Flintlock (Cutlass Series)

by Ashley Nixon

  “I’ll make time for that, Matt, I promise,” Cove replied. “It’s been very busy recently, you understand.” The ambassador gestured to the ridiculous line that had gathered behind him.

  “Of course! Wouldn’t expect anything less from our ambassador!” the governor began to shuffle past Cove, nodding to Hollow. “How’d y’do, Hollow?”

  Hollow nodded as the governor and his wife passed into Cove’s home. After giving Hollow an amused look, Cove’s eyes fell upon an all-too-familiar carriage. It had been in the driveway earlier in the day. His chest filled with fire. There were two people in that carriage he didn’t want to see. Cove could try to be civil, but the bubbling inside him at the moment told him he wasn’t going to keep his composure. Since returning from sea, he’d never actually seen Sara and Ben together. They’d been a rumor. A nightmare, really.

  Cove glanced at Hollow and the senator nodded, not needing an explanation for his sudden wish to depart. Cove turned from the entrance and was about to disappear into the crowd when he heard his name called.

  “Cove!”

  He hesitated. Damn him, he could have acted like he hadn’t heard her and continued on, but she would know he was ignoring her. He paused, took in a breath, and turned to face her.

  “Sara,” he intended to smile, but he found it difficult to think at all. He stood there numbly, taking in the length of her stature. She was dressed in a loose white gown, and the only embellishment was the diamond collar of her dress that dripped off her shoulders elegantly. Her curls were soft and fell around her face. Her cheeks were brushed with soft pink, and she glowed full of health, of life…of love for another person. It was maddening for him to look into her sapphire eyes, so round and innocent, as if she had never hurt him. Despite that, his fingers ached to brush her curls behind her ear. He had once, long ago when they had been just friends.

  In her hands she held her mask, a brittle thing of white and black lace that glittered subtly. Sara was never one for extravagance.

  “You…” He let out a breath. “You look lovely.” He could feel the glaring black eyes of Hollow Dallon on him, cursing him silently for turning around.

  Sara smiled as if she were relieved he was even speaking to her. After their encounter earlier in the day, this was likely her attempt to assure herself nothing stood between the two.

  “I’m so glad I caught you,” she continued. “H-how are you?”

  “Well,” he said nodding, then he smiled awkwardly, wondering why she always asked him that. “And you?”

  “Good,” she smiled. “Save me a dance?”

  “Of course,” he agreed, and just as he thought to depart, he froze and set his jaw tight. He could only imagine how he looked; he felt like he might kill. Sara seemed to understand because she straightened and leaned away from Cove, clearing her throat.

  “My dear, you ran off so quickly!” Ben Willow appeared behind Sara and wound his arm around her waist. He was a tall man with brown hair cut short. He had a thin nose, thin lips, and gray eyes, eyes that never seemed to ease their critical stare when leveled at Cove. He was dressed smartly in a tailored white suit with a single red carnation blooming in his front pocket. With bitterness, Cove recalled that carnations were Sara’s favorite flower.

  “Ambassador,” he bowed. “How kind of you to agree to host the Autumn Ball. I do not believe I have ever seen your home,” his eyes rolled around the room once. “It is quite impressive.”

  “You pay the highest compliment, Mr. Willow,” Cove replied curtly. Then he smiled. “If you will excuse me.” He bowed to the couple and turned, disappearing into the crowded hallway.

  ***

  The room grew warmer as people wandered in through two sets of doors on the other side of the ballroom. Barren watched them. Some were not fazed by the beauty of Cove’s home, while others paused in the door to gape at finely crafted columns and marble arches which supported the second-story balcony. They were detailed with depictions of angels and Barren imagined the intricacy had made the stonemason’s hands bleed. Or they might be gazing up at the crystal-encrusted chandeliers, which hung two in a row along the ceiling. Perhaps it was the actual ceiling that caught their interest, as angels and clouds roamed overhead. Perhaps it was the splendor of the entire room, as it was grand, with tall windows extending from floor to ceiling, draped with equally luscious red fabric and gold tassels. The floor itself was marble and glossy, the pattern composed of black and white diamonds tinted with gold.

  Those who moved through the windowed doors on the other end of the room marveled at the rose garden which Barren had heard was filled with over one-hundred species of plants. They had been imported from all over the Orient and the Octent.

  But the splendor did not end there. There was a couple dressed completely in silver, their bodies draped in long folds of supple silk. Their heads were wrapped in the same silk, strung with pearls, and their faces were covered with silver masks. A woman had entered with a gold half-moon mask. Stars and moons embellished the arc, and her dress was composed of black velvet and gold silk. Another woman was dressed as a jester, her mask pale white with black eyes. A hat sat on her head with two long ears weighted down by gold bells. Her dress displayed colors of red, black, white, and gold. A man wore a blue and silver suit fringed with lace. His mask was white and gold, and feathers seemed to shoot into the air from his head. Barren shuddered at his eyes, which appeared to be black holes.

  There were some who were not so lavishly dressed. Men dressed in simple velvet suits with lace ruffles and simple masks that only covered their eyes. There were women who wore traditional ball gowns and masks fashioned from wirework. Barren liked them best. He did not feel comfortable in a place where he couldn’t rightly conclude who was among his company, which was why he found himself holding onto the hilt of his knife.

  Momentarily he would be even less at ease. Tetherion would arrive with his sons and his guards. They would fill the room, their red coats and gold sashes mottling the floor below. Barren had walked every corridor of Cove’s home earlier in the day seeking escape routes. He felt guilty, but there were just some things Cove could not control. Barren had to be prepared if they were found out and if they couldn’t make it to the tunnel. Luckily, there were enough woods about the property to aid their escape. The problems would come when they got to port. It was likely they could not get the ship to sea before gunfire sounded. There would be a skirmish, and people would die.

  And what would Cove do? Left behind to deal with the aftermath of his choice to bring Barren and his crew to Arcarum, would he be able to avoid persecution by simply denying that he knew of their presence here? Or would he succumb to judgment.

  Neither of those things were likely, and he needed to turn his thoughts elsewhere. He went in search of Larkin. He had not yet seen her, nor did he know how she would dress. Guiltily, part of him hoped she would decide not to come to the ball. He’d hoped that the fact that her father would be in attendance would draw her away, but her belief that her father had a secret did the opposite. Barren’s fear was that she might try to learn that secret tonight. He knew he should trust her more, but he couldn’t trust her curiosity. And when Larkin wanted something, she went after it, no matter the outcome.

  He was also becoming less and less patient as she defended her father’s actions. Sometimes it was simply because her father had a hand in his father’s death. Sometimes it was out of fear. What if this life wasn’t sufficient for Larkin? What if she found she missed life as a Lady? Part of him felt he could not blame her for wanting simple things like a hot bath, clean clothes, and a soft bed. He liked those things, too, but for him they were luxuries, experienced only on certain occasions. For her, they had been constants. Larkin had gone from one extreme to another. No preparation. He feared—no resented—the idea of her return to status, because that would mean he wasn’t good enough.

  Finally she entered the ballroom, and his eyes were drawn to her like he was drawn to the sea. I
t was the same pull that guided him, and he knew, even in places as unfamiliar as this, he would always find her. She was dressed in a purple gown, fitted to every part of her. A cape trailed behind her. Half of her hair was pinned with silver and pearls to hide her pointed ears. The other half was curled, and fell over her shoulders. Her mask was a light purple, almost silver, and glittered as she moved. Half of the mask bore a lace-like butterfly wing set with pearls. Her lips were red and her eyes the brightest green. She was not the most extravagant, but her presence drew gazes. She would be criticized for her tanned skin, a mark of lesser breeding, but there was no denying she was beautiful.

  He felt something hot against his chest and grasped the compass at his neck. The metal was warm to the touch. He looked down at the device; the needle was still spinning out of control. This was not the first time it had heated his skin, and he wondered if the compass was reacting to something.

  “Standing still as a statue will draw more attention than mingling,” Leaf commented as he passed. Barren drew away from the balcony to behold the Elf. He was dressed in a gold suit that shimmered beneath the light. The mask he wore was composed of plaster, and green and gold diamonds covered its face. A long nose plummeted off the front of the mask and pointed toward the floor. The Elf had taken to holding onto it as he walked, which drew many curious glances. At least he chose something that hid all hints that he might be of Elfish blood.

  “I’m drawing attention?” Barren questioned, raising a brow.

  Leaf shrugged. “At least I’m approachable.”

  “I’m approachable!” Barren argued.

  “As a cactus,” Leaf muttered and walked away.

  Barren scowled and decided to move from the balcony. He headed for the staircase, which would lead him into the very thick of the crowd, a sea of lace, feathers, and glitter. He would make a turn around the perimeter, observe what he could of the men and women below, make note of those who might be killers, and return to higher ground. He had reason to believe that if it was an advantage in battle, it would be an advantage here.

  As he came to the end of the stairs, his gaze met Larkin’s. She smirked, probably amused by how he looked. He wanted to go to her, but he resisted. She was still drawing too much attention. He nodded his head toward her and then moved into the crowd. Music which had been playing subtly in the background, grew louder, trilling through the large ballroom. Costumes converged, and the attendants of the ball began to dance in hypnotic circles. Barren watched as a man approached Larkin. They bowed to each other as she agreed to dance with him, directly defying Barren’s instructions.

  Barren kept his eyes on her as they danced. He wanted to look away, needed to look away, but his eyes held tight. He was reminded of his first encounter with her, watching her dance with his brother, William. The whole thing had been awkward and distant, no sign of splendor on either of their faces. Now she danced with a smile on her face, as if she’d missed it.

  Another couple caught his attention. The girl who had visited Cove earlier in the day danced with a man in a white suit. She seemed so lithe and small compared to her partner, who was broad and almost jerked her about. It was not completely his fault, however, as she seemed distracted. Barren imagined she was looking for Cove in the faces crowding them. He caught himself wondering how she’d dance with the ambassador. He’d come to discover there was a lot to be discerned from the simple act.

  When that dance ended, another partner rose to the occasion and claimed Larkin’s hand for a dance. Barren turned away then, unable to watch further. He moved among the observers, who stood with glasses of champagne and wine. Some watched the dancers, others spoke among themselves. He listened to their conversations, looked to see if they had weapons, observed their stance. Were they relaxed or tense?

  “I’m surprised the King would come so far with pirates roaming the seas in droves,” he heard a man comment.

  “Perhaps he does not fear them because he is in league with them.”

  Barren laughed. If only they knew the truth. It was likely that any pirate of Silver Crest would attack Tetherion if they encountered him at sea. He was a danger to them. But Tetherion was well versed in fighting at sea and so were his sons. The best trick of any war was to know how your enemy fights, to understand their weaknesses.

  “It would be no surprise. The Reed line is prone to stray,” the man continued. “Perhaps all of this pomp and circumstance is merely so Tetherion can meet with the ambassador. If they are both piracy sympathizers, it would be no surprise.”

  It was a ridiculous accusation, but it showed how disconnected the people of the Orient were with what really went on between the nobles. Barren wasn’t so sure he liked that. It meant they were unaware of where enemy lines lay, unaware, even, of magic.

  “I have heard rumors that Tetherion is renewing his relationship with the Elf-king,” the other man stated. “I wonder if it has anything to do with the disturbances in the west.”

  “What would the Elf-king have to do with the revolts in the west?”

  “Magic of course. Everyone knows he hoards his power. He’s probably planning to use it against us one day.”

  These were dangerous thoughts. They made Barren’s stomach turn. He knew the Elf-king could not wield magic, but that did not mean that the rest of the world believed it. They were not aware of Lyrics, which were a part of Elvish history, buried deep until recently. What had escaped from that history, however, were stories of magic. It also didn’t help that Elves kept to an isolated island and maintained their own rule, independent of Tetherion’s.

  “I think if Tetherion were a good king, he would take away the Elf-king’s power, maybe eradicate the species altogether.”

  “And what of half-Elves? The abominations born of inbreeding?”

  “Perhaps kill them, too—though he should spare the women. They are quite beautiful. It would be a pity to lose them.”

  It was like they knew he was here, listening to them. He gritted his teeth so hard his gums hurt, and his fingers began to ache from clutching the hilt of his dagger. He wondered if these men belonged to the Commonwealth. The way they spoke made him think so, and if that were true, he hoped whatever notice they had gained was fleeting.

  The band hushed, and Barren was brought back to the present. The voices he had been focused on were quiet. The dancers had paused, looking around in confusion at the silence. It was then Barren’s eyes focused on Hollow Dallon who had moved to the center of the steps. He was dressed all in black, and no mask hid his features. Against the black, his pale hair and pale face were more severe, or maybe his features were severe because he was about to introduce the king.

  “May I present to you his majesty, King Tetherion, Prince Datherious, Prince Natherious, and the royal court.”

  Barren scrambled farther into the shadows against the wall. It was easy to do since the dancers moved to form a pathway for the court to progress into the ballroom.

  Two servants pulled the doors open and in paraded Tetherion’s procession. The king’s guard marched at the head, dressed in their red coats and gold sashes, cradling black weapons. They fanned out into the crowd and took their places about the room. Then the common people bowed. Begrudgingly, Barren followed suit.

  The king entered, his presence striking in his blood red suit. White ruffles hung out of his sleeves and at his chest. A long cape dragged the floor, creating distance between him and the rest of his court. Upon his salt-and-pepper head sat a massive gold crown. In his hand, he carried a gold scepter, crowned with rubies. At his neck hung a beautiful medallion, though it seemed to contrast starkly with his other jewels. The medallion was a dark blue gem, and it appeared to have thousands of gold and white diamonds embedded within its surface. Eyes Barren had once found caring, now roamed the crowd, dark and austere.

  The traitorous twins followed their father. Datherious was dressed in emerald green, a red sash and simple gold crown designating him as royalty, not that anyone needed the fi
nery to figure it out. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and severe brows. His lips always seemed too red for his pale face, as if he’d just bitten into a ripe cherry.

  Natherious, always in the shadow of his brother, trailed behind him, dressed in blue. The thing Barren mistrusted most about Natherious was his indifference. Some might argue that Datherious shared the trait with his brother, but that was not so. Datherious reacted to things with passion and anger, violence even. Natherious appeared to have no emotional attachment to anything, making the tasks he carried out all the more callous.

  Christopher Lee was also in the group, attired in his common blue suit. He walked with his black cane, something, as far as Barren was concerned, he used to keep others from realizing his true strength. There was a change in his features. Underneath the coldness, he was tired. Darkness sagged beneath his eyes and the folds of his face seemed deeper. No doubt he would field questions about his daughter while here.

  Then Barren’s eyes settled on a new face, a woman he had never seen in Tetherion’s company before. What caught his attention was her bronzed skin and her dark hair. He bet if she opened her mouth, she’d speak with that clipped accent unique to the Octent. She was dressed in an extravagant gown, clearly meant to be the gem of the ball, despite her heritage. The bust was satin and gold, and teal and emerald threading created the images of peacock feathers. The skirt was a mix of gold, teal and emerald tulle. Her mask was gold embellished with emerald and a spray of peacock feathers. She walked with her shoulders back, and when she came to a halt at the center of the room, she surveyed the crowd, but the way her eyes roamed the faces surrounding her told him she was looking for someone.

  Tetherion’s voice finally sounded in the quiet. “You may rise,” he said. “Come, let us dance.”