Mistral gave a short laugh, ‘I’m actually quite impressed that they dared to accept the invitation!’
Fabian smiled coldly, ‘Ambition can install bravery in the least likely of us.’
They had reached the long row of doors set into the back wall of the atrium. True to his word, Mage Grapple had placed two warlocks on either side of one of the doors. Ignoring them, Fabian led her through and into a long room. Mistral’s feet stalled at the sight that met her eyes. The vast room was almost completely filled by a long table draped with pristine white cloths. Her eyes ran over the confusing array of crystal glasses and gleaming silver cutlery before being inexorably drawn to the most frightening sight she had ever seen.
‘Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,’ she moaned quietly.
Fabian followed her frozen stare and laughed, ‘Yes Mistral,’ he said in a bemused voice. ‘This is a banqueting hall … and a ballroom.’
‘Let’s hope someone tries to kill me before the dancing starts then,’ she muttered while he pulled her on to find their seats at the banquet table. ‘Because I would rather die than step one foot on that thing!’
Fabian laughed softly and strolled along the long line of velvet-backed chairs, studying the name cards at each place setting. Mistral trailed along in wake, holding his hand and gazing around at the room. The high ceiling was decorated with ornate painted plasterwork; intricate flowers weaved amongst depictions of the various Arcane tribes and creatures of the Isle, painted in unnaturally bright colours. It should have been breathtaking, but the overall effect was almost trite, as though the artist had been trying too hard to please. Something about their simpering frozen stares and the way the artist had unthinkingly positioned a smiling band of goblins next to a group of unusually well-groomed trolls suggested to Mistral that he’d obviously been a Mage with little or no experience of Arcanes.
Three of the four walls were hung with voluminous drapes of white silk, but the long wall behind the table consisted entirely of elegant glass doors leading out into the ornate rose gardens. Night had fallen, turning the polished glass into a long row of mirrors. Mistral studied their reflections, moving slowly along the table; he so tall and handsome, his dark hair shining under the light of a hundred candles hanging from elaborate candelabras; whilst she just looked –
‘Do I really look that fat?’ she demanded suddenly.
Fabian turned sharply, his face shocked, ‘No!’ he exclaimed and then smiled, lifting both hands to gently cup her face. ‘You are carrying our child Mistral! And you are glowing with the promise of the life inside you! Beautiful … so beautiful –’
Mistral met his liquid gaze and looked away again, frowning slightly at her reflection, ‘Are you sure I don’t look fat?’ she persisted in a quieter voice. ‘Because I’m looking at myself in those glass doors and … well, there’s a lot more of me than there used to be.’
‘Oh, I know –’
Mistral glanced at him sharply only to be instantly trapped by the heat of desire glowing in his eyes. The hands cupping her face slid slowly down her neck to rest on her bare shoulders, the warm touch of his fingers against her skin making her heart jump erratically.
‘Are here we are!’ Phantom called breezily. ‘Ri all together, what a coincidence!’
Mistral closed her eyes and sighed wearily, ‘He still has this … knack … of appearing at just the wrong moment.’
‘Hmm,’ agreed Fabian, stroking her bare arm thoughtfully. ‘I think he’s preparing us for what it will be like to have children.’
Mistral laughed and allowed herself to be led to where the twins were peering intently at the name cards. While Phantasm and Fabian began a murmured conversation, Mistral wandered over to stand next to Phantom.
‘Oh look at this! They’ve put you down as “Lady De Winter” and my brother and I as “Representative of the Ri”! Nice to know our place!’
‘Well they were hardly going to put “Thought Spy” for me and “Mind Manipulators” for you, were they?’ Mistral said and leaned across him to read the card in his hand.
‘So, I’m between Fabian and Phantasm, and you and Leo are opposite with somebody called “Countess Whitley” between you –’
‘Oh no! Not Countess Witless!’ Phantom groaned. ‘She’s the most boring old crone on the face of the Isle!’
‘Good, then she won’t be interested in what we’re up to then will she?’ Mistral said, casting a meaningful look over her shoulder at the stream of laughing Council officials and delegates filing into the room.
‘No,’ sighed Phantom. ‘It is going to be all work and no play tonight.’
Mistral looked at him more carefully. He was definitely a bit drunk and seemed far too relaxed considering the importance of the meeting they were due to attend later. ‘Why so complacent brother?’ she asked quietly. ‘Tonight is definitely all about work, that’s the only reason we’re here! It’s certainly not to have fun! If that’s what you could call this stupid farce!’
Phantom grinned smugly, ‘Yes, it’s hardly your thing is it? Nor mine either, to tell you the truth … anyway, blame your Mage, he’s the schemer behind this one. He’s had the invite for weeks.’
‘Has he really.’ Mistral said icily, privately wondering why her gift saw fit to wake her up in the night to warn her of threats on her life which, to her, were a perfectly acceptable part of the warrior’s life she’d chosen … but for some unknown reason her gift hadn’t warned her about Fabian’s plans; and they were proving to be an infinitely more traumatic experience than any shouted death threat ever could be.
‘Hmm, yes.’ Phantom continued, idly tossing a name card back down onto the table. ‘But I don’t think he’d have given attending a second thought if Master Sphinx hadn’t been summoned to present his case. It provides a perfect opportunity for us to size up the opposition you see, or rather See,’ he laughed at his own joke, making Mistral wonder if he’d been swigging more champagne than his brother realised. ‘And as for me being complacent,’ he turned to grin at her, his green eyes filled with mischief. ‘Tonight’s hardly challenging is it? This lot’ll be so drunk by the time the meeting comes round they won’t remember who they were going to vote for anyway! Until my brother and I remind them that is!’
Not fooled by his show of over-confidence, Mistral pursed her lips thoughtfully, ‘You obviously think the meeting might get a bit tense. Or why have you both got knives in your boots?’
‘Habit.’ Phantom shrugged. ‘Anyway, the meeting will probably be the highlight of the whole evening. I’m looking forward to watching Master Sphinx and Malachi shout at each other!’
Mistral suddenly smiled, ‘I can almost hear Xerxes taking bets on how many times Leo says his catchphrase –’
‘Oh, you mean, “endeavour to provide the Ri with the necessary leaderships skills required to lead us forward into a brighter future and further strengthen existing bonds with the Mage Council; for the mutual benefit of the richly diverse lives of all who call the Isle a home blah de blah blah blah– ” ’ Phantom recited in a perfect imitation of Leo’s arrogant voice.
They bent their heads together to try and hide their laughter, earning a disapproving look from Mage Castledine who happened to be walking past.
‘Ah, such silliness is fun, but hardly appropriate.’ Phantom sighed and adjusted his expression into a something more serious. ‘Tell me, have you Seen Malachi yet?’
‘Yes and no.’ Mistral pulled a face. ‘He’s here with Christophe, and I’ve heard him, but not for long. I thought it was a particular delight I would save for after I’ve had something to eat.’
‘Please do try and eat with the implements provided tonight, Mistral.’ Phantom said with a condescending lift of his eyebrows. ‘I know you might consider them to be surplus to requirements since you have fingers, but to the rest of us they are known as knives and forks. We’re not camping now!’
‘Quite, no nymph tents here brother.’ Mistral said softly,
keeping her gaze fixed on the goddess-like figure of his mother moving gracefully across the room.
‘I do hope that you have kept that little, er, episode, strictly to yourself!’ Phantom hissed, throwing a panicked glance in Melsina’s direction.
‘Might have.’ Mistral shrugged nonchalantly and let him squirm for a few seconds before giving him a wide smile. ‘Relax brother! I haven’t said a word about your indiscretions; however, I am looking forward to a glass of wine.’
‘One it is then, but no more! Believe it or not, I’m actually more afraid of your husband than you!’
‘More fool you then.’ Mistral’s smile tightened. ‘Because I am far, far more vindictive than he could ever be.’
‘And don’t I know it.’ Phantom muttered and moved away from her to make the long trek down the table to take his seat on the other side.
‘Oh, Phantom?’
He turned and arched an eyebrow questioningly.
‘Have it brought to me in a water glass won’t you?’ She mouthed. ‘Less obvious –’
He laughed and turned away and continued to walk down the length of the table, sublimely oblivious to the covetous stares he attracted from every female he passed. Mistral watched him go with an affectionate smile, reflecting that it would take a very self-assured woman to settle down with one of the twins. It was fortunate that they didn’t have Xerxes’ wayward tendencies, or no female on the Isle would be safe.
‘Would you care to be seated Lady De Winter?’
Mistral took the seat she was offered by a waiter clad in the same eye-catching mauve livery and gazed uncertainly at the confusing array of silver cutlery on the table before her.
‘Start from the outside and work in.’ Phantasm advised in a low whisper as he took his seat next to her.
‘Right,’ she muttered, picking up a steak knife and lifting it to the light to examine the serrated edge carefully.
‘Mistral.’ Phantasm warned, placing his hand over hers and putting the knife back down on the table. ‘These are for eating with only.’
‘Of course they are!’ Mistral agreed quickly, eyeing a silver fruit knife thoughtfully. ‘But surely, they could double-up, at a push –’
‘No, they couldn’t.’ Phantasm said firmly.
Their whispered argument was broken up by the arrival of the first course; an elaborate display of melon and some other fruits Mistral couldn’t identify.
‘Do I eat it or wear it?’ she asked, poking dubiously at the artful arrangement with a fork.
‘Depends; you are pregnant after all – are you feeling hungry or irrational?’ Phantasm enquired, gracefully spearing a grape with his fork.
‘Neither tonight,’ she muttered and dropped her fork down onto the table.
‘Mistral.’
She immediately turned in response to Fabian’s voice.
‘If you expect me to allow you to drink that glass of wine you don’t think I know Phantom has passed to you, then I insist that you eat something,’ he murmured.
‘Oh, right.’ Mistral muttered guiltily and instantly picked her fork up again. She managed a couple of mouthfuls of fruit before giving up with a sigh.
‘How can you not be hungry?’ Phantasm asked. ‘I’ve seen you practically demolish an entire roast boar, and that was before you were pregnant!’
‘I don’t think there’s much room left for food anymore, thanks to your godson,’ she said, giving her midsection a reproachful look. Heaving a dissatisfied sigh, Mistral gazed at the other delegates seated near them but didn’t recognise anyone; she half-wished Phantom was sat next to her instead of his brother so they could at least have a laugh. She glanced at Fabian but he was engaged in conversation with a Mage who was obviously part of a foreign delegation. His dark skin and close-cropped hair spoke of much more exotic climes than the Isle offered; she gazed at the Mage, idly reading him while she reached distractedly for the water glass full of wine in front of her. There was nothing untoward in either his aura or his thoughts; he was genuinely interested in the conversation he was having with Fabian. Although Mistral couldn’t see for the life of her how a discussion of the proposed revision of the Treaty of International Relations could ever be anything more than a cure for insomnia.
Taking a sip of her wine, Mistral pulled a face and put it down quickly, ‘Have you given me off wine as a joke?’ she hissed across the table at Phantom.
‘No,’ he replied in a surprised voice. ‘It’s the same as mine, which tastes just fine! Don’t you like it?’
‘No.’ Mistral pushed the glass away with a disgusted look and suddenly longed for some good honest ale.
‘It’s your pregnancy.’ Phantom informed with a knowing look. ‘Your tastes change … along with everything else.’
Mistral suddenly really wished that Phantom was sitting next to her so that she could stick her fruit knife in his leg.
‘Mistral?’
She broke off from glaring at Phantom to meet the cold blue gaze of Leo, sat directly opposite her and blatantly ignoring Countess Whitley’s enthusiastic attempts to draw him into a conversation. Mistral hadn’t seen him so far that evening and couldn’t help but lift her eyebrows in surprise. He was also formally dressed, the starched white shirt emphasising his pale skin and bright blue of his eyes … Delphine De Winter’s eyes. She watched them narrow slightly as his lips moved, making no sound but inviting her to read his thoughts.
I need some information to prepare for the meeting … I want you to read everyone in this room and let me know what you hear, we cannot leave anything to chance … Eximius may ban you from the meeting as well as the vote … and pay particular attention to Christophe and Malachi …
So much for having something to eat first. Mistral sighed and let her eyes travel along the long table, assessing the colourful swathe of multiple auras hovering in the air above diners, searching for any tell-tale negative flashes that would require further investigation.
Mistral was only half-way along one side of the table when the next course arrived; a huge white plate with a beautifully presented fillet of fish arranged in the centre.
‘Oh, no, please take that away from me!’ She groaned, going suddenly pale. ‘I detest fish!’
‘Since when?’ Phantasm asked with a frown as he quickly pulled the plate away from her green-looking face.
‘Never been keen, but it’s got worse–’
‘I wish Cain was here.’ Phantasm muttered, watching her carefully. ‘I’m getting worried about you.’
Fabian looked around sharply and met Phantasm’s eyes while Mistral took a gulp of water and promptly choked, realising too late that it was actually the wine she had persuaded Phantom to give her.
‘I think I need a few minutes,’ she gasped and made to rise to her feet.
Fabian and Phantasm instantly leapt up, solicitously pulling her chair out and helping her up.
‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ Mistral hissed as Fabian took her arm to escort her from the room. ‘I’m going to the bathroom!’
‘I know,’ he murmured, nodding coldly at a foreign Mage who called out a greeting to them as they passed.
‘Well, I really don’t need any assistance in that one area of my life, thank you very much! So you can just go sit back down!’
‘No, Mistral, I will not,’ he said flatly. ‘Unless you have forgotten, Malachi is here tonight and you are the payment he’s promised the Rochfortes in return for their support!’
‘Well I don’t think he’s going to be hanging around in the bathrooms for me do you?’
Fabian turned to give her a black stare, ‘I think Malachi has already proven that he’s willing to do anything to fulfil his ambitions. Hiding in a bathroom is definitely something he would do.’
‘Oh alright.’ Mistral gave in with a scowl. ‘But you can wait outside. I’ll scream loudly if he’s in there.’
Fabian smiled briefly and paused outside a polished black door, ‘I shall be right here.’
/> Mistral pushed the door open and stepped into an austere but typically grandiose white marble bathroom. Closing the door firmly behind her she leaned against it and drew in a deep breath, eyes closed in relief. Opening her eyes slowly she looked down the empty length of the bathroom and suddenly smiled. She was alone. Exhaling loudly, she walked over to one of the polished marble basins and pressed her hands against the edge. Staring at her unrecognisable reflection in the mirror, Mistral took a deep, slow breath, dispelling her lingering nausea. By the third breath she felt the queasy knot in her stomach lessen. Released from the effort of concentrating on not being sick, her mind immediately began to filter in thoughts from Fabian once again. A whisper of despair reached her ears, making her frown in puzzlement; it was not his voice. Instinctively, she tilted her head in the direction of the soft sound. It was coming from behind one of the closed cubicle doors. She focussed, listening intently … it was definitely a thought, not a spoken sound … Mistral turned and looked fully at the closed door, her eyes widening with recognition at who was inside.
They were undeniably Golden’s thoughts, but the timbre was wrong; gone was the arrogance and cold ambition. Mistral listened more closely to the anguished voice in her ear and to her utter surprise suddenly felt pity welling up inside her. Christophe had been cruel; he had seen Mistral’s obvious condition and had humiliated Golden with mocking comments about her inability to bear children.
‘ … some land is too barren to farm ...’
Mistral listened to Golden reliving her lover’s callous jibe to his party and felt her shame and misery. Golden’s thoughts abruptly changed, startling Mistral with the conflicting rush of joy and despair that greeted the image of Leo bursting into her mind. Mistral nearly gasped out aloud at the intensity of emotion in Golden’s thoughts. She still loved Leo. She had gambled on his love and lost. Mistral suddenly Saw all of her plans and how each one had gone disastrously wrong … kissing Phantasm during Qualifying in an attempt to make Leo jealous had only initiated his rejection of her … marrying Putreo only for him to be killed by the Rochfortes mere weeks later, leaving her the stark choice of being destitute or becoming the lover of her husband’s murderer, Etienne Rochforte. But that had failed too, Etienne had died alone and insane in dark depths of an oubliette, leaving Golden forsaken again. Christophe had been her salvation, but it had come at a heavy price. He was cold and uncaring towards her. She was just a creature of use to him, no more in his eyes than the dogs that ate beneath the table at their banquets. Golden was trapped in her own web. She had aligned herself with the Rochfortes and in doing so betrayed her homeland and the only man she’d ever loved.
The Seer Page 84
