Fate's Edge te-3

by Ilona Andrews

  Audrey reached the end of the hallway and leaned with her back against the wall, holding her plate and her drink.

  One moment, she wished she hadn’t told him no; the next moment, she’d reasoned that it was the right thing to do, the best thing for them both. Would it be awkward now? Would he be angry, hurt? Would he act like nothing happened? The only way to find out would be to open that door.

  Knowing Kaldar, it could only go two ways from here. Either he cut his losses, or he would try even harder.

  She couldn’t stand here forever.

  Audrey made her way back to the suite. Her hands full, she banged her toes against the door. The door swung open, and Audrey almost dropped her plate.

  A trim man stood in the doorway. He was clean-shaven, meticulously groomed, but still distinctly masculine. His short hair, the color of dark brown sugar, was brushed back from his face. His long sideburns, shaped with surgical precision, made his face appear more narrow. He wore black leather pants of complex construction, with ornate Weird stitching and a wide-sleeved white shirt, with an embroidered high-necked collar. A vest clasped his narrow waist and wide chest, swirls and elaborate flourishes of pale gray leather over black. His hands, with perfectly clean, trimmed nails, were bare. He wore no jewelry except for a single silver earring.

  “Good morning, my lady,” he said. His smooth, cultured voice exuded quiet competence.

  It was Kaldar. Somehow, it was Kaldar.

  “Would you care to come in, my lady?” The new Kaldar stepped aside, holding the door with a slight bow.

  She stepped inside on autopilot. He shut the door behind her.

  “Your hair,” she said.

  “It was too dark before,” he said, his brown eyes solemn. “People tend to notice the extremes: hair color that’s too dark or too light stands out. By the nature of my role, I shouldn’t draw attention to myself.”

  He’d cut at least three inches off too, trimming his wild mess into a structured, functional haircut.

  She landed in a chair. Gaston was packing their bags. He wore dark brown leather, from his head to the toes of his tall boots. His hair had been brushed until it shone and braided away from his face. He put a wide-brimmed leather hat on his head and grinned.

  “You look like a highwayman.”

  “He’s our groom,” Kaldar said. “He’s meant to look menacing.”

  Gaston raised his eyebrows and bared his teeth. “Grrr.”

  Audrey laughed and picked at her fruit.

  The boys emerged from the back room, both scrubbed clean. George wore a white shirt, pants of a deep green color, tucked into gray boots, and a gray jacket, which was almost leather armor, with accents of matching green. His blond hair all but glowed, framing his face like a curtain. A blueblood prince from head to toe.

  Jack wore darker brown pants and a reinforced leather vest with brass-colored accents over a beige shirt. The vest sported a raised leather collar shielding his neck. Jack’s reddish brown mop of hair had somehow been coaxed into a perfectly slick bowl shape over his eyebrows that was completely wrong for his face. He looked about as happy as a boy who had just gotten himself a mouthful of overcooked spinach. Audrey choked on a piece of honeydew melon. “Jack, who did this to your hair?”

  George drew himself up. “It’s a very popular hairstyle right now.”

  “I’m sure. Do you like it?”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Go wet your head and bring me some hair gel. I’m going to play with your hair.”

  A moment later, she had a bottle of hair gel and a brush and a wet-haired Jack, who sat cross-legged in front of her chair. She worked the gel into Jack’s hair and began to spike it, shaping it into a calculated mess.

  “The trick is to own it,” she told Jack. “If you’re confident, everyone else will buy it.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Gaston asked.

  “George and Jack are themselves. I’m their tutor.” Kaldar turned to the boys. “My name is Olivier Brossard. I’ve been your tutor for two years. Declan hired me, and your sister Rose has the utmost confidence in me. Gaston, you’re Magnus, our groom.”

  “And Audrey?” Jack asked.

  Kaldar grimaced. “Unfortunately, there is no appropriate way to include Audrey in our party. Adolescent male bluebloods don’t typically travel in the company of a woman, unless she’s a blood relative. Audrey, you don’t have the knowledge necessary to pull off the guise of a blueblood.”

  “We could dress her up as a man,” Jack said.

  Audrey smiled. “You’re so sweet, Jack. Thank you for thinking of me. But even if we somehow managed to hide my chest, there is no way to disguise my face.”

  “I concur,” Kaldar said. “You are too pretty and too feminine. Even if I glue a false beard on you, you would look like a woman with a false beard and not a man.”

  That one casual word, “pretty,” made her heart speed up a bit. The way he said it, so matter-of-factly, just made the impact stronger. She’d fallen harder for Kaldar than she had thought. Well, what’s done is done.

  He was talking to her. “Would you mind staying in the cabin when we land? Magnus will stay with you to keep an eye on things, and we’ll sneak you into our rooms at night.”

  “That will be fine.” Audrey critically examined Jack’s head. His hair stood on end, not completely spiky but not completely curling, either. He looked like he could kick some butt. “I don’t mind hiding in the cabin.”

  She glanced at Kaldar, trying to gauge his emotions. But Kaldar was gone. Only Olivier Brossard looked back at her, with a calm, sardonic expression.

  THE wyvern circled the mountain, obeying the gentle suggestions of Kaldar’s long fingers touching the console levers. The huge beast turned and swept into the open. Next to Kaldar, Audrey leaned to the windshield. The California of the Broken was a desert in some parts, she reflected. The California of the Weird was all mountains, lakes, and lush greenery.

  In the cabin behind them, the boys completed final preparations: the right weapons, the right gear. A quiet argument had broken out between Gaston and Jack over the choice of a dagger, with George acting as a referee.

  Far ahead on the mountaintop, cushioned with the fluffy foliage of the Weird’s old forests, a castle thrust to the sky. Tall, majestic turrets and flanking towers of white stone covered by conical roofs of bright turquoise green stretched upward, connected by a textured curtain wall. In the middle of the courtyard the keep towered, six enormous stories of carved stone, touched here and there with green and gold. The six pinnacles on top of the keep proudly bore long standards of turquoise and gold.

  “It’s like a fairy tale,” Audrey said.

  “How many people do you think died carrying that stone up the mountain, my lady?” Kaldar asked casually. He had refused to let go of the Olivier persona, sinking into it completely, with his mannerisms and voice matching his new looks.

  “Dozens,” she guessed.

  “At the very least.”

  The great beast banked, and they saw the front of the castle. Its rampart, the forward wall, was three stories high and colored the same bright turquoise as the flags and the roof. Long gold shapes marked the turquoise. Audrey raised the binoculars to her eyes. Dragons. The gold shapes were dragons, carved by a master sculptor and positioned crawling on the walls. More dragons fought a valiant battle on the keep, and yet another long, serpentine creature wound itself around the corner tower.

  “Wow.” No expense spared. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  Kaldar arched his eyebrow. “All of my ideas are good ideas, my lady.”

  “I can think of a couple that weren’t.”

  A hint of his wicked grin touched his lips. “You are surely mistaken, my lady. I’m never wrong. Once I thought that I might have been . . .” His voice trailed off. He stared at the field below them, where several wyverns rested, each with a tent by it.

  “Kaldar?”

  “I know that wyvern.” He
spun to her. “I need you to go back into the cabin. There is a large wicker trunk near the back wall. It has a tulip on the clasp. There is a green gown in there. Put it on and style your hair.”

  “Why?”

  “Audrey, if you don’t do what I ask, I will kiss you until you do.”

  Oh, really? “I will slap you until you turn purple.”

  “I’m prepared for the consequences of our kissing,” he said. “Are you?”

  Good point. “Jackass.”

  She got up off the chair and climbed back into the cabin.

  “Have George fix your hair!” he called.

  “Shut up!”

  THE cabin shook as the wyvern touched down. Kaldar surveyed his crew. The boys looked the picture of aristocratic finery. Gaston oozed menace.

  “We’ll do fine. Just be yourselves, and we’ll have this in the bag. Morell de Braose will likely test you; don’t be eager, but don’t avoid it, either. It’s to be expected. Now is the time to pull out all of those etiquette lessons you complained about. Treat me as you would a trusted teacher. If you’re not sure how to handle something, come and get me. It will be expected of you to seek my guidance. Yes?”

  “Yes, Mother.” Jack rolled his eyes.

  Kaldar reached over and thumped him on the back of his head. “Yes, who?”

  “Yes, Olivier.” Jack grinned.

  “We have company,” Gaston growled.

  Kaldar turned to the windshield. Three riders approached. Two hulking men wearing bonded chain mail, lighter than steel but just as good at stopping a sword slash: veekings. Each carried an axe on his back and wore a solid, heavy sword at his waist.

  The third man hung back, riding with natural ease, as if he were sitting on a couch in his living room. He wore leather and a rete—an odd hybrid of a jungle hat and a standard traveler’s hat, one side bent up and boasting a merlin feather. The dark barrel of a long-range rifle protruded over his shoulder. He rode with one leg up on the saddle, and another rifle with a shorter, wider barrel rested on his knee.

  “Who’s the musketeer?” Audrey murmured from behind him.

  “That’s a Texas sharpshooter. See that short barrel? When he primes it, it splits on the sides and spits out a ball filled with shrapnel and charged with magic. It’s like lashing three or four grenades together and tossing them into a crowd.”

  “And the Vikings?”

  “They aren’t Vikings. They are the veekings. They’re pagan, they own Canada, and they live to kill. You’re looking at thirteen hundred years of martial tradition, forged by a religion that tells you if you die in battle, your afterlife will be glorious. Their blades are magically augmented. They’re a problem in a fight, especially if there is more than one.”

  Kaldar turned and lost his train of thought.

  He had forgotten about the green dress. A beautiful moss green, the gown hugged Audrey, sliding over her curves like water. Elegant, pleated at the bottom, the dress was cinched by a length of pleated fabric that wrapped around Audrey’s waist, sliding diagonally from right to left, supporting her breasts, twisting at the neckline, and flaring up to clasp her left shoulder. She’d curled her hair and lifted the golden red mass up and away from her face, leaving her neck bare. She looked . . .

  She looked . . .

  “Earth to Kaldar,” Audrey hissed.

  A knock sounded throughout the cabin.

  “Hide in the tulip trunk, love,” he whispered.

  She moved toward the back of the cabin, melting into the shadows. A moment later, the latch on the trunk’s lid closed.

  Kaldar nodded. Gaston swung the door open and leveled a short-range repeating crossbow at the closest veeking. The seven-and-a-half-foot-tall man sized Gaston up. Gaston bared his teeth.

  “Invitation,” the giant man said.

  Kaldar passed the rolled-up scroll over. The veeking looked at it for a moment. “Who should we announce?”

  “You shouldn’t,” Kaldar said. “But when your master asks, you should quietly tell him that George and Jack Camarine are here, requesting a short respite from their journey. They’re accompanied by Master Olivier Brossard, their tutor, and a groom.”

  The veeking peered at them. “Morell de Braose extends his hospitality. You are welcome to the main keep. A kareta will be sent for you and your belongings.”

  “Splendid,” Kaldar said.

  Five minutes later, a kareta drew up parallel with the wyvern. Sleek and aerodynamic, the vehicle resembled a small bullet train, with its ornate sides painted bright turquoise. The door swung open, and the operator, a slight dark-haired woman, stepped out. The back and side doors popped open, rising up like the wings of an insect, revealing eight comfortable seats inside and a space for the baggage, segregated by a folding wall.

  Gaston proceeded to load their trunks, making sure the tulip trunk went in to the side with plenty of room. Kaldar paused by the kareta with a slight bow. George emerged from the cabin, looking slightly inconvenienced, and proceeded into the vehicle. Jack followed. The younger boy had the most priceless expression on his face: halfway between boredom and apathy. Perfect.

  “Secure the wyvern,” Kaldar told Gaston. “Be sure to join us before dinner. I have some instructions.”

  Gaston inclined his head.

  Kaldar took his seat by the exit. The doors descended, the driver climbed into the front, separated from them by a sliding panel of metal mesh, and the kareta was off.

  Kaldar cleared his throat. A moment later, the folding wall slid aside soundlessly, and Audrey took a seat next to him. He reached over and carefully adjusted her hair, sliding a large ornate barrette into it.

  She looked at him.

  “Transmitter,” he mouthed, and tapped the small square of silver clasping the edge of his ear.

  The kareta carried them over the bridge, under two barbicans, and into the bailey. The doors opened. Kaldar stepped out and extended his hand, with a bow. Audrey put her fingers into his and carefully exited. The driver blinked.

  “Thank you for the ride, Master Brossard.”

  “My pleasure, my lady.”

  The boys emerged.

  “This is the place?” George raised his eyebrows.

  Jack shrugged. “I’ve seen better.”

  “Manners, children.” Kaldar held out a quarter crown to the driver. The woman decided to stop puzzling over Audrey’s sudden materialization and took the money.

  A man emerged from the double doors of the keep. Impeccably dressed, old, and grizzled, he paused before them and bowed. Precisely the kind of butler an old blueblood family would hire, Kaldar reflected. Morell de Braose was very concerned with appearances.

  The butler straightened. “My lords, my lady. Please follow me.”

  HE had lost his mind, Audrey decided, moving next to Kaldar at a leisurely pace as they followed the old man through a corridor. The polished green granite floor shone like a mirror. The wall alcoves displayed statues and paintings. She had no time to look closely at them, but she bet they were originals.

  She barely had enough Weird knowledge to pass on the street without drawing attention to herself. Navigating the Weird’s crème of society was way beyond her comfort zone. No doubt Kaldar had another brilliant and idiotic plan, and she couldn’t even ask him about it because they would be overheard.

  She wanted to push him into one of those little alcoves and punch him. Not that it would do any good, since he was apparently a lethal weapon in disguise.

  They entered a vast hall. The floor was white marble, the walls tastefully decorated with living plants in white vases. Here and there, clumps of ornate furniture provided little sitting areas. Two dozen people occupied the room. At the far left, a group of young men, obviously bluebloods or hoping to be mistaken for them, discussed something with great passion. A few feet farther, a beautiful dark-haired woman listened to a young man reading her something from a book. The young man wore glasses and peppered his reading with significant pauses. More to the
right, a man and a woman in their forties played some sort of board game. Two other men, one blond and one dark-haired, nursed wineglasses. The dark-haired man turned toward them. A slight change came over his face, his features somehow growing sharper. He stared at them with unnerving predatory focus, as if he were imagining breaking their necks. It was like looking into the eyes of a wolf in the forest.

  Good Lord.

  The man held Kaldar’s gaze. Kaldar smiled at him.

  The man turned away.

  Audrey exhaled.

  “What a handsome, friendly fellow,” Kaldar murmured.

  Handsome, yes—if you liked menacing and dark; friendly, no.

  On the far right, seated on a congenial grouping of plush chairs, three women discussed something with frequent gasps. Right, the younger men and the loud women were window dressing. The real players occupied the center of the room. Those four looked like cutthroats.

  The boys smoothly moved to the left, migrating toward the group of younger men. Kaldar led her to the left as well, and murmured, “Please go to that dark-haired woman next to the kid with the book and tell her, ‘Aunt Murid sends her regards.’”

  AUDREY let go off Kaldar’s hand and started across the floor. Jack turned to see where she was going. Ice shot through him. At the far wall, next to some man with a book, stood Cerise.

  His gaze swept the room, and he saw William giving him a death stare from the castles-and-knights board game spread out on the table.

  George saw Cerise too and stopped dead in his tracks.

  Kaldar turned, hiding the left side of his body, and gently pushed him forward with his left hand. “Keep moving.”

  Jack found his words. “But that’s—”

  “Keep moving.”

  “We’re dead,” George said. “We’re so dead.”

  They continued to drift.

  DO I curtsy or do I not curtsy? Do I bow?

  She would murder Kaldar for this.

  On the right, a younger woman joined the giggling gaspers on the chairs with a short curtsy. Okay. Curtsy it is.