by S. Young
Surely that said much of his character.
Thoughts of my parents, however, caused guilt to roil in my gut. I could never trust a Stovia. If I felt this strongly—this hateful—toward Syracen for what he had done, surely Wolfe felt the same way toward me for exposing Syracen’s evil.
Frowning, I wrenched my attention from the captain and grew interested in two soldiers who appeared to be training. They parried and thrust with their swords—easy, fluid, strong. I’d always wanted to learn how to sword fight, but it was considered inappropriate for a lady to do so.
I realized that I’d probably never have a better excuse to thumb my nose at convention than I did now.
I lifted my skirts and strode toward the two soldiers.
“Officer Stark, isn’t it?” I enquired as I came upon them. “And Officer Reith?”
They seemed surprised that I knew them by name, but I had an excellent memory.
“My lady.” They both offered polite bows.
“Please.” I held up my hands. “It’s Rogan. Or”—I noted their appalled looks—“Miss Rogan, if you must. But I’m not lady anything.”
“Miss Rogan,” Officer Stark said, clearing his throat, “how can we assist you?”
I wasn’t a terribly good flirt, but I had learned from Haydyn that a soft smile went a long way. And she was right. They seemed to puff their chests under my feminine attention. “I was watching you train; you’re both very good.”
They flushed and murmured their thanks. I calculated their heights with the happy realization they were the perfect men for the task in mind. Not too tall nor too broad.
“I wonder if you might teach me how to use a sword.”
Reith’s jaw dropped before he remembered himself and smoothed his expression. “A sword, Miss Rogan?”
I offered him an even sweeter smile in gratitude for calling me Miss Rogan. “Yes. Nothing too difficult, of course, but I do think with us traveling into Alvernia that it might be of use for me to know how to defend myself.”
The men shared a look, and I was relieved to see they weren’t too shocked by the idea. In fact, Officer Stark nodded determinedly. “If you wish it, Miss Rogan, then we shall teach you.”
I grinned, excited, unable to believe they had acquiesced so easily. I was so used to being treated like Haydyn, like I was a piece of precious glass that would shatter at the slightest touch.
Reith, the shorter of the two, approached. He drew close as Stark spoke of eight basic angles of attack while Reith demonstrated where they were on my body. Then he walked behind and leaned into me as he held out the sword. “You must learn to hold it just so,” he said as he wrapped his hand over mine around the hilt.
So engrossed in their teachings, laughing with them as I thrust the sword like a limp noodle, I didn’t hear his approach.
“What the bloody hell is going on?”
Reith jumped away from me as if I were poisonous, his face flushing guiltily.
I turned to face Wolfe. “We were—”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Wolfe snapped. “Officer Stark?”
Officer Stark shifted uncomfortably. “Miss Rogan asked us to show her some basic sword training, Captain. We didn’t see any harm in it.”
“Any harm? Any harm?” Wolfe seethed. “She could have walked into the damn thing, for haven’s sake.”
Blood flooded my cheeks and I bit my tongue from screaming at him like a banshee. “Captain Stovia,” I fumed. “I am not a fool. I am perfectly capable of avoiding the sharp end of a sword!”
“And”—he ignored me entirely, knowing how much it would further enrage me—“Lady Rogan is to be addressed as such.”
“I asked them to call me Miss Rogan,” I retorted.
He growled, “Well, I’m un-asking them.” His eyes sparked like blue fire. “From now on, if she requests anything, you ask me first before you acquiesce.”
“Yes, sir.” They obeyed.
Wolfe marched away, his spine stiff with irritation.
“I have a name!” I called out to him lamely. She indeed.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Officer Reith whistled. “I don’t know what it is about you, Lady Rogan, but you’re the only one who ever makes Captain lose his composure.”
I frowned and Officer Stark nudged his partner, silently telling him to shut up.
Understanding dawned on Reith’s face and he flushed with embarrassment. He’d remembered then that it was I who had forced Wolfe’s father’s demise.
“Yes,” I replied wryly, “a man tends to react that way around his archenemy.”
I began to walk away, deflated that Wolfe had ruined my lesson. Then I stiffened when I heard Reith mutter to Stark, “I’m not sure that’s what gets Captain so hot.”
I grimaced and kept walking, finding Wolfe among his soldiers as he ordered the men back onto their horses. Of course he saw me as his enemy. Why else was he always baiting me? I wasn’t an idiot—Wolfe hated me as much as I hated him.
And I’d be waiting when he finally came to take his vengeance.
Knowing how to use a sword in the event of such a situation would be useful.
I grumbled under my breath. The man was an antagonistic prig.
I refused to speak with Wolfe after he humiliated me in front of his men; he, in turn, refused to speak to me for enlisting his men’s help behind his back.
He rode ahead the entire way to Peza, and I glared at his back without distraction. Lieutenant Chaeron kept making amused little sounds from the back of his throat but I ignored him, somehow thinking if I stared long and hard enough, the power of my mind might knock Wolfe off his horse and onto his ass.
Having sent one of the men ahead to let Grof Krill Rada know we were arriving, we were met at the gates by Grof Krill’s guards and escorted through Peza to the grof’s home. I stared in wonder at Peza, almost oblivious to the people and their waving and exuberant calls of welcome. I was amazed by the similarities to Silvera. It was as if Silvera had been copied by a master artisan and plunked down in Peza. The architecture was the same, the street plan was the same—even the market square seemed the same, if only a little smaller.
The difference, however, was in the splashes of vibrant color everywhere. Tapestries hung on the outsides of buildings and murals were painted on brick work. I winced at the thought of having to clean and replace those tapestries, and at having to refresh the murals every few years. But this was the city of art—it made sense that the people wished to display their work wherever they could.
The lieutenant caught my astonished expression and grinned. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“Extremely.” I was truly charmed by the colorful city.
The grof’s guard quickly led us out of the hubbub of the city to a gated district where large mansions surrounded a beautiful park. When they pulled to a stop outside the largest mansion, I gaped in wonder. I did not know that such buildings existed outside of Haydyn’s palace. With its pillared columns and gothic arches, the mansion was a jumble of architectural ideas … and yet somehow it worked. It was intimidating and palatial.
“Captain Stovia,” the captain of the grof’s guard announced loudly, “Vikomtesa Laurel Sans”—he pointed to the smaller mansion next to this one—“has graciously offered her house and stables for some of your guard. The rest of your men will find rooms and shelter with his lordship. Some will have to sleep in his stables, but I assure you they are spacious and comfortable.”
Wolfe nodded. “Thank you, Captain.” He turned to Chaeron. “Take a group of the men to the vikomtesa’s and introduce yourself. Get some rest. We leave tomorrow at sunrise.”
“So soon, Captain?”
We all turned toward the voice. It belonged to an elegant man who strolled toward us from the house, a huge wolfhound following at his heels.
A footman opened the enormous gates for Grof Krill Rada. His eyes found me. “Rogan,” he called up to me familiarly, and I noted both Wolfe and the lieutenant share
a disapproving look. “It’s been awhile.”
The last I had seen Grof Krill was three years ago. I had taken him for a quiet man, watchful and intelligent. We had barely spoken, at least not enough for him to address me so informally. Remembering why I was there, however, I offered a polite smile. “My lord.” I bobbed my head. “It is good to see you. I trust you are well.”
He smiled, his eyes traveling down the length of me. “I am now.”
I narrowed my eyes at his open flirtation.
“Well, Captain, help the Lady Rogan down from her horse,” Grof Krill snapped, and Wolfe dismounted quickly. I noted a muscle ticking in his jaw.
A flash of anger rippled through me at Krill’s attitude. Wolfe was not Krill’s captain to command. I reached for Wolfe without complaint as he lowered me from my horse. His eyes widened marginally, as if shocked I’d allowed him to touch me without resistance. Our gazes, still heavy with suspicion, locked, and the captain held me a moment too long. His hands seemed to burn through my dress where they gripped tight to my waist. My skin prickled with awareness.
I drew in a sharp breath at the sudden heat that coated my skin, and Wolfe relinquished his hold with such speed, one might think he’d pricked his fingers upon thorns.
“Rogan.” Grof Krill breezed past Wolfe to loop my arm through his. His stare was low-lidded and smoldered, much to my alarm. “I have such grand plans for us this evening. How does dinner and the opera sound?”
Exhausting, I thought.
“Wonderful,” I mumbled.
“I’ll accompany you,” Wolfe announced.
Grof Krill arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh, you will, will you?”
Wolfe strode to us, his face implacably hard. He matched Grof Krill in height and outweighed him in strength. “Lady Rogan goes nowhere without a royal escort, my lord.”
The grof sniffed haughtily. “We’ll be accompanied by my guard.”
“I said royal escort, my lord,” Wolfe reiterated arrogantly and then dismissed the grof by turning to the lieutenant. “Take the men to the vikomtesa’s, Lieutenant Chaeron. Ready them to leave by sunrise tomorrow.”
Dinner was a strange affair.
I was bemused by Grof Krill’s outrageous advances as he had never treated me with such overt flattery before. Surely the women at court would have mentioned Grof Krill if he was such a lothario. I definitely remembered him to be a somber, refined, and reserved man. I hadn’t known him very well, but I had thought him one of the more intelligent members of the Rada. What on haven had happened to him?
I patted the head of Krill’s wolfhound, Strider, as he lolled it in my lap, his eyes staring up at me adoringly. I really shouldn’t have slipped him that bite of chicken at the dinner table. We shared a frustrated look with one another as Grof Krill told me how beautiful the ladies of the opera were this season, although nowhere near as beautiful as me, he added. I nearly snorted. Just what did this character want from me?
Somehow, I managed to get through dinner, despite the grof’s appallingly bad flirting and Wolfe’s monosyllabic responses to questions posed by the Krill. I was so tense I was sure one pull of the laces on my dress and I would snap like a piano wire.
Things only grew worse. I had no dress to wear to the opera, so Grof Krill provided me with one. I flushed as his maids helped me into the red dress. Red. I had never worn red—it was a deep scarlet in plush velvet—not to mention I had never worn a gown with such a low-cut neckline. Oh, it was very fashionable, and all of Haydyn’s dresses were cut just so, but I had never really been comfortable displaying my somewhat voluptuous bosom. I blanched as they pulled my hair up off my neck, fastening pins here and there with expertise.
I looked like a fashionable lady of Peza. If you were clever like Haydyn, fashionable was elegance and refinement.
Fashionable on me was a little too bold and dangerous.
“I can’t wear this. Isn’t there another dress I could wear? Something a little less daring.”
The maids gasped. “No, my lady, you must wear this, you look wonderful.”
My reflection offended me. I didn’t look like myself. Exhaustion prodded my eyelids and pinched at my muscles. I just had to get through the next few hours and then I could find sleep.
As I descended the grand staircase in Grof Krill’s home, I watched as Wolfe walked into the entrance hall. The grof had obviously lent him evening wear; the crisp darkness of the tailored suit made his hair burn gold under the chandelier. I stopped to watch him as he stared up at a tall painting of the Silver Sea crashing against the cliffs. One could see the palace depicted in the distance. Wolfe examined the painting as I studied his handsome profile. What was he thinking? He looked so stark, so alone.
And I suddenly felt as if I knew him.
A strange flutter in my lower belly made me stumble and as I righted myself, I caught Wolfe’s attention. I flushed beneath his unwavering stare and met him in the middle of the hall. His jaw clenched tightly as he took in my attire.
“What?” I snapped, already feeling stupid and in no mood for his quips.
Wolfe cleared his throat. “You look beautiful.”
I narrowed my eyes. Obviously, he was mocking me. “Will you cease with the sarcasm for one evening, Captain?”
His mouth fell open at my rebuke but his riposte was interrupted by Grof Krill.
“Rogan!” We turned as he greeted me. For a moment he looked astonished at my appearance and then he smiled—a real, genuine smile—as he took my hand and placed a gentlemanly kiss upon the back of it. “Why, you look beautiful, Lady Rogan.”
Sensing he was being sincere, I smiled politely. “Thank you, my lord.”
Wolfe grunted at my side but I ignored the good captain as the grof escorted me from the mansion.
The opera was wonderful, the singers breathtaking, the sets incandescent. My senses were overwhelmed by the vibrancy and decadence of the opera hall, the wealthy, glittering audience and vivacious singers who took to the stage. The scent of jasmine hung in the air, mingling with tobacco. I had been to the opera in Silvera with Haydyn, but there was something different about being at the opera in the homeland of opera. Even the ogling nobility who recognized me from royal events and balls in Silvera did not sway my attention from the stage.
It would have been an unspoiled evening if Grof Krill hadn’t begun his insincere pursuit of me again. His fingers kept brushing my arms, my skirts, even my breast as he squeezed past me. I scowled, ready to eviscerate him if he tried it again. Thankfully, Wolfe hadn’t noticed the grof’s forwardness on that occasion.
Unfortunately, my enjoyment of the effervescent opera crowd and its stars was ruined by Grof Krill flirting. I attempted to lean away from him, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible.
Grof Krill placed my hand on his arm and with Wolfe at our backs, the grof led me out of his opera box and through the crowds outside it. He descended the stairs ahead of me and I understood his plot as he “accidentally” tripped on a stair, pulling me down so I was captured in his arms.
I grew flush with anger at his games and apologies as he kept hold of me, pretending he was trying to right my footing, even though I already had. I struggled little in his arms, desperate not to cause a scene. A warm, strong hand wrapped around my biceps and I looked up to find Wolfe glaring daggers at Grof Krill.
“Release her,” he demanded under his breath.
The grof smiled blandly and let me go.
I allowed Wolfe to hook my arm through his and the three of us descended the stairs, no one else having noticed our little tussle. My mind whirled with confusion. I knew now why Grof Krill didn’t flirt. He was awful at it! Which begged the question … why was he trying so hard to flirt with me?
I was grateful as Wolfe helped me into the carriage and sat beside me before Grof Krill could.
And then I tensed as I realized I’d been thankful to Wolfe.
Thankful for his presence.
Guilt filled me a
nd I sidled a little away from him as the carriage departed.
Having shooed away the maids who were waiting for me in the guest suite, I undressed and practically threw the offending gown into the garderobe. I dug through my traveling bag in agitation and drew out my nightgown. I was so angry. Furious and confused and I didn’t know why. I took a deep breath, pouring cold water from the ewer into the basin to splash my face. Afterward, I pulled on the nightgown and flopped down onto the stool by the dressing table. My face reflected in the oval mirror situated atop it, eyes dark with worries and fears and frustration. Gradually they blurred, and I grew numb as my face became more and more unfamiliar. Tears trembled on my eyelashes and I didn’t know why.
“You’re just tired, Rogan,” I whispered to myself.
I stilled at the sound of a key turning in the lock in my door. My pulse jumped wildly in my neck. Shooting to my feet, I delved quickly through my traveling bag and removed the dagger Matai had given me before I left. Sweat dampened my skin as I tiptoed barefoot across the room and stood behind the door.
Slowly, sinisterly, it opened inward. A black-booted foot appeared first. I waited as the familiar figure stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Disgruntled at my height, or more so his, I lunged up onto my toes and looped an arm around his neck, drawing him down so I could press the dagger in my other hand to his throat. He let out a startled yelp and halted, immobilized at the feel of cold metal against his skin.
“Grof Krill,” I growled, shocked and terrified that he had come into my room. Pride willed my body not to tremble.
“Now, Lady Rogan.” The grof held his hands away from his body, the key to my room glittering between his fingers. “I mean you no harm.”
I pressed the dagger until it pinched, and he hissed in pain. “No harm, indeed. What do you want with me?”
“Your magic.”
I was so taken aback by his answer, I inadvertently loosened my hold and he ducked out of it, spinning to face me. I thrust the dagger at him and he took a wary step back. “What do you mean?”