“What do you think of our secret ballroom here?” Grandmother asks with a bright smile. Her gown is like nothing I’ve ever seen—thick emerald green satin with intricate black lace and what appear to be real diamonds and emeralds scattered throughout the bodice and skirt. Her sunset hair cascades down her back, and a tiara with emeralds and diamonds glitters in the midst of it. The skirt trails behind her, but she makes it look effortless. She looks regal and beautiful without seeming remote and unapproachable—so different from when I debuted before the queen of England.
“It was a fantastic surprise! I couldn’t quite accept what I was seeing when I saw the lights in the middle of the lake—I mistook them for the moon and stars at first. This is by far the most gorgeous ballroom I’ve ever been in—and that includes the ones in Buckingham Palace.”
“A compliment indeed. I remember your mother saying the entire palace seemed to be made of gold.”
I laugh. “Not quite so grand as that—but close.” I turn to Alexander naturally, without thinking, but as his beautiful eyes meet mine, I think of the kiss and feel warmth spread throughout my body. “Have you ever been to the palace?”
“Only in a dream,” he says and grins.
I remember the vision we shared—the drawing that took place in the throne room—and smile back at him.
Suddenly, the music changes from a violin-heavy classical piece to something heavily dominated by drums. The sound is primal, irresistible, and instantly quickens my blood. The thundering beat would so scandalize London society that even the tango would look as innocent as a game of Ring around the Rosey. Surprisingly, this only makes it all the more enticing.
The other Sylvani in the room seem to be just as affected as I—moving toward the dance floor with fluid grace. Then, as though following some unseen guide, they begin to move as one. Their steps are fast—moving in time to the music—their bodies pressed close to their partners. It’s shockingly sensual, and I can’t help but stare.
Alexander moves closer to me. “Care to dance?” he asks, his hand outstretched, his eyes hungry.
I take his hand but send a quick glance at Grandmother, suddenly unsure. “I wouldn’t know how.”
She laughs. “You will as soon as you join the others on the dance floor—you’ll see,” she adds when I open my mouth to question her.
Alexander gives my hand a little tug, and I follow him toward the dance floor where the beat of the drums gets into my blood, primal and irresistible.
He pulls me close—much closer than I’ve ever been to a man. Heat comes off him in waves, and I run my hands tentatively up his arms, marveling at the strength of his body. The others dance around us, and we are like the eye of the storm.
I’m not sure if he moves first or I do, but then we join them, the drums moving us, guiding us, telling our bodies how to move. It’s chaotic and free and dangerous, and all I can see are Alexander’s luminous eyes and the shape of his full mouth and strong jaw.
The drums beat louder, faster, and somehow we keep pace. Orbs of light pulse around us, keeping time. The more I focus on them, the more I see something hidden in their depths—images coming to light.
I see Alexander and I see myself; I see infants who look like their father, and I see children who resemble us both; I see our children frolicking in verdant meadows, and I see them walking hand-in-hand beneath swaying trees with lavender leaves. I see a beautiful girl with flaxen hair and tawny eyes debuting in a white dress in Buckingham Palace, and I see her dancing in a ballroom hidden beneath a lake.
The drum beat slows incrementally. I hardly notice until we all come to a shuddering stop, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. I am panting for breath, but the others are smiling and laughing. I glance up at Alexander, and he looks at me like he’s been waiting for me to meet his eyes. He looks at me like a drowning man looks at his rescuer—with a desperate sort of adoration.
His warm hand cups my cheek, and as he leans down to press his lips to mine, he murmurs, “I saw it too.”
ALEXANDER knows the tribal drum beat has lowered their inhibitions as effectively as a glass of strong scotch, and with Lucy gazing up at him like he holds the key to her soul, he cannot help but kiss her—even in front of so many. Surprisingly, though Lucy is by all rights the granddaughter of the queen and a princess, no one pays their embrace the slightest bit of attention. In fact, many others are doing the same.
He thinks of the images he saw in the floating lights, of children like him and Lucy, children of both worlds who fit into each one seamlessly. Seeing that both terrified him and gave him such a surge of hope that he’s afraid to think on it further. But the truth is, it’s difficult for him to imagine himself with such a charmed life—to be so forgiven for his sins that he’s rewarded with someone like Lucy.
Lucy’s eyes flutter closed, and Alexander feels an answering surge in his own body. When he begins to picture taking her to a remote corner of the room, he decides it’s time to resume control of himself.
“Shall I fetch you something to drink?” he asks, trying not to let her eyes—which have changed from a cerulean blue to a deep sapphire—suck him into their depths.
“That would be lovely, thank you,” she says, her voice still a little breathy from the dancing.
Alexander tears himself away and goes in search of a refreshments table—not easy to do when the room is both crowded and unfamiliar. He weaves through amorous couples, groups in intense conversation, and others who appear to be playing a game with golden coins and pieces of ivory instead of cards. He wonders, distantly, where the servants have all gone to—and then he sees them: interspersed amongst the guests. It’s then he realizes he saw them dancing alongside him, dressed in their creamy white tunics and pants. They look natural and at ease—no sense of discomfort at having to mingle with their masters. The scene is so different from one he’d find anywhere in Europe—almost anywhere in the world, really—that he just stands and stares for a moment.
“Looking for something?” a voice asks—a voice Alexander, unfortunately, recognizes. Lord Titus, the shadowed man.
“Only for refreshments.”
“So the queen has released you—for now,” Lord Titus says.
Alexander prickles at his knowing tone. “As you see.”
Lord Titus steps closer. “My offer to assist you still stands. The queen has you fooled if you are to believe you can stand against Centerius. My spies tell me her hope for the outcome is that you weaken Centerius while he succeeds in killing you.”
Alexander struggles to prevent the seed of doubt from germinating within him. The queen has never given him any reason to doubt her word, while Lord Titus is the complete opposite. “If her plan is so set, then how could you be of any help to me?”
Lord Titus smiles, the gesture anything but comforting. “You have only to tell me the details of the plan—I know the princess will be aiding you in some way—and I will guarantee your safety.”
Alexander scoffs. “And why should you care for my safety? Why help me at all?”
“Because you have an ability I covet,” he says, and his eyes flash with an eerie intensity.
Alexander’s only ability, besides his proficiency in the fighting arts, is to detect others who use Spiritual power. The mere thought of this man having such a power disturbs him so much he takes a step backward in distaste.
“I’m afraid the details are not mine to share,” Alexander says, and Lord Titus’s face turns hard. “You’d have better luck asking the queen herself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find the refreshments table.”
He turns away before Lord Titus can respond, letting the anger get the better of him, but when he glances back again, Lord Titus has moved away.
The crowd parts, and Alexander finally catches sight of a table laden with drinks and food, but his mind is no longer on the task at hand. The snakes he’d once seen within Lord Titus have taken up residence within Alexander, churning within him with a deep sense of foreboding.
He doubts very much Lord Titus will drop the matter so easily. He must warn the queen.
TWENTY-FIVE
AFTER dancing until my legs ache, and a sort of delightful bone-weariness settles over me, I pull Alexander aside. He’s been my partner for nearly every dance—save one where the unicorn prince led me through an intricate and elegant waltz—and I’ve been reveling in the freedom of dancing with whomever I choose, for as long as I want. Something about the dances here loosens all my English reservations and almost makes me forget myself … makes me forget everything but the sound of the music and the feel of Alexander’s body.
“Shall we go for a walk?” I ask as he leans closer to me so he can hear above the music and laughter. “I would love to see the lake again from above, and I think I cannot last much longer here. I’m worn out, I’m afraid.”
“It would be my pleasure to escort you,” he says with such warmth in his voice that I feel a soft fluttering in my stomach in answer. “I’ve wanted to speak to you about something.”
I meet his gaze, but swallow any teasing response when I find it troubled. “I’ll speak to Grandmother then.”
As I go in search of her, I ponder what he could want to discuss. Surely he cannot have any more terrible secrets—not after discovering so much about him already. Despite my dismay, the image of that baby boy—the one I know is mine—takes hold of my mind. I think of rocking baby dolls as a child, of cradling an infant Izzie in my arms, and my heart swells. I want this baby, want it as much as I would if I discovered I was already with child, and suddenly, I understand how my mother felt. How she was willing to sacrifice anything.
A vision changes everything, Grandmother had once said to Mama.
I find Grandmother seated upon a golden throne on the far side of the ballroom, Serafino perched on the arm of the chair and Rowen at her feet. All three turn in my direction when they see me approaching.
“You’ve finally stopped dancing,” Grandmother says with a wide smile. “I thought we’d have to carry you out when the night was done.”
“You may well have if I don’t stop now.” I smile as the music swells again into another furious dance—like an Irish jig. The dancers fly around the room, their footsteps so loud and furious it sounds like thunder. “I came to ask if I may have a walk around the lake with Alexander before I turn in for the evening.”
Grandmother searches my face for a moment, and I blush. “It seems you’ve been able to forgive him of his involvement with the Order. I couldn’t help but notice how the two of you have been nearly inseparable this evening.”
“Forgive me, Grandmother,” I say in a rush. “I hope I have not shamed you—I didn’t think it was frowned upon to dance with the same partner here.”
She reaches out and touches my hand to calm me. “You misunderstand me, dearest one. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m only curious as to the reason.”
Her question takes me momentarily aback. It happened so gradually—this softening toward Alexander—that I hadn’t pinpointed the exact reason for it. But now that I do … I think it’s been so many things: his agreement to help us defeat the Order, his memories of his mother, but most of all, the vision I saw the moment we kissed.
“You’ve seen something,” Grandmother says in that knowing way of hers, and my gaze darts to hers.
“A baby,” I say, as a sense of déjà vu settles over me, as I remember Mama’s words. “I saw a baby. Children, actually.”
Grandmother laughs delightedly, which takes me by surprise. “Oh, I should have known. I’m surprised I didn’t predict it myself, really.” When I only watch her with an undoubtedly confused look upon my face, she squeezes my hand. “I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely truthful about Alexander’s arcana.”
“His … arcana? You mean that he uses Spiritual arcana like me?”
She nods. “He does—but it is not his greatest ability. His true skill lies in his fighting arts, his total control over his body.”
“So he’s Corporal then,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“No. Something else—a Warrior class. A rare form of arcana that manifests when a Sylvani has the right combination of Spiritual and Corporal.”
A warrior—that seemed to fit Alexander after seeing from his own memories what he’s capable of. “But what does this mean?”
“It means, dearest one, that you are extremely compatible. When the Warrior class was more plentiful, they were almost always married off to members of the Spiritual class. This baby will have a serendipitous fate indeed; his lineage will be powerful beyond imagining.”
“His,” I say quietly, in a stunned sort of way. “You said ‘his.’”
Grandmother smiles. “A beautiful baby boy. I saw the same vision when I first searched Alexander’s mind.”
I shake my head in wonder. “You never said.”
“No, I wouldn’t have. Visions are best experienced for one’s self.” She stands and embraces me. “Go for your walk.” She pulls back and looks me in the eyes. “Go, with my blessing.”
Her words are heavy with meaning, but I am too embarrassed to discern it. I turn to Rowen. “Will you be joining me?”
There is far too much amusement in his eyes as he answers. No, I will stay here. However, I won’t be so far away that you will begin to feel the effects of this world’s arcana.
I nod. “I shall see you later in the evening then?” For some reason, I feel almost naked without the little fox, and the more I think of being without him, the more I realize I will be entirely without chaperone.
I have slept on that balcony for nearly fifty years, and I don’t intend to change that now.
I smile one last nervous smile at Grandmother before turning away in search of Alexander.
When I weave back through the crowded room, I see Lord Titus watching me, and a little chill sneaks over me. In some ways, he reminds me of Lord Wallace, and once I’ve thought such a thing, I find it so disconcertingly true that I catch myself reaching for the dagger I still keep on my hip—the one James gave me what now seems like a lifetime ago. A different time, a different place.
The metal is coolly reassuring, though, and the warm smile of Alexander’s greeting even more so.
“After you,” he says, holding the heavy door open for me to pass through. I see the muscles of his arm flex effortlessly and think of Grandmother’s revelation.
“Grandmother said something interesting to me just now,” I say as we make our way back down the tunnel outside of the ballroom. I have to glance back to see if Alexander is listening, for the tunnel is so narrow we must walk in single file.
His eyebrows raise. “Did she? I imagine she said she will be sending sentinels to track our progress and that I should deliver you straight to your room.”
I laugh. “No, not at all. That must be only your guilty conscience.” He laughs, the sound easily filling the small space. “She said that you do not have only Spiritual arcana, but you are also of the Warrior class.”
He seems to be mulling over my words as I start up the metal staircase that will take us above ground. “So I use my prana—arcana, I should say—in my fighting arts?” I nod. “Interesting.”
I push open the metal door and step through into fresh air. When he emerges, I surprise him by reaching for his hand. “That’s not all she said. Apparently the Warrior class was once always partnered with the Spiritual class.”
He glances down at our entwined hands and squeezes gently. “I’m not at all surprised.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, and I think, I want to kiss him again. The moment I think it, I realize I want so much more from this man who was first a friend and then a supposed enemy and now …
He leans down and presses his lips to mine, just once, gently. He pulls back almost immediately. “I must confess something to you, Lucy, before we take another step.”
I nod reluctantly. I’d almost forgotten his earlier request to speak to me about something. “What is it?”
“I should have told you right away, but I wanted you to enjoy yourself at the ball, and now I have only selfish reasons to keep from telling you, so I am forcing myself to put them aside. I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely truthful about Lady Rose’s condition. She is gravely ill and doesn’t have long to live.”
Of all the things he might say, I never expected this. A cold fear grips me as I think of that dark shadow I’d seen hovering over her.
“What has happened?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself as though I can chase away the coldness of death.
“She contracted pneumonia. This is why I was away for so long when I crossed over. I know of some ways to treat disorders of the lungs—herbal teas and other things—and I wanted to try everything I could to prolong her life.”
I clutch my stomach. How could I be making merry all the night long when my poor friend lay dying? “Did they help? Will she live long enough for her to say her good-byes? For me to see her again?”
“Yes, she responded well.” I sag in relief. “But,” he says and reaches for my shoulder, “they are not a cure. She will eventually succumb to it, but for now, I am confident she will survive long enough to see you again. Her father was arriving that evening, and your sister was maintaining a constant vigil at her bedside.”
“That sounds like Wren,” I say, still torn and feeling rather guilty. “Ought I not return tonight? What if she should die while I’m here?” My throat constricts at the thought, tears suddenly leaking from my eyes. “I couldn’t bear it.”
He shakes his head. “I won’t advise you either way, for I couldn’t bear it if I encouraged you to stay or go and it was the wrong choice—I can only say that she had improved remarkably when I left. In my experience, such ongoing treatments will buy her several weeks of time—if not months.”
“I’ll stay—of course I’ll stay. I should see this awful mission through, after all. But tomorrow—tomorrow, we must return.” My tears are running unchecked down my cheeks now—I can’t stop thinking about Rose. About her frail body lying there, dying when there’s still so much life in her eyes and in her heart.
The Order of the Eternal Sun Page 27
