissed by Death - Book three of the Trueborn Heirs Series

by Queen, Nyna

  Perhaps it was just an illusion and there was no water there at all? Alex bent forward and dipped her fingers in at the edge of the pond. Cold and very, very wet. If that wasn’t water, she didn’t know what it was. It didn’t feel particularly solid either. She flung the drops from her fingers.

  Bonny waved at her from the other side of the pond path. “Come, it’s not difficult. Just stay in the middle of the ponds. The spells sometimes become a little … glitchy … toward the edges.”

  Glitchy, huh? Alex arched an eyebrow and sighed, raising one foot over the water.

  Here goes nothing.

  Gingerly, she planted the toes of her sandal on the surface, expecting to end knee-deep in the water. The pond’s surface slightly gave way, goo-like, but it held her weight. She took a full step forward. Like walking on rubber planks. Ripples of light expanded from her feet where they touched the enchanted surface.

  It hit her. She was actually walking on water. Now, how about that?

  Alex still didn’t dare to linger, just in case the water had a change of heart and decided to go back to its natural state.

  “See?” Bonny beamed once she reached the other side of the ponds. “Quite fun, isn’t it?”

  “It’s definitely a unique experience,” Alex admitted. And she’d thought that the scented jewel-flowers at Frozen Time Square were the state of magical art. But this? This brought it to a whole new level.

  “I always wonder how they do it,” Bonny murmured beside her, her forehead furrowed in concentration as she studied the arcane glyphs embossed in the metal ring around the nearest pond. “Of course it’s mostly basic physics but there’s some kind of magical twist to it.” She sighed and gave Alex a penitent smile. “As a girl, I always wanted to take up arcane science and art studies. They even accepted me at Juleen’s College of Arcane Arts after I finished school.”

  Still absorbed in pondering the miracle of her dry feet, Alex glanced up, surprised. “Why didn’t you pursue it, then?”

  “Oh, my parents were strictly against it. They aren't exactly proponents of the arts.”

  “But your uncle is an artist, isn’t he?”

  Bonny made a face. “They say Uncle Ramier got lucky, but he is an airhead and I should rather do something rock-solid, you know, like, taking over the family farm… That’s why I enrolled for agricultural sciences and environmental management at St. Orkhans instead.”

  “If the arts are your passion, I don’t see why you shouldn’t follow through on it,” Alex told her.

  Now it was Bonny who looked surprised. “You really think so? My family isn't exactly wealthy. They can’t afford to pay for some immature folderol.”

  Ouch. She must have heard her share of it.

  Alex shrugged. “If it really is what makes you happy, you’ll find a way to make it work. We only have one life, Bonny,” she added softly. “It’s too precious to waste, don’t you think?”

  She pressed her lips together. Funny. Now, after all this time, she finally understood what Rachel had been trying to tell her all these years.

  The entire time she’d spent on the run, trying to hide away from the world, she’d been so focused on surviving that she’d completely forgotten to live. She had denied herself so much, telling herself that she needed no-one and that happiness and friendship were a luxury she couldn’t afford, too burned by past experiences and too afraid of further disappointment to even give it a try. It was a wonder Mitja and her other colleagues from the Jester’s Inn had tried as long as they had, given how she’d pushed them away over and over again.

  Looking back, the world had offered her plenty of opportunities to get out of her armored shell, but she’d chosen to ignore them all.

  And then, when she met Darken, Alex had played exactly the same game again. All the time she could have spent with him, instead of being hurt and suspicious and guarded… They could have had weeks together instead of only two days. Two short days filled with tiny moments of bliss, during which she had gotten a glimpse of how life could be—before it had been wrested from her once again.

  Alex swallowed hard, struggling to keep the howling emotions inside her under control. What she would give for just one more day with him. To just touch him one more time. And now she might have lost him forever.

  A cold feeling of despair wrapped itself around her, and Alex recognized her old friend self-pity. He was a treacherous companion in times of misery, oh-so understanding and forthcoming. So eager to support her with notions about the injustice of the world, confirming that she just didn’t deserve any better. But it wasn’t the world that had cheated her out of this chance at happiness. It was the Master and his sick organization, and Alex had no intention to run and wallow in self-pity. Not this time. This time she would fight for her happiness—and hope that she hadn’t forfeited her chance.

  A short distance behind the Walking Ponds, a knot of people had gathered. Polite applause splashed in their direction.

  “A life performance!” Bonny said excitedly and grabbed Alex’s hand, shoving them through the rows of spectators. When they reached the front, Alex paused, appalled.

  A group of ten people, all dressed in matching black bodysuits, were lying in a tangle on a stretch of cleared ground, writhing and moaning. Their faces were painted a stark white, except for a black triangle around their mouths and the shocking lines of their smeared, blood-red lipstick. Hand on heart, it was the most grotesque thing Alex had ever seen.

  “What … are they doing?” she asked in a half-whisper.

  Bonny looked a little lost herself. She leaned to the side to study the pledge on a stab. “Apparently it’s a reminder of the horrors of the Arcadian-Tharsian War,” she read and turned back to Alex. “It’s awfully creative, isn’t it?”

  Not trusting herself to do anything else, Alex grunted in reply. Awful about hit it.

  “How long until the auction begins again?” she asked, hoping the answer would be ‘soon’, just so they had an excuse to move on.

  “Ah!” Bonny winked at her. “Finally infected you, hasn’t it? Are you intending to bid on something?”

  “Sweet Jester, no.” Alex shook her head. “But I’m really interested in the pieces.” And even more in their donators…

  “Well, we still have a good hour,” Bonny told her after a glimpse at her horanium iactari. “Let’s go to the gallery hall. Of course, one hour won’t be nearly enough time to get through the exhibition, but we’ll have loads of time to finish once the auction is over.”

  Alex grimaced and hoped it passed for a smile. She would have to come up with a really good excuse if she didn’t want to be stuck here until the twelfth of never.

  The inside of the shell-building was delightfully air-conditioned and formed an entwined spiral with pictures lining both sides of the hall, separated by spotless glass casings showcasing little sculptures and vases and other knickknacks. People were walking alone or in small groups, trailing the walls and examining the pictures, lost in thought or muttering quietly amongst themselves.

  “Stunning, isn’t it?” Bonny beamed.

  “Mmhhm,” Alex nodded and followed Bonny to the first picture exhibited in their path.

  “That’s Elanta Agura by Michelle Savonne-Rei, isn’t it?” She motioned at the huge painting, making an effort to show some interest.

  Bonny gave her an approving nod. “You did your homework, Lexy! Then again, it’s one of her principal works.”

  In anticipation of this event, Heloise had given Alex a crash course on the most renowned artists and their works, so she wouldn’t come across as a complete low-brow. Since Alex’s knowledge in art equalled zero, it had proved a formidable challenge. In the end, the Dubois family matriarch had thrown in the towel and turned in, declaring that the real piece of art would be Alex performing any less than dreadful.

  Personally, Alex thought the old shrew was horribly exaggerating. It wasn’t like she hadn’t made any real effort, but there was only so much knowledg
e you could cram into your head in so short a time.

  Elanta Agura, a ‘highly acclaimed piece of old-contemporary art’, showed a gray rectangular box on a blue background with a wild coil of red, yellow and orange lines mingling on one side and sort of dripping out of the box.

  Bonny studied the picture with a rapt expression. “It has something, so … mysterious, don’t you think?”

  The only mystery, in Alex’s opinion, was why this picture had become so famous. “Puzzling,” she supplied carefully, trying not to sound overly sarcastic.

  “Yeah, right?” Bonny smiled. “Did you know that this picture was painted in the Primerian Era? Lady Savonne-Rei recorded that she got her inspiration from an event in her youth when she was…”

  Alex only half-listened to Bonny giving a full recitation of the collected knowledge on the painting, then on the one that followed and on the one after that, droning on and on about certain painting techniques and hidden symbols and interpretations Alex couldn’t see to save her life. She made sure to drop the right I’m-listening-comments and even asked the occasional question as she trailed the other girl through the hall, while silently summoning her sensory threads. They answered her call like obedient pets, winding themselves about her in an invisible coil and she cast them out, quietly spinning a delicate mental web and waiting for a very specific little insect to get caught in it.

  She still vividly remembered Edalyne’s face when she and Stephane had told her about the ‘plan’. Josy and Max’s mother had stared at them for a few long heartbeats and then had covered her mouth with one hand, turning deadly pale. “Mother’s mercy and Jester’s grace, you two are being serious, aren’t you?”

  Since that was a lot kinder than Heloise’s reaction had been, Alex figured they hand’t gone completely out of their minds.

  Sweet Jester, what was she thinking? Of course they were out their minds! Their entire plan was made of chewing gum and paper clips and hinged more on luck than anything else. However, it was the only plan they had, and Alex had been the one to convince the others that it could actually work. It was a little too late for second thoughts now.

  Something tugged on her web.

  Alex’s head snapped up. Now, that was fast. Inside her, the spider bared its teeth in a snarl. All too familiar vibrations shivered along her threads like a fish quivering at the end of a fishing rod, clearly standing out among all the other sensations she was picking up through her web.

  Male steps that were coming closer, unhurried, confident, projecting irrefutable entitlement. She would recognize that gait anywhere. Alex’s heartbeat quickened. Her claws pricked at the tips of her fingers, craving to be released. She rolled back on her heels and peered down the gallery, spotting him among a group of elegant lords and ladies strolling along the other side of the hall.

  Senator Cassius Roukewood.

  A burst of focused hatred flared inside Alex’s chest. Her lips curled back.

  Hello, Senator! Or should I rather say ‘Master’?

  Ruggedly attractive in a hard, masculine way and so full of shit it was a wonder that the air around him didn’t stink. A man who profited from the torture of others, who used his influence and money to elevate his position and to corrupt the system for his own personal gain, walking over dead bodies as if they were nothing but pebbles on a shore.

  How many deaths are on your head? Alex wondered malevolently. She bet he neither counted nor cared. He probably didn’t even consider the dead shapers at the Maria Carvalis Prison Camp to be murder victims. No, he wasn’t slaughtering innocent people, he was doing society a favor by removing the vermin. And who could blame him for making a little mint on the side?

  Alex stared at him, filled to the brim with loathing. He was the reason why she couldn’t be with Darken right now. The driving force behind all their troubles.

  She wanted him dead. Seeing his complacent visage, the desire to kill him became so strong, Alex had to dig her nails into her palms to keep herself from shaping, darting over, and sinking her true teeth into his neck. The spider inside her was biting the air and frothing at the mouth, but she held an iron grip on it.

  Oh, she wanted to kill him. She wanted to kill him so badly, she could almost taste his blood on her tongue. But killing him now wouldn’t help Darken. It would only land her in a death cell. They needed to expose Roukewood and his abominable operation, needed the world to see the giant web of lies he and his accomplices had created over the past fifteen years. Only then, Darken—and Alex herself—could be redeemed. That’s why she had to grin and bear it. For now.

  Biting her teeth together, Alex watched the senator as he ambled along the gallery, taking his sweet time to study the exhibited pictures as he did. His anthracite suit was impeccable and his dark hair and beard had been trimmed perfectly for the occasion, accentuating his strong chin and the hard line of his mouth. He looked relaxed in every possible way, yet Alex felt a slight tension in his gait. She also noticed the two bodyguards among his entourage who did a very poor job trying to blend in with the rest of the aristocrats. Although they wore no visible weapons, the two muscle heads were way too itchy and too uncomfortable in their suits and much more interested in the people around them than in the displayed art works, incessantly studying their surroundings through narrowed eyes. Like putting two trained attack dogs in a plush dog basket and hoping that made them look like pampered poochies.

  Afraid of an attack, Roukie?

  A cold little smile turned up the corners of Alex’s lips. She wondered if it had, by any chance, anything to do with Darken being at large. Thinking about it, it was probably quite prudent of Roukewood to invest in his security. Not that those two blockheads would be able to stop Alex if she truly decided to take a bite out of their employer…

  “Alexandre, are you listening?”

  Alex realized that Bonny had stopped talking and was frowning at her.

  She quickly arranged her face into an attentive expression. “Sure. I was just wondering”—she turned and randomly pointed at a colorful picture a little ways down the opposite wall—“could you tell me about that one?”

  Bonny’s face brightened immediately. “Hah, I knew there was a true appreciator in you somewhere! That one’s a real masterpiece.”

  They headed through a gap between two glass cases sporting beautiful pieces of jewelry—tiaras and bracelets so iced they were sure to drown you if you happened to wear them during a shipwreck—and halted in front of the picture, which was putting the two of them squarely in Roukewood’s path if he continued on his way.

  It was an acrylic painting of a naked man and woman wrapped around each other in passionate kissing. Their entwined bodies consisted of vibrant color blotches. The little plate beside the picture called it Rapture, and the artist’s name below was Jean-Pierre Arville-Mysom. If Heloise had mentioned him, Alex couldn’t remember.

  She immediately hated the picture, simply for the fact that the way the man cupped the head of the woman reminded her too much of how Darken had held her on the morning she’d last seen him.

  “Now,” Bonny said meaningfully, “what is particularly noteworthy about this piece is the expert use of the wet on wet technique that results in these gentle color transitions. There, see how the characters sort of dissolve into each other?”

  Alex nodded, although she was distracted by the approaching vibrations of Roukewood’s footsteps which were coming closer and closer around the bend.

  Fifteen yards … twelve … ten…

  Her entire body started brimming with tension.

  Seven…

  The shaper in her was so keyed up, she wanted to bounce off the wall and rake her claws across the closest thing in reach, yet for once she forced herself to listen to what Bonny was saying. “His color blending is almost unique.” Bonny was completely engrossed in the art work. “His lovers almost seem to melt into each other where they touch as if their love is binding them into one…”

  Five yards … four�
�

  He must have spotted them by now. As if on cue, the senator’s steps sped up. Alex dug her fingers into the folds of her skirt. Despite the overwhelming urge to look up, she kept her eyes firmly on the painting. Feigning interest in a detail, she bent forward, incidentally exposing a great deal of her cleavage with the move. “Fascinating.”

  “Lady de Nuy?”

  Alex let out a startled gasp and spun in place, making big eyes. “Senator Roukewood. What a surprise.”

  “A pleasant one, I hope?” Roukewood bowed his head with a small smile that clearly put the question in the rhetorical department.

  Arrogant son of a bitch.

  “But of course, my lord!” Alex curtsied deeply.

  She smiled at him from under her lashes while he took her hand and kissed her fingers. The urge to kill him became almost overpowering. Just a tiny little scratch and the bastard would be screaming and squirming on the ground. What a sweet, sweet fantasy.

  Roukewood’s eyes went past Alex to the picture of the snogging couple and he cocked his head in appreciation. “Rapture by Jean-Pierre Arville-Mysom,” he said without having read the plate. “Exquisite. A magnificent piece.”

  “One of my absolute favorites,” Alex proclaimed. “We were just discussing his unique use of color blending…”

  Roukewood raised his eyebrows. “You don’t cease to surprise me, milady. I wasn’t aware you were a fan of the arts.”

  “Oh, I’m certainly no expert,” Alex said with a modest wave of her fingers. “Not like Bernadette here, anyway. But I like beautiful things. Women do, don’t they, Bonny?”

  Bonny let out a rather high-pitched giggle beside her. “Yes, yes they do.” She was staring at Roukewood as though he were some kind of celebrity.

  Roukewood gave her a spare glance, as if noticing her for first time. His eyes snagged on the organizer’s badge on her chest—as well as the name pin above it—and widened just a smidgen before sharpening with calculating interest.

  Alex suppressed a smile of grim satisfaction. Gotcha!

  “Lady … Wintering, is it?” Roukewood lifted Bonny’s hand and breathed a kiss onto her fingertips. “But you wouldn’t happen to be related to Master Ramier Wintering, the exhibitor, would you?”