DEVILISH

by Devilish (lit)

  The king’s eyes narrowed, and there was a suspicion of a pout, but he said, “Very well. Very well. You may tell her she may return north if she wishes, but I hope she will attend your masquerade before she leaves. It would be a shame to miss it, especially living in the house.”

  “I think so, sire. But with that event in mind, I must return.”

  The king nodded, but when Rothgar was at the door he said, “I hope you came here well guarded, my lord.”

  Rothgar smiled ruefully. “In a coach with armed outriders, sire. A folly that seemed wise.”

  “Good, good. We would not want to lose you.”

  Chapter 31

  Bryght Malloren was looking for his brother. After checking the obvious places, he tapped on the door of his mother’s old boudoir. Inside, however, he found only Elf and the countess, and no useful information.

  “You are concerned about him, Lord Bryght?” the countess asked, looking somewhat anxious. He wished he could ask her directly what had happened here last night.

  “Yes.”

  “Why, Bryght?” asked Elf. “Did something go amiss with the king?”

  “I don’t know since he’s gone into hiding.”

  “Hiding?” Elf echoed. “Bey?”

  The countess didn’t scoff. She half rose, but then sat again. A woman of intelligence and self-control. “Might he be involved in the final details of the masquerade?” she asked.

  “No one has seen him, and there are some details still to be settled.”

  “Oh dear.” Elf did rise at that. “I must go and see if I can help. This is very strange. Diana, do you wish to come with me?”

  The countess disappeared into thought, then said, “No. I must stay here.” To Bryght, she said, “I believe there is an automaton here, my lord. Your brother might be attending to it.”

  Bryght stared at her. “Of course. He finds them soothing. Any idea, Lady Arradale, why he might need to be soothed?”

  Her gaze was steady, strong, and clear. “He has devils to fight. And angels. The angels are doubtless the most difficult.”

  Bryght nodded, and left the room with Elf. As soon as the door was shut, Elf whispered, “Will he? At last?”

  “With God’s help and ours. I wish to hell Brand were here, but as it is, I’ll have to play second in the unholy battle with the angels.”

  He left her and went swiftly along the corridor, down stairs, to the small room at the back. Beyond the plain door, he heard birdsong and a drum. He entered without knocking, not knowing what he’d find, just as song and drumming stopped.

  Rothgar, still in court dress, was sitting at the workbench. He wasn’t using the tools there, however, merely gazing at an automaton. It was the figure of a boy in a blue suit with a drum hung around his neck and drumsticks in his hands. Rothgar’s eyes flicked immediately to Bryght. “Is something wrong?”

  “You’re hiding.”

  “Is that so wicked?”

  “It worries those of us who are unused to it. But we’ll learn to survive.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Where else would I be when you are fighting angels?”

  “Fighting angels?” Bey asked quizzically.

  Bryght sat in a simple chair near the automaton, feeling as if he was indeed going into battle. “That’s how Lady Arradale described it. You should marry her.”

  Bey’s eyes moved to the automaton. “Behold Lady Arradale as a child, transmuted to male. A loving gift turned unconsciously into a weapon aimed straight at the heart of a man’s wife and beloved daughter.”

  Bryght looked at the child’s winsome face and saw a hint of the countess’s stubborn chin and clear gaze. He could see immediately what Bey meant, but was floundering in the other layers. Dammit, he loved the complexity of numbers, but had no gift for these human labyrinths.

  He kept it simple. “After last night, I can see a hundred reasons for you to marry Lady Arradale. Give me one why you shouldn’t. And forget the madness in your blood.”

  Bey’s eyes moved back to his. “Convenient if possible.”

  “That’s your angel, Bey. You think it’s a holy angel, but it’s Lucifer in all his proud glory.”

  His brother leaned back. “Or you are.”And the devil taketh him up into an exceedingly high mountain, and sheweth him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them, and saith unto him, All these things will I give thee…‘ Wanting is no excuse for taking, Bryght.“

  “She loves you. Have you thought what this does to her?”

  “Constantly.”

  “Have you made love to her?” Rothgar didn’t answer, of course, but that was answer in a way. “Then you cannot walk away from her.”

  “We have an understanding about these things.”

  “Understanding doesn’t heal a broken heart.” God help him, he didn’t have words to penetrate his brother’s damnably guarded and complex mind. He leaped to his feet.

  “You are not a machine, dammit! Nor are other people. Nor is the world.” He leaned forward on the workbench across from Bey’s startled eyes. “Infallibility is not possible. Security is not possible. Life is risk. I died a thousand deaths when Portia was having the baby. Hours and hours, and sometimes I heard her cry out. I promised there’d be no more. She laughed.”

  He turned away, but went on with what he had to say. “I held out for a while, doing my best not to get her with child, but she said what I’m saying to you. Life is risk.”

  He turned back, but his brother was looking down now, trying to escape. Was he having some effect?

  “In fact, the risk isn’t too great for her. Despite her size, she gave birth easily with no damage. It wasn’t even a long travail, though it seemed days to me. The horror was in my mind. And the arrogance, thinking I could play God and avoid life. She wants more children. I want more children, and more than that, I want to give her what she wants.”

  Bey suddenly covered his face with his hands, but Bryght went on. “Yes, your mother went mad, but would you feel this way if she’d gone quietly mad and sat in a secluded room talking to the walls?” He leaned forward over the workbench and gripped one of his brother’s rigid wrists. “You’re still running from the murder, Bey. Trying to make it not be true.”

  He didn’t know if that was complete nonsense. It had come from somewhere deep inside without thought at all.

  Bey’s knuckles went white as he clutched at his head. “You are offering me what I want.” He relaxed his hands and looked up. “What you want, in fact.”

  “You won’t get out of it that way. Yes, I want you to marry and have children. But I want life for you. Because, Bey, I love you.” It was something he’d never said before, and he sat suddenly on the chair on his side of the bench.

  “We all know what you’ve done for us,” he said, “and what it’s cost you at times. We all want life for you now.”

  Suddenly other strange words popped into his head and he threw them down before he lost the nerve. “We want you to have your just reward. All your life you’ve paid the debt to little Edith, but she joins us in wanting you to be happy. In knowing you deserve happiness.”

  He felt himself blushing under his brother’s astonished gaze. What a load of sentimental blabber!

  But Bey stood and turned away. “I need to think, Bryght.”

  “You do too much thinking!”

  When his brother made no response, he knew he’d gone as far as he could. With one last worried look, he left the room. He closed the door, and stood there, wondering if there was more he could say or do, whether he should go back.

  Then a bird began to sing, and a drum began to beat.

  He was playing with the damned automaton again.

  By evening, Diana had still not seen Bey, but she wasn’t alone in that. Elf hadn’t either, and she complained—imperfectly hiding concern—of all the last-minute details she’d had to settle for the masquerade.

  She’d arrived in Diana’s room, already in a delig
htful wasp costume. “There’s even a troop from the King’s Theater who are to perform a masque under Mr. Bach. They seem to know what they are supposed to do, so I left them to rehearse.” She looked at the costume laid across the bed. “Diana? How perfect.”

  “Where is he?” Diana asked. At the moment she was only in her shift. If he wasn’t going to attend the masquerade, neither was she. “Does he often do this?”

  “Never,” admitted Elf with a shrug. “But that’s hopeful. If he was his usual impervious self I wouldn’t be at all sanguine.”

  Diana had broken down and told Elf all, which was a huge relief, even though Elf hadn’t been able to assure her that Bey would see reason. She twisted her hands together. “He wouldn’t… wouldn’t kill himself, would he?”

  “No!” exclaimed Elf, though she turned pale. “No, truly, he wouldn’t. It would go against all he believes.”

  “So would marrying me, apparently. I received a note from him. The king gives me permission to return north tomorrow, unwed.”

  “Oh no!” Elf took Diana’s hand and dragged her to the sofa, then poured her wine. “Port?” Elf queried, but she passed it over.

  “It’s a particular favorite of mine,” said Diana feeling tears ache around her eyes. “Sent specially by Bey. I hoped…”

  Elf eyed the crystal decanter, then poured herself some and sipped it. “His special sort. Be honored. From the Quinta do Bom Retiro.”

  Diana recognized the name, and the butler had presented it with reverence, but she said, “He would hardly send me inferior wine.”

  “He had no need to send any,” Elf pointed out, looking more cheery, “and believe me, he doesn’t supply this to every guest.”

  “A sweet farewell, then. And ordered this morning, apparently. It means nothing.”

  Elf cocked her head. “You and Bey both like lemon water, too, you know.”

  “So?”

  “So, you are extraordinarily well suited!”

  “Many people like lemon water.”

  Elf waved it away as if Diana had missed the point. “And you knew where he’d be. In the workshop. Bryght talked to him there. I couldn’t really follow what happened—I don’t think Bryght told me everything—but he did seem to think something had happened.”

  “Good or bad? But you don’t need to persuade me we are suited.” Diana laughed. “What a weak word! He is the blood in my heart and the breath in my mouth. I know I am the same for him, but what if he holds to his resolve?”

  At last, Diana told Elf the thing she’d held back, the feeling she’d had last night that Bey was desperately fragile.

  “You want to break him, don’t you?” Elf asked, but she looked worried, too.

  “No,” Diana said. “I’ve realized I don’t. I want him freed of the shell that imprisons him. But I want him to be whole. What if I have broken him? What if that’s why he’s behaving so strangely?”

  Elf bit her lip, but then said, “He’ll be at the masquerade. His sense of duty would never let him abandon that. We’ll find out then.”

  “I’d kill myself rather than destroy him.”

  “And he’d do the same for you. Let us pray, instead, for life.”

  Diana sighed, and took a deep drink of the magnificent port. Then she put the glass aside and stood. “Help me on with the costume then. It is time for Diana to hunt.”

  There was no formal dinner before the masquerade, since in theory everyone wanted their costumes to be kept secret. However, Diana found herself swept into a family dinner with Bryght, Portia, Elf, and her husband, and was soon on first-name terms with everyone. It was clear they all accepted her as Bey’s bride, even though they had doubts that there would be a wedding. A strange state of affairs, but it made dismal sense. As if she were the affianced bride of a man who had died.

  Bey apparently was in his rooms and alive, but no one had spoken to him since Bryght, and when Elf had knocked, Fettler had politely denied her admission.

  After a flurry of concern, the family had resolutely not spoken of it, and most of the conversation had been about their northern trip. Diana was struck again by the seriousness with which they took their business affairs. Portia shrugged and said that she had enough to do with a child to raise, but Bryght was deeply involved with the northern canal systems, and with plans for them farther south. Fort was in charge of some kind of partnership between himself and the Mallorens to do with wine and spirits. He was also clearly developing his own family’s business affairs, with an eye especially to his younger brother Victor, soon to return from time in Italy.

  Her own knowledge of northern industry, of lead mines and wool production, was absorbed greedily. By the time the meal drew to a close, she realized new wounds threatened. She genuinely liked the Malloren family and their spouses. They already felt like a family of her own, and losing Bey would also lose her this.

  Fort was to her right, and he squeezed her hand. “I’m tempted to call him out for the pain he’s causing you. But then he’d kill me. No,” he corrected her wryly, “that’s not true. He’d let me kill him to save Elf from pain, which of course would be stupid because Elf would enter a nunnery and weep forever more.”

  Elf, on his other side, swatted at him, but she didn’t look amused. “He’s doing the best he can, Fort.”

  “He’s making life into a labyrinth, as usual. I know all your hearts are bleeding, but I have to confess to a degree of satisfaction to see Daedalus lost in his own maze.”

  It was an interestingly perceptive way to view it, and pointed to a truth. Daedalus was the only one who truly knew the way out.

  Chapter 32

  The masquerade came to life on its own, it seemed, designed by a master hand and executed by efficient servants. By the time the family emerged from their meal, the public areas of the house were mysteriously underlit, though at the top of the main stairs an artificial moon shone in welcome. In the entrance hall a solitary flautist played, a haunting, mysterious sound to greet the excited, whispering guests.

  Elf took Diana’s hand and led her to slip among the masked guests. “You want to experience this as it is designed to be experienced,” she whispered.

  “Why?” Diana asked, but Elf wouldn’t say.

  As they climbed the stairs, a Harlequin stepped up beside her. “Diana the huntress? You can hunt me, my lovely.”

  Not the man she was interested in. “Perhaps later, if you find me again, sir.”

  Would Bey be blending with his guests, or waiting in the ballroom as the master of this performance? She pinned her faith to Elf’s belief that he would be here somewhere. He had to be.

  Would she recognize him? She felt she must, but if the disguise was deep enough he might succeed in hiding from her. She began to scrutinize everyone.

  Most people were not heavily disguised, and it was easy to tell they were not him. Some, however, were wearing the Venetian costume of encompassing cloak, hat, and mask which made it hard to recognize the person beneath.

  She studied lips, hands, and voices.

  No, he wasn’t among those around her.

  Aware of nervous cries ahead, she passed through a Grecian arch into the corridor outside the ballroom. No sight of the portraits tonight, for it had been turned into a sort of maze, with twisting passageways just wide enough for one person.

  Daedalus, indeed.

  The walls of the passageways were painted gray, and a gray cover hung over, only high enough to let a tall man pass. Some light filtered through the cloth from above, but it was still an eerily dark, enclosed, serpentine route. Though she knew where she was, and that she was in no danger, Diana still felt pressed in and threatened. She heard giddy female exclamations around her, and manly reassurances.

  All part of the game.

  Elf was just behind her, and whispered, “Just wait till you see this!”

  They stepped out of the maze and into night.

  Not black night. Starlit night, where more ethereal wind instruments played
.

  The whole room must have been hung with dense black, and against it, stars had somehow been devised. Larger lights made planets, including Saturn and its rings. In the center, however, hung another huge moon, realistic markings clear and perfect.

  “How is it done?” she whispered to Elf as they moved into the room among gasping guests. She felt cloth beneath her feet, and realized the floor was covered in black, too.

  “A sphere of white glass painted with the shadows of the moon, and with oil lamps inside. We used it at a midsummer night’s ball a few years back, and the maze even longer ago. This is nearly all put together from old stock.”

  But, Diana thought, circling to take it all in, this was the work of a master hand, and he’d been supervising this even as he dealt with all the other matters.

  She explored one of the small grottoes that had been made along the walls, where silver trees and branches glowed under concealed lights, and benches invited.

  “We have those for all the masquerades,” Elf said. “Just give them a new coat of paint.”

  Diana looked at her. “You don’t want me to be impressed?”

  Elf shrugged apologetically. “I don’t want you to think he’s superhuman.”

  “I don’t. Where is he? Do you know what costume he’s wearing?”

  “No,” said Elf. “Honestly.”

  “I’m going to find him.”

  Diana set off to circle the room, studying faces as best she could in the dim light, listening to voices, above all letting a secret sense hunt for him. In one corner she found a Grecian temple on a dais, unilluminated as yet, and wondered briefly what part that would play. She went on her way, hunting, hunting…

  Pausing to look up again at the miraculous moon, she found that from this side, a ghostly face smiled down. The man in the moon looking amused at human folly.

  “A shame to have to use an artificial one, when there’s a real full moon sailing the skies outside.”

  A painful shiver of delight spiking down her spine, she turned slowly. He was all in black, and she couldn’t tell any details except that his mask was a black mirror of her own, so that his paler skin made a crescent moon amid total darkness.