Instead of tracking our progress, I study the stone walls. The tunnel is very much like the one that led from the caretaker’s cottage to the scholars’ guild headquarters. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it connected somewhere, though I don’t remember a doorway off the path we took with Sam that night.
After we’ve walked for a good ten minutes, the footman takes a right, into a tunnel with a huge ceiling, and stops in front of a double door. Two urns burn on either side, and our escort lets the flame in his palm fade. He knocks on one of the doors. Almost immediately, the knock is answered by another man dressed in black. He too wears a mask. The guard’s eyes wander over us, and then he turns to the footman and holds out his hand. “Their entrance fees?”
“All except for theirs.” The footman gestures to Avery and me as he hands over a heavy leather satchel. “But they are the masquerade master’s personal guests.”
We are? That can’t be good.
The guard turns to us and nods. If he recognizes us, he doesn’t let it show.
Strains of dark, stringed music drift to us through the cracked door. It’s alluring and melancholy, and it calls to me, begging me to push past the two men. I grow impatient, wanting them to let us be so we can go in.
Finally, the guard opens the doors wide, allowing us entrance.
The larger woman pushes past me, followed closely by her companion, but the other couple is slightly more hesitant. Avery turns to me, silently offering his arm. I slip my hand through the crook of his elbow, and we step into the dark room.
But it’s not black, just dim. A spiderweb of spelled lights glows above us, just bright enough a person can see, but low to give the room a bit of ambiance. What our hosts call a ballroom is a massive cavernous room and very, very old. I gape at the architecture, dumbfounded. Statues and tapestries line the wall, depicting history from a time long ago. If I were a thief, which I’m not, I could tuck a dozen things under my cloak and make a fortune.
I glance at Avery and poke him in the side. “No collecting souvenirs.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t bother to grace that with an answer.
The crowd is larger than I expect, a hundred people give or take. Most are dancing, but even those speaking in intimate clusters move with the haunting music that lilts from a quartet orchestra in the corner.
We stand here for a moment, marveling at it all. Even Avery seems impressed by the display. The air is heavy, almost thick. Dozens of massive urns overflow with sumptuous red roses, just like the one that came with the invitation. They scent the air with their rich perfume. It smells like excitement—sharp and floral and heady, but there’s mystery here too, subtle notes of citrus and spice. It muddles my head, makes it hard to think. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, and it appears the people around us revel in it, letting go of their inhibitions. There are too many dark corners, too much freedom in concealing one’s identity.
The waitstaff, all masked just as the guests, wind their way through the room. Many offer refreshments, but some perform tricks with light and smoke. A squeal of excitement followed by laughter drifts to us from a nearby group, where a man casts a sparking light spell into the air. It bursts into a multitude of colors then snakes through the charmed lights, a dragon of magic—much like the fireworks the caravans sell, but far grander.
As much as my heart is telling me to lose myself in the crowd, draw Avery into the madness, my brain tells me there is something very strange afoot. We need to find the man in charge, see how the larkwing is connected, and then get out of here.
Before I can ask Avery what he thinks our first move should be, a serving man stops in front of us, carrying a tray of crystal flutes holding a clear, bubbling liquid.
We each take one, hoping to hurry the man along.
“Champagne,” the man explains in a bored, cultured voice. “From Iaselhall. I understand it’s exceptional this evening.”
“You haven’t tried it?” I ask.
“I’m on duty.” He raises an eyebrow, looking at me as if I’m a bit daft, but he is obviously reluctant to leave until I’ve tried it.
“Right. Thank you,” I say pointedly, subtly nodding him along.
He only stands there, staring at me.
“Fine.” I take a big gulp though I much prefer cider. The bubbles burn my throat; the concoction is far stronger than champagne should ever be. It reminds me of sweet, bitter grapefruit. I blink, trying not to cough, and a curious sensation settles over me, almost like a charm. Ignoring it, I hold up the flute, mock-toasting the man. “Wonderful. Thank you.”
Now go away.
The man nods. “Very good, my lady. Enjoy your evening.”
I scowl at him as he leaves. The drink hits my stomach like lead, making me feel slightly ill. I turn to Avery, about to tell him not to drink it, but find him studying his own flute, eyes narrowed. “You probably shouldn’t have tried it.”
“I don’t think one sip will do me in.” The room spins, and I grab hold of the captain’s arm to support myself.
Looking a little worried for my liking, Avery steadies me. “Probably not…if it were champagne—”
“What do you mean it’s not champagne?” I demand, focusing on his eyes and not the spinning room.
“Well,” the captain says, growing more concerned, “champagne generally does not glow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lark & Song
“The first sip can be a bit rough,” a man says from behind me.
I turn in Avery’s arms, startled. Somehow, everything is warmer, more vivid, more sumptuous. Nearly everyone sips from their own drinks, and all seem to relish them.
The owner of the voice is handsome as far as I can tell behind his mask. His clothing is expensive and his eyes oddly familiar. Though I’ve met far too many people in the last week to remember them all, I am certain I know this man.
In one smooth motion, Avery jerks me to his side and draws a hidden dagger, pointing it at the man. “What did she drink?”
The man holds up his hands in surrender, smiling in a confident way that I find alarming. I mean, I think I do anyway. I’m not sure what I feel. The unpleasant sensation in my stomach begins to subside, and I find myself disinterested in the conversation. All I want to do is pull Avery into the middle of the chaos and forget anyone else exists for the rest of the night.
“Put your dagger away,” I whisper near his ear. “Leave the man be and dance with me instead.”
“Lucia,” he says in a patient voice, not even bothering to look at me.
“Avery,” I answer, purposely making my voice breathy as I move in closer. “I said leave him be. Dance with me.”
The captain stiffens at my side, but he doesn’t lower the dagger. He glances down, meeting my gaze, incredulous.
“The lady wants to dance, Captain Greybrow,” the masked man says, lowering his hands, a satisfied smile in his eyes. “What gentleman would turn down that offer? I’ll leave you be, but do not worry—I’ll find you before the evening is over.” His easy smile drops. “We have business to discuss.”
Avery clenches his jaw as the man turns and disappears into the crowd. He looks like he’s about to charge after him but has no idea what to do with me.
Which is ridiculous, because I’m fine.
“Is it warm in here?” I ask, touching the side of my neck.
“Are you all right?” Avery tightens his arms around me even as his eyes follow my fingers.
He smells amazing. Like the air before a storm.
“I smell like the air…before a storm?” he asks, growing concerned.
“What?” I blink at him.
Surely, I didn’t say that out loud. I mean, I do have control over my mouth.
A hint of a crooked smile graces his face. “Not apparently.”
Realizing I’m saying everything that comes to mind, I yank away from him. He certainly does not need to hear everything I’ve been dwelling on lately.
“Luc
ia…” He pulls me back, not letting me have a chance to breathe.
“No!” I fight him. Putting out the effort makes the room spin faster, and my stomach lurches. “I just need to sit down,” I insist.
My vision blurs with smudges of darkness, and my knees start to buckle. Feeling trapped inside a body I can no longer control, I begin to panic. I reach out for him, grasping his arm when I find it. “Avery…what’s wrong with me…?”
The captain steps forward and catches me around my waist. Softly, he says, “Lucia, you’ll be all right. You have to let the elixir run its course, but you’ll be fine.”
“Elixir?” The word means something, something bad, but for the life of me, I cannot remember what. Without a lot of conviction, I push against his chest. “Leave me on a bench or something.”
Almost laughing, though he sounds far less confident than usual, he whispers, “Not a chance.”
My knees start to buckle, and I let myself rest against him. “Avery, no. I’m going to do something stupid, say something stupid.”
He pulls us into a corner of the room, a place less populated. “Then don’t talk. You want to dance, right? Let’s dance.”
Gently, he presses on my back, drawing me even closer. We sway back and forth, moving as if rocked by a soft breeze. Feeling a little better, I rest my cheek against him.
“Have you always felt this safe?” I murmur.
“I can’t honestly say.” There’s a smile in his voice, and it calms my nerves further. His hand finds my hair, and he massages the base of my neck. It feels amazing.
“Careful, I’m going to melt on the floor,” I say against the soft material of his doublet.
I can feel the vibrations from his answering chuckle on my cheek, and the thought makes me smile. I might tell him that too. I’m not sure.
After a long while, the panic has finally ebbed, and I’m as content and loose-limbed as a house cat in the sun. “You know what’s funny?” I ask him quietly. I have no idea how long we’ve been like this, but I’m starting to feel like myself again—but better. Warmer and happier and far less conflicted—that same feeling you get right before you fall asleep.
“Hmmm?”
“I was so concerned I was going to admit how I feel about you.” I toy with a button on his doublet. “But why would I worry about that?”
He freezes…goes completely motionless.
“What I mean is,” I say, realizing I’m saying it all wrong, “why wouldn’t I want to tell you that I love you? Because of course I do. More than anything, I wanted those vows we exchanged to be binding.” Feeling brave, I go on, focusing on the embossed threads in the doublet because it helps with the vertigo. “And I know I shouldn’t feel this way, because you’re a well-to-do pirate who should have married the queen and I’m only the daughter of a chicken farmer—but I can’t help myself.”
I’m not sure any of that made a lot of sense. I pull my eyes away from the fabric, wondering why he hasn’t answered. The captain looks as if I’ve slapped him, and a trickle of apprehension runs through my veins. I take an abrupt step back, right out of his arms. Suddenly, it’s as if I’ve fallen headfirst into a frigid lake, and I’m as lucid now as I’ve ever been.
What have I done?
What have I done?
Overcome, completely mortified, I abruptly turn on my heel. But before I can run away and hide for the rest of my life, the world lurches yet again. Then it goes pitch black, and I feel myself fall.
***
I wake to raised voices, and I sit up too quickly. Stars flash before my eyes, and my head feels as if someone bashed it with a rock.
“She had a bad reaction, that’s all,” someone insists. “I assure you, the concoction is usually harmless.”
“You’re about to have a bad reaction to my blade,” Avery snarls.
“Ow,” I groan as I press my fingers to my temples.
The voices stop abruptly, and the two men in the room turn to me. They’re both masked, but as soon as Avery’s eyes meet mine, he rips the mask from his face and kneels by my side.
“What happened?” I demand, but I regret it as soon as the words are out because my head hurts.
Avery flashes a murderous look over his shoulder—one I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of. “The shopkeeper drugged you.”
“Shopkeeper?” I whisper because it doesn’t make my head pound quite as much.
The masked man simultaneously bows and pulls off his mask. I scream and scramble back on the padded bench. Temporarily forgetting my headache, I stare at him, horrified. “It’s not possible.”
Something is very wrong with me.
“Avery, I need to see Gregory,” I say, feeling myself drift toward hysterics. “Take me to him.”
The captain scowls at our companion. “You’re not seeing ghosts, Lucia.”
The man who I last saw covered in a sheet smirks. “I’m afraid Lark and Song isn’t quite that potent.”
Still holding my head, I stand, reaching out to Avery for assistance. “You’re dead,” I say to Dante, still unable to wrap my mind around it.
I saw him with my own eyes. He was gray.
“Not yet.” He winks, and I swear Avery is a heartbeat from lunging at him—which I’m fine with, but first I want answers.
“I don’t understand. Did you ambush our carriage on the way to the masquerade? Rise from the dead so you could pursue the life of a highwayman? What happened?”
Avery gapes at me.
“That happens sometimes,” Dante explains to the captain.
I’m about to swipe Avery’s blade and skewer the man myself. “Someone tell me what’s going on!”
I wince as my head pounds again, and I close my eyes until the moment passes.
The captain takes me by the shoulders and stares into my eyes. Despite the clatter in my brain, I can’t help but notice how good he smells.
I feel a twinge of memory—something fleeting—but it wisps away before I can grasp hold of it. I narrow my eyes, feeling a bit irked with Avery as well. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I glance around the ornate room. It’s old—ancient in fact, built of tan stone and decorated with priceless antiques. “And where are we?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Avery softly demands.
He’s acting odd—shifty and a bit desperate. It’s strange.
I eye him. “Stepping into the carriage.”
The captain curses under his breath and turns from me, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Then he whips back to Dante. “Will her memory return?”
“What am I supposed to remember?” Of course, neither of them answer me, even when I snarl under my breath.
Dante purses his lips and stares at me as if I’m an alchemy experiment. “It’s hard to say. Perhaps with time.”
Avery rolls his shoulders, looking as if it’s taking everything in his power not to run the man through with his blade. “Is there anything we can give her to help the process along?”
I point to Avery. “We will deal with this madness in a moment, but for now” —I turn my finger on Dante— “I want to know how you’re alive.”
The shopkeeper shrugs. “Isn’t it obvious? I faked my death.”
“But I saw you! You were…dead.” I whisper the last word.
Not terribly concerned, Dante shrugs. “Looks can be deceiving, and alchemy’s come a long way in the last fifty years. You’d be amazed at what we can do.”
“So, you staged your own death, made it look as if you were robbed. What about the other shoppes? Are they in on it? Are there goblins in Teirn at all or was that something you concocted as well?”
“I cannot say about the goblins, but I will admit that a few of my ambitious workers might have caused a bit of havoc in the city so that when it came time to take my exit, it would look believable. Eventually, we knew the king would begin to suspect something, and I needed an escape.”
“King Harold knows about the tunnel
s?”
“Of course he does—it’s his city.” Dante almost smiles. “But he doesn’t know how to access this one.”
“Why?” I demand. “Why would you do all this?”
With a smile, Dante strides across the room and opens a door. There’s music in the dark hall beyond, something a little too familiar. He motions for me to join him.
I gape into the ballroom, and déjà vu washes over me, making me feel disoriented.
“Do you see them out there?” Dante whispers near my ear. “They pay the fee, drink my Lark and Song elixir, and suddenly their inhibitions are gone, leaving them happier, joyful, unhindered by the daily stress of life. They pay dearly for it, Lucia. Not everyone has an adverse reaction to it as you did.”
Softly, he clicks the door shut. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I stumble on the bed. “You drugged me?”
Dante wrinkles his nose. “That’s a crude way to put it.”
I hold up a hand. “Wait. You’re an alchemist? An actual one? Not just an herbologist dabbling with magic?”
“College trained.” He grins. “Before the mages’ college booted me out, anyway.”
“Why did they expel you?” Avery asks, narrowing his eyes. I might be wrong, but I don’t think the captain cares for the not-quite-deceased shopkeeper. “What did you do?”
Dante chuckles. “They didn’t like my particular brand of magic. Said my concoctions were destructive to society, and they sent me on my way.”
“You’re not even certified!” I growl. “You could kill people.”
“Most people would kill for a taste of what I have to offer.” His eyes darken. “Some have.”
“How can you—”
Before I can finish, Dante takes a step forward, a dark, excited light in his eyes. “But that’s not my fault. I haven’t hurt anyone, wouldn’t hurt anyone. All I’m doing is offering people a chance to escape—add a bit of excitement to their dull lives.”
Avery stands silent, his face expressionless, but I shake my head. “But it’s wrong!”
“Is it?” Dante insists, and he motions toward a door that leads to the ballroom. “Is it wrong to step out of your ordinary life, experience something magical? Is it wrong of me to want to make a little money along the way?”
Wildwood Larkwing (Silver and Orchids Book 3) Page 16
