“The atrium.” Morell rose. “Delaver, escort Lady Candra and her companion to the atrium, please. Make sure their needs are tended to.”
FIVE minutes later, they were seated in the atrium. Perched on top of a slender corner tower, the atrium occupied a huge round room with enormous arched windows. An artificial waterfall spilled from the opening in the wall, spreading through the creek bed, gently curving through the room. Fat orange-and-white fish floated above the gray pebbles forming the creek’s bottom. Here and there, exotic plants spread their green leaves from thigh-high flower beds bordered with stone. Garlands of vines wound along the walls, scattered with delicate cream blossoms. The air smelled of flowers.
Audrey took a place on a white love seat with a soft blue cushion. Cerise settled on a chair next to her, slipping the flower gadget under the nearest shrub. William had remained in the dining room, and the guard sent by Morell stationed himself at the doorway, far enough for their voices not to carry.
A servant appeared as if by magic, deposited an ice-frosted pitcher of lemonade and two glasses on a table in front of them, and bent double, waiting.
“Thank you, we’ll serve ourselves. You may go,” Cerise told him.
The servant departed.
Cerise watched him go. “Notice how he moves? A trained martial artist. Most of Morell’s staff are very fit. In a household of this size, you’d see some variation: someone will be fat, someone will be small, but no, most of his look like they spend hours at the gym.”
Audrey gave her a cautious glance.
“Don’t worry, the dampener is active. Even if they’re listening in by magical means, as long as we don’t raise our voices, they will hear nothing except quiet murmurs.”
A blue bird flew in through the window and perched on the stone border.
“About time, George.”
“It’s a big castle,” George’s soft voice came from the point above the bird.
Cerise poured two glasses of lemonade. “You had specific instructions from William. All you had to do was stay out of trouble until we came back. What are you doing with Kaldar?”
She slipped a small packet from her sleeve and gently tapped it above the first glass. Granules of white powder fell into the lemonade. Cerise watched them float to the bottom and moved the glass to Audrey. “No poison.”
“We decided the best course of action would be to remove ourselves from the house,” George said.
“Ah.”
“We stowed away on Kaldar’s wyvern. He didn’t know we were there until we arrived in California.”
“And this was your brilliant plan to stay out of trouble?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Which part?” Cerise asked. “The part where you put yourself on a collision course with the Hand, or the part where you complicate a Mirror agent’s life to the point of compromising his mission?”
The bird didn’t answer.
“Or maybe it’s the part where your brother-in-law loses his head and tries to bring charges against my cousin for kidnapping you two?”
“Declan wouldn’t do that,” George said, but he sounded hesitant.
“I expected this from Jack,” Cerise said. “He gets tunnel vision, although it’s a stretch even for him. But you know better.”
The bird began cleaning under its wing.
Cerise sighed. “Do Declan and Rose know where you are?”
“I imagine they do by now.”
“How?”
“Lark was supposed to tell them.”
“So you even managed to drag my sister into this mess.” Cerise shook her head. “Jack seems calmer. Did he rend?”
“Yes.”
“Was it bad?”
“Not at all.”
“It was awful,” Audrey said. “It went on forever, and he cried at the end.”
Cerise sighed. “This conversation isn’t over. I’m not covering for you with Rose, either.”
“Understood,” George said.
“Keep the bird here, please. I’ll tap it if we need you.” Cerise turned to Audrey, stuck her bottom lip out, and blew the air out of her mouth. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“One day, I will have children with William. This is what I have to look forward to.”
“Scary,” Audrey supplied.
Cerise smiled, sharp. “I can’t wait.”
Audrey’s earlier suspicions were confirmed. All Mars were insane.
Cerise sipped a tiny bit of her lemonade. “Jack really cried?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind telling me the whole story from the beginning?”
Fifteen minutes later, Cerise had drained most of her lemonade. “The boys kicked ass. There will be hell to pay at home, but Declan and Rose will be proud. And honestly, George is what, fourteen? Most of my family had their first taste of blood by that point.”
Violent psychotic swamp people. Yep, that’s where Kaldar came from. It explains volumes.
“And Kaldar, that scheme with the preacher, that’s just priceless. The man is brilliant. He knows it, which makes him insufferable, but he’s still brilliant. I would’ve never thought of that.”
The subject of Kaldar had to be avoided at all costs. Audrey leaned forward. “What are you and William doing here?”
“Did you see the boy with glasses?”
“The one who follows you around like a puppy?”
“Yes.” Cerise sighed. “Francis. He makes these paintings. Elaborate, ornate paintings. They make you dizzy if you look at them too long. And if you look at them under a certain magic illumination, you will see interesting things, like the complete blueprints of strategic buildings. The Ducal Palace, for example. The Castle Ordono, which is an Adrianglian stronghold on the northern Louisianan border. He has a photographic memory, and once he looks at something, he remembers it. He thinks the blueprint gimmick will make his paintings special.”
They were special, all right. “How did he get access to all those blueprints?”
“When his talents were discovered, the Adrianglian military idiots in their infinite wisdom thought he’d make a good spy, so they started shoving complex blueprints at him and training him to reproduce them. He is doing exactly what they trained him to do, except, you see, he doesn’t want to be an engineer or a spy; he wants to be an artist. So he ran away. We tracked him down to Morell, who will be auctioning one of his paintings. Francis thinks people are buying his blueprint paintings because they are art. He doesn’t realize they are buying his blueprints to use them for their own purposes. William and I have to extract him and take him back.”
“What will happen to him?”
“They will confine him. They won’t kill him, but they will put him in a controlled environment, probably in Lona-ret. It’s a military building, very beautiful, like a resort. Except with tall walls, magically capable guards, and handlers who make sure the guests don’t leave. He is not ill or mentally deficient. Francis knows he is committing treason. He was warned before, and he is aware that someone may use his art for nefarious purposes; but he’s so arrogant that he scoffs at that idea. He’s convinced that his work’s artistic value trumps all those silly little national-security rules. He just doesn’t care. He’s lucky he’s talented, or they would jail his scrawny ass in some dungeon and forget he was ever born.” Cerise leaned forward. “The Mirror’s agents aren’t permitted to discuss the nature of their missions with each other. The Mirror provided us with an invitation, and we arrived here. William is a Louisianan smuggler and a jealous thug. I’m minor nobility and a delicate flower in need of rescuing. Francis is a romantic. He filled in the blanks very quickly. We had no idea Kaldar would wind up here. We must coordinate things now.”
No kidding.
“You are still thinking of marrying him, right?”
What is it with the two of them and marriage? “Cerise, he is joking. Besides, I wouldn’t marry him if he paid me.”
“Why not?”
Cerise frowned. “You have to admit, he is a great agent.”
“Yes. He’s clever and capable, and he gets the job done.”
Cerise glanced at her. “And he is quick on his feet.”
“Yes.”
“And handsome.”
“Well, of course he’s handsome. He’s a great thief. He also did that sword thing your family does and killed one of the Hand’s swordswomen, I guess you’d call them. None of it makes him a good candidate for marriage. He has wandering eyes and wandering hands.” And he lies. Constantly and with great skill.
“He was always very good with the blade. He’s a good provider,” Cerise said.
Funny how she completely ignored that wandering eyes bit. Audrey hid a smile.
“Family is really big with our clan. In the swamp, you can’t count on anyone but family. Kaldar was our matchmaker. He arranged most of the unions for the family.”
Well, that explained volumes. She’d asked him about his friends’ being married. Of course he knew his friends were married. He had probably married his relatives to them. And she had rubbed his nose in the fact that he hadn’t tied the knot himself. That explained his sudden urge to marry.
“So you wouldn’t have to worry,” Cerise continued. “Kaldar knows all about what’s required to start a solid household.”
She was actually talking Kaldar up to her. Audrey almost laughed. Cerise loved her cousin. But her matchmaking was as subtle as a bulldozer. “I wish you would stop trying to hook me up with your cousin.”
“I’m not very good at it, am I?” Cerise grimaced. “Kaldar is a son of a bitch. He steals, he brews wild schemes, and he drives my husband crazy, on purpose, because it amuses him. But Kaldar is also kind and brave and loyal. It’s hard to get close to him, but those who do gain a friend for life. I love him like a brother. He always watched out for me. And you should know that when we passed him and Morell, he looked at you as if you walked on water.”
Audrey drew back.
A shadow came over Cerise’s face. She looked away, at the window and the clouds in the distant sky. “My family has suffered enough. Kaldar has suffered enough. I just want him to be happy. Give him a chance. If it doesn’t work out, you can always find me and punch me in the face afterward.”
THE dinner was served in the grand dining room. Kaldar decided that he didn’t much care for castles, especially that one. The dining room, with its vast walls, ornate arches decorated by an elaborate red-and-gold border, and carved white columns, was beautiful. Majestic even. But it felt cold and impersonal. He always preferred the happy chaos of the Mar kitchen, where space was in short supply, and everyone talked while they ate.
He was seated near the end of the table, with George to his left and Jack straight across from him. A lanky young man with glasses occupied the seat on his right. According to George, the man’s name was Francis, he was a traitor to Adrianglia, and at the first opportunity, William and Cerise would grab him and drag him back to the loving embrace of the realm.
The dinner consisted of five small courses. Francis wasn’t eating much of it. He picked at his food, rolling the tiny tomatoes with his fork, and cast sad glances at Cerise, seated across the table four people down to their left.
Cerise looked lovely. Her gown was dyed in a distinctive sunset pattern, popular in the Weird last year: almost plum red at the off-the-shoulder sleeves and pleated, turned-down collar that left most of her cleavage exposed, the fabric flared into red as it clasped her breasts, brightened to near orange at the waist, then spilled in a glorious cascade of pleated blush, a shade too provocative to be called pink. It was a good choice. The gown was slightly out of season. It took time for the dress styles to filter from the North to the South. A saltlicker’s wife wouldn’t have access to the latest fashions. Red signaled sensuality, and Francis was eating it up.
Next to Cerise, Audrey turned toward him. For a moment, Kaldar forgot where he was.
Francis sighed next to him. The sound snapped Kaldar out of his reverie.
“A beautiful lady,” Kaldar said confidentially.
“She is.” Francis sent a look of sad longing in Cerise’s direction.
“I believe she is married,” Kaldar said.
“To a brute.” Francis glanced at William, seated across from Cerise. “A saltlicker smuggler, which is just another name for a pirate. He made his money robbing other ships, stole a fortune, and married her. Her family is noble but poor. He practically bought her. Can you imagine?”
George cleared his throat carefully. “You don’t say.”
“Trust me, the man is a savage. He treats her like a slave.”
“Perhaps you should be more careful with the display of your affections,” Kaldar suggested. “Saltlickers are known for their temper.”
“He can’t do anything to me.” Francis pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m the baron’s guest. She’s chained to that monster. A woman so refined, so delicate, should be shielded from the rigors of the world, so they don’t bruise her. She is completely helpless, you see . . .”
Jack choked on his food and made some coughing noises that sounded suspiciously like feline laughter.
“Did I say something funny?” Francis peered at him.
“Not at all,” Kaldar said. “Please continue.”
“She should be free to make her own choices.”
“And are you determined to liberate her?” Kaldar asked.
“Indeed I am.”
“You have a noble heart,” George said.
Francis preened. “Any man of honor in my place would do the same.”
The naive idiot. Cerise was playing a dangerous game. Francis could do something rash, then William would kill him. “Perhaps you would listen to the advice of an older and jaded man?”
“Of course.”
“In my experience, despite what outer appearances may indicate, married couples are much more alike than people realize. Take care, my friend. Tread softly.”
“I thank you for your counsel.” Francis raised his chin. “But I have nothing to fear.”
Young moron.
The last of the dessert had been finished. The double doors opened, revealing a wide ballroom. Morell was doing this party by the book: they were permitted to mingle, treated to a dinner, and now, predictably, they would be given the opportunity to dance under the watchful eyes of the Texas sharpshooter’s magically augmented rifles.
Kaldar rose. “My young lords, it is time to dance.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Do I have to?”
“I’m afraid so, master.”
Jack sighed and made his way to the ballroom. George followed him.
“Youth is wasted on the young . . .” Kaldar mused, but Francis’s gaze was fixed on Cerise.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, and trotted over to her.
And so he was left to his own devices. Kaldar started toward the ballroom.
He positioned himself near the wall and watched the gathering. Music rolled through the disguised loudspeakers on the walls. The rhythm was brisk and familiar. The dancers were making a hash of it on the floor: some tried to dance according to the Weird’s customs; others were attempting a Broken waltz. George was whisked away almost instantly by a young girl with too much mascara and a prom gown that put her square into Broken territory rather than that of the Weird. As soon as the dance ended, another candidate, this one at least three years older, stepped up to claim his attention.
Morell wanted a court. He wanted a taste of the upper-crust life—blueblood or those who reached their status by merit, he didn’t particularly care. He had a beautiful castle, but the means by which he’d obtained it would get him barred from most polite gatherings across realms. So he made his own court. He invited his neighbors, robbers, added a few attractive young people with ambitions and an eye toward climbing the social ladder, and lured th
e lords and ladies of the Weird and movers and shakers of the Broken with promises of fine art that couldn’t be bought anywhere else. Now they sized each other up, and Morell watched the culture clash with great amusement.
There was an odd mix of extravagance and ironic self-awareness in the entire affair. For a man who liked to watch other people, the ballroom was paradise. Kaldar couldn’t recall the last time he was so entertained.
Morell watched his guests as well, moving from one group to the next until he finally reached him. Kaldar bowed. The baron inclined his head. A moment later, George was released by his latest dance partner and approached them.
“You don’t dance, Master Brossard?” Morell asked.
“I’m afraid it’s not one of my better skills.”
“Nonsense,” George said. “You’re an excellent dancer, Olivier.”
What the hell is the kid up to? “Most of the gathering is above my station,” Kaldar said.
“What about that lady in green?” George made a barely perceptible nod toward Audrey. “Didn’t we escort her on our way in? She was looking for her mistress . . .”
“She was barely on her feet. I doubt she is capable of dancing.”
“Oh, come on, Brossard.” Morell grinned at him. “You should dance. In fact, I insist that you enjoy yourself. And the lady in green seems like a perfect candidate. She is a companion to a lady from the South. They are born to dance. I know for a fact that dance classes are a mandatory part of their education.”
Kaldar sighed. It kept him from grinding his teeth. Morell wasn’t testing him. He was testing Audrey. “Very well.”
He circled the floor, stopped before Audrey, and bowed. “A dance, my lady?”
She would never accept. His brain feverishly tried to find some sort of explanation to deflect Morell’s suspicions.
A hand touched his. He glanced up and saw Audrey smiling. “Master Brossard, is it? I would be delighted.”
He straightened and led her to the floor. “You were supposed to shoot me down.”
“You think I can’t dance?”
He stepped into position, waiting for the music to start. “We have to dance a Weird dance with Morell watching, because dancing is supposed to be part of your education.”
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